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Zangwill. + </title> + <style type="text/css"> + p { margin-top: .5em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .5em; + text-indent: 1em; + } + h1 { + text-align: center; font-family: garamond, serif; /* all headings centered */ + } + h5,h6 { + text-align: center; font-family: garamond, serif; /* all headings centered */ + } + h2 { + text-align: center; font-family: garamond, serif; /* all headings centered */ + } + h3 { + text-align: center; font-family: garamond, serif; /* all headings centered */ + } + h4 { + text-align: center; font-family: garamond, serif; /* all headings centered */ + } + hr { width: 33%; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; + } + body{margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + } + a {text-decoration: none} /* no lines under links */ + div.centered {text-align: center;} /* work around for IE centering with CSS problem part 1 */ + div.centered table {margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: left;} /* work around for IE centering with CSS problem part 2 */ + ul {list-style-type: none} /* no bullets on lists */ + ul.nest {margin-top: .15em; 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margin-left: 4em;} + .poem span.i4i {display: block; margin-left: 4em; font-style: italic;} + .poem span.i8 {display: block; margin-left: 8em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i10 {display: block; margin-left: 10em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i14 {display: block; margin-left: 14em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i6 {display: block; margin-left: 6em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.pn { /* uncomment the next line for invisible page numbers */ + /* visibility: hidden; */ + position: absolute; right: 2%; + font-size: 75%; + text-align: right; + text-indent: 0em; + font-style: normal; + font-weight: normal; + color: silver; background-color: inherit; + font-variant: normal;} /* page numbers in poems */ + + </style> + </head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Dreamers of the Ghetto, by I. Zangwill + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Dreamers of the Ghetto + +Author: I. Zangwill + +Release Date: August 31, 2009 [EBook #29875] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DREAMERS OF THE GHETTO *** + + + + +Produced by David Edwards, Jeannie Howse and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This +file was produced from images generously made available +by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.) + + + + + + +</pre> + + +<br /> +<hr /> +<br /> + +<div class="tr"> +<p class="cen" style="font-weight: bold;">Transcriber's Note:</p> +<br /> +<p class="noin">Inconsistent hyphenation in the original document has been preserved.</p> +<p class="noin" style="text-align: left;">Obvious typographical errors have been corrected. +For a complete list, please see the <span style="white-space: nowrap;"><a href="#TN">end of this document</a>.</span></p> +</div> + +<br /> +<hr /> +<br /> +<br /> + +<h1>DREAMERS OF<br /> +THE GHETTO</h1> + +<br /> + +<h3><i>By</i> I. ZANGWILL, <i>Author of<br /> +"Children of the Ghetto" "The<br /> +Master" "The King of Schnorrers"</i></h3> + +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> + +<div class="img"> +<img border="0" src="images/deco.png" width="10%" alt="Publisher's Mark" /> +</div> + +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> + +<h5>HARPER & BROTHERS PUBLISHERS<br /> +NEW YORK AND LONDON<br /> +1898</h5> + +<br /> +<br /> +<hr /> +<br /> + +<div class="ad"><h4>BY THE SAME AUTHOR.</h4> + +<p class="hang" style="padding-left: 4em; padding-right: 4em;">THE MASTER. A Novel. Illustrated by <span class="sc">T. de Thulstrup</span>. +Post 8vo, Cloth, Ornamental, $1 75.</p> + +<p>He who begins "The Master" will find a charm which will lure him +through adventures which are lifelike and full of human +interest.... A strong and an enduring book.—<i>Chicago Tribune.</i></p> + +<p>To those who do not know his splendid imagery, keen dissection +of character, subtle views of humor, and enthralling power of +narration, this work of Mr. Zangwill's should prove momentous +and important.—<i>Boston Traveller.</i></p> + +<p>"The Master" is the best novel of the year.—<i>Daily Chronicle</i>, +London.</p> + +<br /> + +<h5>NEW YORK AND LONDON:<br /> +HARPER & BROTHERS, PUBLISHERS.</h5> +</div> + +<br /> +<br /> + +<h5>Copyright, 1898, by <span class="sc">I. Zangwill</span>.<br /> +<br /> +Copyright, 1898, by <span class="sc">Harper & Brothers</span>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>All rights reserved.</i></h5> + +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<a name="PREFACE" id="PREFACE"></a><hr /> +<br /> + +<h3>PREFACE<span class="totoc"><a href="#toc">ToC</a></span></h3> +<br /> + +<p>This is a Chronicle of Dreamers, who have arisen in the Ghetto from +its establishment in the sixteenth century to its slow breaking-up in +our own day. Some have become historic in Jewry, others have +penetrated to the ken of the greater world and afforded models to +illustrious artists in letters, and but for the exigencies of my theme +and the faint hope of throwing some new light upon them, I should not +have ventured to treat them afresh; the rest are personally known to +me or are, like "Joseph the Dreamer," the artistic typification of +many souls through which the great Ghetto dream has passed. Artistic +truth is for me literally the highest truth: art may seize the essence +of persons and movements no less truly, and certainly far more +vitally, than a scientific generalization unifies a chaos of +phenomena. Time and Space are only the conditions through which +spiritual facts straggle. Hence I have here and there permitted myself +liberties with these categories. Have I, for instance, misplaced the +moment of Spinoza's obscure love-episode—I have only followed his own +principle, to see things <i>sub specie æternitatis</i>, and even were his +latest Dutch editor correct in denying the episode altogether, I +should still hold it true as summarizing the emotions with which even +the philosopher must reckon. Of Heine I have attempted a sort of +composite conversation-photograph, blending, too, the real heroine of +the little episode with "La Mouche." His own words will be recognized +by all students of him—I can only hope the joins with mine are not +too obvious. My other sources, too, lie sometimes as plainly on the +surface, but I have often delved at less accessible quarries. For +instance, I owe the celestial vision of "The Master of the Name" to a +Hebrew original kindly shown me by my friend Dr. S. Schechter, Reader +in Talmudic at Cambridge, to whose luminous essay on the Chassidim, in +his <i>Studies in Judaism</i>, I have a further indebtedness. My account of +"Maimon the Fool" is based on his own (not always reliable) +autobiography, of which I have extracted the dramatic essence, though +in the supplementary part of the story I have had to antedate slightly +the publication of Mendelssohn's "Jerusalem" and the fame of Kant. In +fine, I have never hesitated to take as an historian or to focus and +interpret as an imaginative artist.</p> + +<p>I have placed "A Child of the Ghetto" first, not only because the +Venetian Jewry first bore the name of Ghetto, but because this chapter +may be regarded as a prelude to all the others. Though the Dream pass +through Smyrna or Amsterdam, through Rome or Cairo, through Jerusalem +or the Carpathians, through London or Berlin or New York, almost all +the Dreamers had some such childhood, and it may serve to explain +them. It is the early environment from which they all more or less +emerged.</p> + +<p>And there is a sense in which the stories all lead on to that which I +have placed last. The "Child of the Ghetto" may be considered "father +to the man" of "Chad Gadya" in that same city of the sea.</p> + +<p>For this book is the story of a Dream that has not come true.</p> + +<p class="right">I.Z.</p> + +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<a name="toc" id="toc"></a><hr /> +<br /> + +<h3>CONTENTS</h3> +<br /> + +<div class="centered"> +<table border="0" cellpadding="2" cellspacing="0" width="70%" summary="Table of Contents"> + <tr> + <td class="tdl" width="80%"> </td> + <td class="tdr" width="20%" style="font-size: 80%;">PAGE</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdlsc"><a href="#MOSES_AND_JESUS">Prelude: Moses and Jesus</a></td> + <td class="tdr">viii</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdlsc"><a href="#A_CHILD_OF_THE_GHETTO">A Child of the Ghetto</a></td> + <td class="tdr">1</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdlsc"><a href="#JOSEPH_THE_DREAMER">Joseph the Dreamer</a></td> + <td class="tdr">21</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdlsc"><a href="#URIEL_ACOSTA">Uriel Acosta</a></td> + <td class="tdr">68</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdlsc"><a href="#THE_TURKISH_MESSIAH">The Turkish Messiah</a></td> + <td class="tdr">115</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdlsc"><a href="#THE_MAKER_OF_LENSES">The Maker of Lenses</a></td> + <td class="tdr">186</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdlsc"><a href="#THE_MASTER_OF_THE_NAME">The Master of the Name</a></td> + <td class="tdr">221</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdlsc"><a href="#MAIMON_THE_FOOL_AND_NATHAN_THE_WISE">Maimon the Fool and Nathan the Wise</a></td> + <td class="tdr">289</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdlsc"><a href="#FROM_A_MATTRESS_GRAVE">From a Mattress Grave</a></td> + <td class="tdr">335</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdlsc"><a href="#THE_PEOPLES_SAVIOUR">The People's Saviour</a></td> + <td class="tdr">369</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdlsc"><a href="#THE_PRIMROSE_SPHINX">The Primrose Sphinx</a></td> + <td class="tdr">424</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdlsc"><a href="#DREAMERS_IN_CONGRESS">Dreamers in Congress</a></td> + <td class="tdr">430</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdlsc"><a href="#THE_PALESTINE_PILGRIM">The Palestine Pilgrim</a></td> + <td class="tdr">441</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdlsc"><a href="#THE_CONCILIATOR_OF_CHRISTENDOM">The Conciliator of Christendom</a></td> + <td class="tdr">453</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdlsc"><a href="#THE_JOYOUS_COMRADE">The Joyous Comrade</a></td> + <td class="tdr">480</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdlsc"><a href="#CHAD_GADYA">Chad Gadya</a></td> + <td class="tdr">493</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdlsc"><a href="#EPILOGUE">Epilogue: a Modern Scribe in Jerusalem</a></td> + <td class="tdr">514</td> + </tr> +</table> +</div> + +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<hr /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> + +<h1>DREAMERS OF THE GHETTO</h1> + +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<a name="MOSES_AND_JESUS" id="MOSES_AND_JESUS"></a><hr /> +<br /> + +<h3>MOSES AND JESUS<span class="totoc"><a href="#toc">ToC</a></span></h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0i">In dream I saw two Jews that met by chance,<br /></span> +<span class="i0i">One old, stern-eyed, deep-browed, yet garlanded<br /></span> +<span class="i0i">With living light of love around his head,<br /></span> +<span class="i0i">The other young, with sweet seraphic glance.<br /></span> +<span class="i0i">Around went on the Town's satanic dance,<br /></span> +<span class="i0i">Hunger a-piping while at heart he bled.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shalom Aleichem <i>mournfully each said,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0i">Nor eyed the other straight but looked askance.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0i">Sudden from Church out rolled an organ hymn,<br /></span> +<span class="i0i">From Synagogue a loudly chaunted air,<br /></span> +<span class="i0i">Each with its Prophet's high acclaim instinct.<br /></span> +<span class="i0i">Then for the first time met their eyes, swift-linked<br /></span> +<span class="i0i">In one strange, silent, piteous gaze, and dim<br /></span> +<span class="i0i">With bitter tears of agonized despair.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<a name="A_CHILD_OF_THE_GHETTO" id="A_CHILD_OF_THE_GHETTO"></a><hr /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[1]</a></span><br /> + +<h3>A CHILD OF THE GHETTO</h3> +<br /> + +<h4>I</h4> + +<p>The first thing the child remembered was looking down from a window +and seeing, ever so far below, green water flowing, and on it gondolas +plying, and fishing-boats with colored sails, the men in them looking +as small as children. For he was born in the Ghetto of Venice, on the +seventh story of an ancient house. There were two more stories, up +which he never went, and which remained strange regions, leading +towards the blue sky. A dusky staircase, with gaunt whitewashed walls, +led down and down—past doors whose lintels all bore little tin cases +containing holy Hebrew words—into the narrow court of the oldest +Ghetto in the world. A few yards to the right was a portico leading to +the bank of a canal, but a grim iron gate barred the way. The water of +another canal came right up to the back of the Ghetto, and cut off all +egress that way; and the other porticoes leading to the outer world +were likewise provided with gates, guarded by Venetian watchmen. These +gates were closed at midnight and opened in the morning, unless it was +the Sabbath or a Christian holiday, when they remained shut all day, +so that no Jew could go in or out of the court, the street, the big +and little square, and the one or two tiny alleys that made up the +Ghetto. There were no roads in the Ghetto, any more than in the rest +of Venice; <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[2]</a></span>nothing but pavements ever echoing the tramp of feet. At +night the watchmen rowed round and round its canals in large barcas, +which the Jews had to pay for. But the child did not feel a prisoner. +As he had no wish to go outside the gates, he did not feel the chain +that would have drawn him back again, like a dog to a kennel; and +although all the men and women he knew wore yellow hats and large O's +on their breasts when they went into the world beyond, yet for a long +time the child scarcely realized that there were people in the world +who were not Jews, still less that these hats and these rounds of +yellow cloth were badges of shame to mark off the Jews from the other +people. He did not even know that all little boys did not wear under +their waistcoats "Four-corners," colored shoulder-straps with squares +of stuff at each end, and white fringes at each corner, and that they +did not say, "Hear, O Israel, the Lord is our God, the Lord is One," +as they kissed the fringes. No, the Ghetto was all his world, and a +mighty universe it was, full of everything that the heart of a child +could desire. What an eager swarm of life in the great sunny square +where the Venetian mast towered skywards, and pigeons sometimes +strutted among the crowd that hovered about the countless shops under +the encircling colonnade—pawnshops, old-clo' shops, butcher-shops, +wherein black-bearded men with yellow turbans bargained in Hebrew! +What a fascination in the tall, many-windowed houses, with their +peeling plastered fronts and patches of bald red brick, their green +and brown shutters, their rusty balconies, their splashes of +many-colored washing! In the morning and evening, when the padlocked +well was opened, what delight to watch the women drawing water, or +even to help tug at the chain that turned the axle. And on the bridge +that led from the Old Ghetto to the New, where the canal, though the +view was brief, disappeared round two corners, how absorbing to <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[3]</a></span>stand +and speculate on what might be coming round either corner, and which +would yield a vision first! Perhaps there would come along a sandolo +rowed by a man standing at the back, his two oars crossed gracefully; +perhaps a floating raft with barefooted boys bestriding it; perhaps a +barca punted by men in blue blouses, one at front and two at the back, +with a load of golden hay, or with provisions for the Ghetto—glowing +fruit and picturesque vegetables, or bleating sheep and bellowing +bulls, coming to be killed by the Jewish method. The canal that +bounded the Ghetto at the back offered a much more extended view, but +one hardly dared to stand there, because the other shore was foreign, +and the strange folk called Venetians lived there, and some of these +heathen roughs might throw stones across if they saw you. Still, at +night one could creep there and look along the moonlit water and up at +the stars. Of the world that lay on the other side of the water, he +only knew that it was large and hostile and cruel, though from his +high window he loved to look out towards its great unknown spaces, +mysterious with the domes and spires of mighty buildings, or towards +those strange mountains that rose seawards, white and misty, like the +hills of dream, and which he thought must be like Mount Sinai, where +God spake to Moses. He never thought that fairies might live in them, +or gnomes or pixies, for he had never heard of such creatures. There +were good spirits and bad spirits in the world, but they floated +invisibly in the air, trying to make little boys good or sinful. They +were always fighting with one another for little boys' souls. But on +the Sabbath your bad angel had no power, and your guardian Sabbath +angel hovered triumphantly around, assisting your every-day good +angel, as you might tell by noticing how you cast two shadows instead +of one when the two Sabbath candles were lighted. How beautiful were +those <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[4]</a></span>Friday evenings, how snowy the table-cloth, how sweet +everything tasted, and how restful the atmosphere! Such delicious +peace for father and mother after the labors of the week!</p> + +<p>It was the Sabbath Fire-woman who forced clearly upon the child's +understanding—what was long but a dim idea in the background of his +mind—that the world was not all Jews. For while the people who lived +inside the gates had been chosen and consecrated to the service of the +God of Israel, who had brought them out of Egyptian bondage and made +them slaves to Himself, outside the gates were people who were not +expected to obey the law of Moses; so that while he might not touch +the fire—nor even the candlesticks which had held fire—from Friday +evening to Saturday night, the Fire-woman could poke and poke at the +logs to her heart's content. She poked her way up from the +ground-floor through all the seven stories, and went on higher, a sort +of fire-spirit poking her way skywards. She had other strange +privileges, this little old woman with the shawl over her head, as the +child discovered gradually. For she could eat pig-flesh or shell-fish +or fowls or cattle killed anyhow; she could even eat butter directly +after meat, instead of having to wait six hours—nay, she could have +butter and meat on the same plate, whereas the child's mother had +quite a different set of pots and dishes for meat things or butter +things. Yes, the Fire-woman was indeed an inferior creature, existing +mainly to boil the Ghetto's tea-kettles and snuff its candles, and was +well rewarded by the copper coin which she gathered from every hearth +as soon as one might touch money. For when three stars appeared in the +sky the Fire-woman sank back into her primitive insignificance, and +the child's father made the <i>Habdalah</i>, or ceremony of division +between week-day and Sabbath, thanking God who divideth holiday from +working-day, and light <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[5]</a></span>from darkness. Over a brimming wine-cup he +made the blessing, holding his bent fingers to a wax taper to make a +symbolical appearance of shine and shadow, and passing round a box of +sweet-smelling spices. And, when the chanting was over, the child was +given to sip of the wine. Many delicious mouthfuls of wine were +associated in his mind with religion. He had them in the synagogue +itself on Friday nights and on Festival nights, and at home as well, +particularly at Passover, on the first two evenings of which his +little wine-glass was replenished no less than four times with mild, +sweet liquid. A large glass also stood ready for Elijah the Prophet, +which the invisible visitor drank, though the wine never got any +lower. It was a delightful period altogether, this feast of Passover, +from the day before it, when the last crumbs of bread and leavened +matter were solemnly burnt (for no one might eat bread for eight days) +till the very last moment of the eighth day, when the long-forbidden +bread tasted as sweet and strange as cake. The mere change of kitchen +vessels had a charm: new saucepans, new plates, new dishes, new +spoons, new everything, in harmony with the Passover cakes that took +the place of bread—large thick biscuits, baked without yeast, full of +holes, or speckled and spotted. And when the evening table was laid +for the <i>Seder</i> service, looking oh! so quaint and picturesque, with +wine-cups and strange dishes, the roasted shank-bone of a lamb, bitter +herbs, sweet spices, and what not, and with everybody lolling around +it on white pillows, the child's soul was full of a tender poetry, and +it was a joy to him to ask in Hebrew:—"Wherein doth this night differ +from all other nights? For on all other nights we may eat leavened and +unleavened, but to-night only unleavened?" He asked the question out +of a large thin book, gay with pictures of the Ten Plagues of Egypt +and the wicked Pharaoh sitting with a hard heart <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[6]</a></span>on a hard throne. +His father's reply, which was also in Hebrew, lasted some two or three +hours, being mixed up with eating and drinking the nice things and the +strange dishes; which was the only part of the reply the child really +understood, for the Hebrew itself was very difficult. But he knew +generally what the Feast was about, and his question was only a matter +of form, for he grew up asking it year after year, with a feigned +surprise. Nor, though he learned to understand Hebrew well, and could +even translate his daily prayers into bad Italian, a corruption of the +Venetian dialect finding its way into the Ghetto through the mouths of +the people who did business with the outside world, did he ever really +think of the sense of his prayers as he gabbled them off, morning, +noon, and night. There was so much to say—whole books full. It was a +great temptation to skip the driest pages, but he never yielded to it, +conscientiously scampering even through the passages in the tiniest +type that had a diffident air of expecting attention from only +able-bodied adults. Part of the joy of Sabbaths and Festivals was the +change of prayer-diet. Even the Grace—that long prayer chanted after +bodily diet—had refreshing little variations. For, just as the child +put on his best clothes for Festivals, so did his prayers seem to +clothe themselves in more beautiful words, and to be said out of more +beautiful books, and with more beautiful tunes to them. Melody played +a large part in the synagogue services, so that, although he did not +think of the meaning of the prayers, they lived in his mind as music, +and, sorrowful or joyous, they often sang themselves in his brain in +after years. There were three consecutive "Amens" in the afternoon +service of the three Festivals—Passover, Pentecost, Tabernacles—that +had a quaint charm for him. The first two were sounded staccato, the +last rounded off the theme, and died away, slow and lingering. Nor, +though <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[7]</a></span>there were double prayers to say on these occasions, did they +weigh upon him as a burden, for the extra bits were insinuated between +the familiar bits, like hills or flowers suddenly sprung up in +unexpected places to relieve the monotony of a much-travelled road. +And then these extra prayers were printed so prettily, they rhymed so +profusely. Many were clever acrostics, going right through the +alphabet from Aleph, which is A, to Tau, which is T, for Z comes near +the beginning of the Hebrew alphabet. These acrostics, written in the +Middle Ages by pious rabbis, permeated the Festival prayer-books, and +even when the child had to confess his sins—or rather those of the +whole community, for each member of the brotherhood of Israel was +responsible for the rest—he sinned his sin with an "A," he sinned his +sin with a "B," and so on till he could sin no longer. And, when the +prayers rhymed, how exhilarating it was to lay stress on each rhyme +and double rhyme, shouting them fervidly. And sometimes, instead of +rhyming, they ended with the same phrase, like the refrain of a +ballad, or the chorus of a song, and then what a joyful relief, after +a long breathless helter-skelter through a strange stanza, to come out +on the old familiar ground, and to shout exultantly, "For His mercy +endureth for ever," or "The appearance of the priest!" Sometimes the +run was briefer—through one line only—and ended on a single word +like "water" or "fire." And what pious fun it was to come down sharp +upon <i>fire</i> or <i>water!</i> They stood out friendly and simple, the rest +was such curious and involved Hebrew that sometimes, in an audacious +moment, the child wondered whether even his father understood it all, +despite that he wept freely and bitterly over certain acrostics, +especially on the Judgment Days. It was awe-inspiring to think that +the angels, who were listening up in heaven, understood every word of +it. And he inclined to think that the Cantor, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[8]</a></span>or minister who led the +praying, also understood; he sang with such feeling and such fervid +roulades. Many solos did the Cantor troll forth, to which the +congregation listened in silent rapture. The only time the public +prayers bored the child was on the Sabbath, when the minister read the +Portion of the Week; the Five Books of Moses being read through once a +year, week by week, in a strange sing-song with only occasional +flights of melody. The chant was determined by curious signs printed +under the words, and the signs that made nice music were rather rare, +and the nicest sign of all, which spun out the word with endless turns +and trills, like the carol of a bird, occurred only a few times in the +whole Pentateuch. The child, as he listened to the interminable +incantation, thought he would have sprinkled the Code with bird-songs, +and made the Scroll of the Law warble. But he knew this could not be. +For the Scroll was stern and severe and dignified, like the high +members of the congregation who bore it aloft, or furled it, and +adjusted its wrapper and its tinkling silver bells. Even the soberest +musical signs were not marked on it, nay, it was bare of punctuation, +and even of vowels. Only the Hebrew consonants were to be seen on the +sacred parchment, and they were written, not printed, for the +printing-press is not like the reverent hand of the scribe. The child +thought it was a marvellous feat to read it, much less know precisely +how to chant it. Seven men—first a man of the tribe of Aaron the High +Priest, then a Levite, and then five ordinary Israelites—were called +up to the platform to stand by while the Scroll was being intoned, and +their arrivals and departures broke the monotony of the recitative. +After the Law came the Prophets, which revived the child's interest, +for they had another and a quainter melody, in the minor mode, full of +half tones and delicious <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[9]</a></span>sadness that ended in a peal of exultation. +For the Prophets, though they thundered against the iniquities of +Israel, and preached "Woe, woe," also foretold comfort when the period +of captivity and contempt should be over, and the Messiah would come +and gather His people from the four corners of the earth, and the +Temple should be rebuilt in Jerusalem, and all the nations would +worship the God who had given His law to the Jews on Mount Sinai. In +the meantime, only Israel was bound to obey it in every letter, +because only the Jews—born or unborn—had agreed to do so amid the +thunders and lightnings of Sinai. Even the child's unborn soul had +been present and accepted the yoke of the Torah. He often tried to +recall the episode, but although he could picture the scene quite +well, and see the souls curling over the mountains like white clouds, +he could not remember being among them. No doubt he had forgotten it, +with his other pre-natal experiences—like the two Angels who had +taught him Torah and shown him Paradise of a morning and Hell every +evening—when at the moment of his birth the Angel's finger had struck +him on the upper lip and sent him into the world crying at the pain, +and with that dent under the nostrils which, in every human face, is +the seal of oblivion of the celestial spheres. But on the anniversary +of the great Day of the Decalogue—on the Feast of Pentecost—the +synagogue was dressed with flowers. Flowers were not easy to get in +Venice—that city of stones and the sea—yet every synagogue (and +there were seven of them in that narrow Ghetto, some old and +beautiful, some poor and humble) had its pillars or its balconies +twined with roses, narcissi, lilies, and pansies. Prettier still were +the customs of "Tabernacles," when the wooden booths were erected in +the square or the courtyards of the synagogues in commemoration of the +days when the Children of Israel lived <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[10]</a></span>in tents in the wilderness. +The child's father, being particularly pious, had a booth all to +himself, thatched with green boughs, and hung with fruit, and +furnished with chairs and a table at which the child sat, with the +blue sky playing peep-bo through the leaves, and the white table-cloth +astir with quivering shadows and glinting sunbeams. And towards the +last days of the Festival he began to eat away the roof, consuming the +dangling apples and oranges, and the tempting grapes. And throughout +this beautiful Festival the synagogue rustled with palm branches, tied +with boughs of willows of the brook and branches of other pleasant +trees—as commanded in Leviticus—which the men waved and shook, +pointing them east and west and north and south, and then heavenwards, +and smelling also of citron kept in boxes lined with white wool. As +one could not breakfast before blessing the branches and the citron, a +man carried them round to such of the women-folk as household duties +kept at home—and indeed, home was a woman's first place, and to light +the Sabbath lamp a woman's holiest duty, and even at synagogue she sat +in a grated gallery away from the men downstairs. On the seventh day +of Tabernacles the child had a little bundle of leafy boughs styled +"Hosannas," which he whipped on the synagogue bench, his sins falling +away with the leaves that flew to the ground as he cried, "Hosanna, +save us now!" All through the night his father prayed in the +synagogue, but the child went home to bed, after a gallant struggle +with his closing eyelids, hoping not to see his headless shadow on the +stones, for that was a sign of death. But the ninth day of Tabernacles +was the best, "The Rejoicing of the Law," when the fifty-second +portion of the Pentateuch was finished and the first portion begun +immediately all over again, to show that the "rejoicing" was not +because the congregation was glad to be done <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[11]</a></span>with it. The man called +up to the last portion was termed "The Bridegroom of the Law," and to +the first portion "The Bridegroom of the Beginning," and they made a +wedding-feast to which everybody was invited. The boys scrambled for +sweets on the synagogue floor. The Scrolls of the Law were carried +round and round seven times, and the boys were in the procession with +flags and wax tapers in candlesticks of hollow carrots, joining +lustily in the poem with its alternative refrain of "Save us, we pray +Thee," "Prosper us, we pray Thee." So gay was the minister that he +could scarcely refrain from dancing, and certainly his voice danced as +it sang. There was no other time so gay, except it was Purim—the +feast to celebrate Queen Esther's redemption of her people from the +wicked Haman—when everybody sent presents to everybody else, and the +men wore comic masks or dressed up as women and performed little plays. +The child went about with a great false nose, and when the name of +"Haman" came up in the reading of the Book of Esther, which was intoned +in a refreshingly new way, he tapped vengefully with a little hammer or +turned the handle of a little toy that made a grinding noise. The other +feast in celebration of a Jewish redemption—Chanukah, or Dedication—was +almost as impressive, for in memory of the miracle of the oil that kept +the perpetual light burning in the Temple when Judas Maccabæus +reconquered it from the Greek gods, the Ghetto lighted candles, one on +the first night and two on the second, and so on till there were eight +burning in a row, to say nothing of the candle that kindled the others +and was called "The Beadle," and the child sang hymns of praise to the +Rock of Salvation as he watched the serried flames. And so, in this +inner world of dreams the child lived and grew, his vision turned back +towards ancient Palestine and forwards towards some vague Restoration, +his days engirdled with prayer and ceremony, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[12]</a></span>his very games of ball or +nuts sanctified by Sandalphon, the boy-angel, to whom he prayed: "O +Sandalphon, Lord of the Forest, protect us from pain."</p> + +<br /> +<h4>II</h4> + +<p>There were two things in the Ghetto that had a strange attraction for +the child: one was a large marble slab on the wall near his house, +which he gradually made out to be a decree that Jews converted to +Christianity should never return to the Ghetto nor consort with its +inhabitants, under penalty of the cord, the gallows, the prison, the +scourge, or the pillory; the other was a marble figure of a beautiful +girl with falling draperies that lay on the extreme wall of the +Ghetto, surveying it with serene eyes.</p> + +<p>Relic and emblem of an earlier era, she co-operated with the slab to +remind the child of the strange vague world outside, where people of +forbidden faith carved forbidden images. But he never went outside; at +least never more than a few streets, for what should he do in Venice? +As he grew old enough to be useful, his father employed him in his +pawn-shop, and for recreation there was always the synagogue and the +study of the Bible with its commentaries, and the endless volumes of +the Talmud, that chaos of Rabbinical lore and legislation. And when he +approached his thirteenth year, he began to prepare to become a "Son +of the Commandment." For at thirteen the child was considered a man. +His sins, the responsibility of which had hitherto been upon his +father's shoulders, would now fall upon his own, and from counting for +as little as a woman in the congregation, he would become a full unit +in making up the minimum of ten men, without which public worship +could not be held. And so, not only did he come <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[13]</a></span>to own a man's +blue-striped praying-shawl to wrap himself in, but he began to "lay +phylacteries," winding the first leather strap round his left arm and +its fingers, so that the little cubical case containing the holy words +sat upon the fleshy part of the upper arm, and binding the second +strap round his forehead with the black cube in the centre like the +stump of a unicorn's horn, and thinking the while of God's Unity and +the Exodus from Egypt, according to the words of Deuteronomy xi. 18, +"And these my words ... ye shall bind for a sign upon your hand, and +they shall be as frontlets between your eyes." Also he began to study +his "Portion," for on the first Sabbath of his thirteenth year he +would be summoned, as a man, to the recitation of the Sacred Scroll, +only instead of listening, he would have to intone a section from the +parchment manuscript, bare of vowels and musical signs. The boy was +shy, and the thought of appearing brazenly on the platform before the +whole congregation was terrifying. Besides, he might make mistakes in +the words or the tunes. It was an anxious time, scarcely redeemed by +the thought of new clothes, "Son-of-the-Commandment" presents, and +merry-makings. Sometimes he woke up in the middle of the night in a +cold sweat, having dreamed that he stood on the platform in forgetful +dumbness, every eye fixed upon him. Then he would sing his "Portion" +softly to himself to reassure himself. And, curiously enough, it +began, "And it was in the middle of the night." In verity he knew it +as glibly as the alphabet, for he was infinitely painstaking. Never a +lesson unlearnt, nor a duty undone, and his eager eyes looked forward +to a life of truth and obedience. And as for Hebrew without vowels, +that had long since lost its terrors; vowels were only for children +and fools, and he was an adept in Talmud, cunning in dispute and the +dovetailing of texts—quite a little Rabbi, they said in the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[14]</a></span>Ghetto! +And when the great moment actually came, after a few timid twists and +turns of melody he found his voice soaring aloft triumphantly, and +then it became to him a subtle pleasure to hold and dominate all the +listening crowd. Afterwards his father and mother received many +congratulations on the way he had "said his Portion."</p> + +<p>And now that he was a man other parts of Judaism came into prominence +in his life. He became a member of the "Holy Society," which washed +and watched the bodies of the dead ere they were put to rest in the +little island cemetery, which was called "The House of Life" because +there is no death in the universe, for, as he sang triumphantly on +Friday evenings, "God will make the dead alive in the abundance of His +kindness." And now, too, he could take a man's part in the death +services of the mourners, who sat for seven days upon the ground and +said prayers for the souls of the deceased. The boy wondered what +became of these souls; some, he feared, went to perdition, for he knew +their owners had done and eaten forbidden things. It was a comfort to +think that even in hell there is no fire on the Sabbath, and no +Fire-woman. When the Messiah came, perhaps they would all be forgiven. +Did not the Talmud say that all Israel—with the good men of all +nations—would have a part in the world to come?</p> + +<br /> +<h4>III</h4> + +<p>There were many fasts in the Ghetto calendar, most of them twelve +hours long, but some twenty-four. Not a morsel of food nor a drop of +water must pass the lips from the sunset of one day to nightfall on +the next. The child had only been allowed to keep a few fasts, and +these only partially, but now it was for his own soul to settle how +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[15]</a></span>long and how often it would afflict itself, and it determined to do so +at every opportunity. And the great opportunity came soon. Not the +Black Fast when the congregation sat shoeless on the floor of the +synagogue, weeping and wailing for the destruction of Jerusalem, but +the great White Fast, the terrible Day of Atonement commanded in the +Bible. It was preceded by a long month of solemn prayer, ushering in +the New Year. The New Year itself was the most sacred of the +Festivals, provided with prayers half a day long, and made terrible by +peals on the ram's horn. There were three kinds of calls on this +primitive trumpet—plain, trembling, wailing; and they were all +sounded in curious mystic combinations, interpolated with passionate +bursts of prayer. The sinner was warned to repent, for the New Year +marked the Day of Judgment. For nine days God judged the souls of the +living, and decided on their fate for the coming year—who should live +and who should die, who should grow rich and who poor, who should be +in sickness and who in health. But at the end of the tenth day, the +day of the great White Fast, the judgment books were closed, to open +no more for the rest of the year. Up till twilight there was yet time, +but then what was written was finally sealed, and he who had not truly +repented had missed his last chance of forgiveness. What wonder if +early in the ten penitential days, the population of the Ghetto +flocked towards the canal bridge to pray that its sins might be cast +into the waters and swept away seawards!</p> + +<p>'Twas the tenth day, and an awful sense of sacred doom hung over the +Ghetto. In every house a gigantic wax taper had burnt, white and +solemn, all through the night, and fowls or coins had been waved round +the heads of the people in atonement for their iniquities. The morning +dawned gray and cold, but with the dawn the population <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[16]</a></span>was astir, for +the services began at six in the morning and lasted without +intermission till seven at night. Many of the male worshippers were +clad in their grave-clothes, and the extreme zealots remained standing +all day long, swaying to and fro and beating their breasts at the +confessions of sin. For a long time the boy wished to stand too, but +the crowded synagogue reeked with heavy odors, and at last, towards +mid-day, faint and feeble, he had to sit. But to fast till nightfall +he was resolved. Hitherto he had always broken his fast at some point +in the services, going home round the corner to delicious bread and +fish. When he was seven or eight this breakfast came at mid-day, but +the older he grew the longer he fasted, and it became a point of honor +to beat his record every successive year. Last time he had brought his +breakfast down till late in the afternoon, and now it would be +unforgivable if he could not see the fast out and go home, proud and +sinless, to drink wine with the men. He turned so pale, as the +afternoon service dragged itself along, that his father begged him +again and again to go home and eat. But the boy was set on a full +penance. And every now and again he forgot his headache and the +gnawing at his stomach in the fervor of passionate prayer and in the +fascination of the ghostly figures weeping and wailing in the gloomy +synagogue, and once in imagination he saw the heavens open overhead +and God sitting on the judgment throne, invisible by excess of +dazzling light, and round him the four-winged cherubim and the fiery +wheels and the sacred creatures singing "Holy, holy, holy is the Lord +of Hosts, the whole earth is full of His glory." Then a great awe +brooded over the synagogue, and the vast forces of the universe seemed +concentred about it, as if all creation was awaiting in tense silence +for the terrible words of judgment. And then he felt some cool, sweet +scent sprinkled on his <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[17]</a></span>forehead, and, as from the far ends of the +world, he heard a voice that sounded like his father's asking him if +he felt better. He opened his eyes and smiled faintly, and said +nothing was the matter, but now his father insisted that he must go +home to eat. So, still dazed by the glories he had seen, he dragged +himself dreamily through the press of swaying, weeping worshippers, +over whom there still seemed to brood some vast, solemn awe, and came +outside into the little square and drew in a delicious breath of fresh +air, his eyes blinking at the sudden glare of sunlight and blue sky. +But the sense of awe was still with him, for the Ghetto was deserted, +the shops were shut, and a sacred hush of silence was over the stones +and the houses, only accentuated by the thunder of ceaseless prayer +from the synagogues. He walked towards the tall house with the nine +stories, then a great shame came over him. Surely he had given in too +early. He was already better, the air had revived him. No, he would +<i>not</i> break his fast; he would while away a little time by walking, +and then he would go back to the synagogue. Yes, a brisk walk would +complete his recovery. There was no warder at the open gate; the +keepers of the Ghetto had taken a surreptitious holiday, aware that on +this day of days no watching was needed. The guardian barca lay moored +to a post unmanned. All was in keeping with the boy's sense of solemn +strangeness. But as he walked along the Cannaregio bank, and further +and further into the unknown city, a curious uneasiness and surprise +began to invade his soul. Everywhere, despite the vast awe +overbrooding the world, shops were open and people were going about +unconcernedly in the quaint alleys; babies laughed in their nurses' +arms, the gondoliers were poised as usual on the stern of their +beautiful black boats, rowing imperturbably. The water sparkled and +danced in the afternoon sun. In the market-place the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[18]</a></span>tanned old women +chattered briskly with their customers. He wandered on and on in +growing wonder and perturbation. Suddenly his trouble ceased, a burst +of wonderful melody came to him; there was not only a joyful tune, but +other tunes seemed to blend with it, melting his heart with +unimaginable rapture; he gave chase to the strange sounds, drawing +nearer and nearer, and at last he emerged unexpectedly upon an immense +square bordered by colonnades, under which beautifully dressed signori +and signore sat drinking at little tables, and listening to men in red +with great black cockades in their hats who were ranged on a central +platform, blowing large shining horns; a square so vast and so crowded +with happy chattering people and fluttering pigeons that he gazed +about in blinking bewilderment. And then, uplifting his eyes, he saw a +sight that took his breath away—a glorious building like his dream of +the Temple of Zion, glowing with gold and rising in marvellous domes +and spires, and crowned by four bronze animals, which he felt sure +must be the creatures called horses with which Pharaoh had pursued the +Israelites to the Red Sea. And hard by rose a gigantic tower, like the +Tower of Babel, leading the eye up and up. His breast filled with a +strange pleasure that was almost pain. The enchanted temple drew him +across the square; he saw a poor bare-headed woman going in, and he +followed her. Then a wonderful golden gloom fell upon him, and a sense +of arches and pillars and soaring roofs and curved walls beautiful +with many-colored pictures; and the pleasure, that was almost pain, +swelled at his heart till it seemed as if it must burst his breast. +Then he saw the poor bare-headed woman kneel down, and in a flash he +understood that she was praying—ay, and in the men's quarter—and +that this was no Temple, but one of those forbidden places called +churches, into which the abhorred deserters went who were spoken of on +that marble <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[19]</a></span>slab in the Ghetto. And, while he was wrestling with the +confusion of his thoughts, a splendid glittering being, with a cocked +hat and a sword, marched terrifyingly towards him, and sternly bade +him take off his hat. He ran out of the wonderful building in a great +fright, jostling against the innumerable promenaders in the square, +and not pausing till the merry music of the big shining horns had died +away behind him. And even then he walked quickly, as if pursued by the +strange vast world into which he had penetrated for the first time. +And suddenly he found himself in a blind alley, and knew that he could +not find his way back to the Ghetto. He was about to ask of a woman +who looked kind, when he remembered, with a chill down his spine, that +he was not wearing a yellow O, as a man should, and that, as he was +now a "Son of the Commandment," the Venetians would consider him a +man. For one forlorn moment it seemed to him that he would never find +himself back in the Ghetto again; but at last he bethought himself of +asking for the Cannaregio, and so gradually, cold at heart and +trembling, he reached the familiar iron gate and slipped in. All was +as before in the Ghetto. The same sacred hush in court and square, +accentuated by the rumble of prayer from the synagogues, the gathering +dusk lending a touch of added solemnity.</p> + +<p>"Well, have you eaten?" asked the father. The boy nodded "Yes." A +faint flush of exultation leapt into his pale cheek. He would see the +fast out after all. The men were beating their breasts at the +confession of sin. "For the sin we have committed by lying," chimed in +the boy. But although in his attention to the wailful melody of the +words he scarcely noticed the meaning, something of the old passion +and fervor had gone out of his voice. Twilight fell; the shadows +deepened, the white figures, wailing and weeping in their +grave-clothes, grew mystic; the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[20]</a></span>time for sealing the Books of +Judgment drew nigh. The figures threw themselves forward full length, +their foreheads to the floor, proclaiming passionately again and +again, "The Lord He is God; the Lord He is God!" It was the hour in +which the boy's sense of overbrooding awe had always been tensest. But +he could not shake off the thought of the gay piazza and the wonderful +church where other people prayed other prayers. For something larger +had come into his life, a sense of a vaster universe without, and its +spaciousness and strangeness filled his soul with a nameless trouble +and a vague unrest. He was no longer a child of the Ghetto.</p> + +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<a name="JOSEPH_THE_DREAMER" id="JOSEPH_THE_DREAMER"></a><hr /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[21]</a></span><br /> + +<h3>JOSEPH THE DREAMER<span class="totoc"><a href="#toc">ToC</a></span></h3> + +<br /> +<h4>I</h4> + +<p>"We must not wait longer, Rachel," said Manasseh in low, grave, but +unfaltering accents. "Midnight approaches."</p> + +<p>Rachel checked her sobs and assumed an attitude of reverence as her +husband began to intone the benedictions, but her heart felt no +religious joy in the remembrance of how the God of her fathers had +saved them and their Temple from Hellenic pollution. It was torn by +anxiety as to the fate of her boy, her scholar son, unaccountably +absent for the first time from the household ceremonies of the Feast +of Dedication. What was he doing—outside the Ghetto gates—in that +great, dark, narrow-meshed city of Rome, defying the Papal law, and of +all nights in the year on that sinister night when, by a coincidence +of chronology, the Christian persecutor celebrated the birth of his +Saviour? Through misty eyes she saw her husband's face, stern and +rugged, yet made venerable by the flowing white of his locks and +beard, as with the supernumerary taper he prepared to light the wax +candles in the nine-branched candlestick of silver. He wore a long, +hooded mantle reaching to the feet, and showing where it fell back in +front a brown gaberdine clasped by a girdle. These sombre-colored +robes were second-hand, as the austere simplicity <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[22]</a></span>of the Pragmatic +required. The Jewish Council of Sixty did not permit its subjects to +ruffle it like the Romans of those days of purple pageantry. The young +bloods, forbidden by Christendom to style themselves signori, were +forbidden by Judea to vie with signori in luxury.</p> + +<p>"Blessed art Thou, O Lord, our God," chanted the old man. "King of the +Universe, who hast sanctified us with Thy commandments, and commanded +us to kindle the light of Chanukah."</p> + +<p>It was with a quavering voice that Rachel joined in the ancient hymn +that wound up the rite. "O Fortress, Rock of my salvation," the old +woman sang. "Unto Thee it is becoming to give praise; let my house of +prayer be restored, and I will there offer Thee thanksgivings; when +Thou shalt have prepared a slaughter of the blaspheming foe, I will +complete with song and psalm the dedication of the altar."</p> + +<p>But her imagination was roving in the dim oil-lit streets of the +tenebrous city, striving for the clairvoyance of love. Arrest by the +<i>sbirri</i> was certain; other dangers threatened. Brawls and bravos +abounded. True, this city of Rome was safer than many another for its +Jews, who, by a miracle, more undeniable than that which they were now +celebrating, had from the birth of Christ dwelt in the very heart of +Christendom, the Eternal People in the Eternal City. The Ghetto had +witnessed no such sights as Barcelona or Frankfort or Prague. The +bloody orgies of the Crusaders had raged far away from the Capital of +the Cross. In England, in France, in Germany, the Jew, that scapegoat +of the nations, had poisoned the wells and brought on the Black Death, +had pierced the host, killed children for their blood, blasphemed the +saints, and done all that the imagination of defalcating debtors could +suggest. But the Roman Jews were merely pestilent heretics. Perhaps +it <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[23]</a></span>was the comparative poverty of the Ghetto that made its tragedy +one of steady degradation rather than of fitful massacre. Nevertheless +bloodshed was not unknown, and the song died on Rachel's lips, though +the sterner Manasseh still chanted on.</p> + +<p>"The Grecians were gathered against me in the days of the Hasmoneans; +they broke down the walls of my towers and defiled all the oils; but +from one of the last remaining flasks a miracle was wrought for Thy +lily, Israel; and the men of understanding appointed these eight days +for songs and praises."</p> + +<p>They were well-to-do people, and Rachel's dress betokened the limit of +the luxury allowed by the Pragmatic—a second-hand silk dress with a +pin at the throat set with only a single pearl, a bracelet on one arm, +a ring without a bezel on one finger, a single-stringed necklace round +her neck, her hair done in a cheap net.</p> + +<p>She looked at the nine-branched candlestick, and a mystical sadness +filled her. Would she had nine scions of her house like Miriam's +mother, a true mother in Israel; but, lo! she had only one candle—one +little candle. A puff and it was gone, and life would be dark.</p> + +<p>That Joseph was not in the Ghetto was certain. He would never have +caused her such anxiety wilfully, and, indeed, she and her husband and +Miriam had already run to all the likely places in the quarter, even +to those marshy alleys where every overflow of the Tiber left deposits +of malarious mud, where families harbored, ten in a house, where +stunted men and wrinkled women slouched through the streets, and a +sickly spawn of half-naked babies swarmed under the feet. They had had +trouble enough, but never such a trouble as this. Manasseh and Rachel, +with this queer offspring of theirs, this Joseph the Dreamer, as he +had been nicknamed, this handsome, reckless <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[24]</a></span>black-eyed son of theirs, +with his fine oval face, his delicate olive features; this young man, +who could not settle down to the restricted forms of commerce possible +in the Ghetto, who was to be Rabbi of the community one day, albeit +his brilliance was occasionally dazzling to the sober tutors upon whom +he flashed his sudden thought, which stirred up that which had better +been left asleep. Why was he not as other sons, why did he pace the +street with unobservant eyes, why did he weep over the profane Hebrew +of the Spanish love-singers as if their songs were <i>Selichoth</i> or +Penitential Verses? Why did he not marry Miriam, as one could see the +girl wished? Why did he set at naught the custom of the Ghetto, in +silently refraining from so obvious a match between the children of +two old friends, equally well-to-do, and both possessing the <i>Jus +Gazzaga</i> or leasehold of the houses in which they lived; tall, quaint +houses, separated only by an ancient building with a carved porch, and +standing at the end of the great Via Rua where it adjoined the narrow +little street, Delle Azzimelle, in which the Passover cakes were made. +Miriam's family, being large, had their house to themselves, but a +good deal of Manasseh's was let out; for room was more and more +precious in the Ghetto, which was a fixed space for an ever-expanding +population.</p> + +<br /> +<h4>II</h4> + +<p>They went to bed. Manasseh insisted upon that. They could not possibly +expect Joseph till the morning. Accustomed as Rachel was to lean upon +her husband's strength, at this moment his strength seemed harshness. +The night was long. A hundred horrid visions passed before her +sleepless eyes. The sun rose upon the Ghetto, striving to <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[25]</a></span>slip its +rays between the high, close-pressed tops of opposite houses. The five +Ghetto gates were thrown open, but Joseph did not come through any. +The Jewish pedlars issued, adjusting their yellow hats, and pushing +before them little barrows laden with special Christmas wares. "<i>Heb, +heb</i>," they shouted as they passed through the streets of Rome. Some +sold simples and philtres, and amulets in the shape of miniature +mandores or four-stringed lutes to preserve children from maladies. +Manasseh, his rugged countenance grown harder, went to his place of +business. He had forbidden any inquiries to be made outside the pale +till later in the day; it would be but to betray to the enemy Joseph's +breach of the law. In the meantime, perhaps, the wanderer would +return. Manasseh's establishment was in the Piazza Giudea. Numerous +shops encumbered the approaches, mainly devoted to the sale of +cast-off raiment, the traffic in new things being prohibited to Jews +by Papal Bull, but anything second-hand might be had here from the +rough costume of a shepherd of Abruzzo to the faded fripperies of a +gentleman of the Court. In the centre a new fountain with two dragons +supplied the Ghetto with water from the Aqueduct of Paul the Fifth in +lieu of the loathly Tiber water, and bore a grateful Latin +inscription. About the edges of the square a few buildings rose in +dilapidated splendor to break the monotony of the Ghetto barracks; the +ancient palace of the Boccapaduli, and a mansion with a high tower and +three abandoned churches. A monumental but forbidding gate, closed at +sundown, gave access to a second Piazza Giudea, where Christians +congregated to bargain with Jews—it was almost a suburb of the +Ghetto. Manasseh had not far to go, for his end of the Via Rua +debouched on the Piazza Giudea; the other end, after running parallel +to the Via Pescheria and the river, bent suddenly near the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[26]</a></span>Gate of +Octavius, and finished on the bridge Quattro Capi. Such was the Ghetto +in the sixteen hundreds.</p> + +<p>Soon after Manasseh had left the house, Miriam came in with anxious +face to inquire if Joseph had returned. It was a beautiful Oriental +face, in whose eyes brooded the light of love and pity, a face of the +type which painters have given to the Madonna when they have +remembered that the Holy Mother was a Jewess. She was clad in a simple +woollen gown, without lace or broidery, her only ornament a silver +bracelet. Rachel wept to tell her the lack of news, but Miriam did not +join in her tears. She besought her to be of good courage.</p> + +<p>And very soon indeed Joseph appeared, with an expression at once +haggard and ecstatic, his black hair and beard unkempt, his eyes +glittering strangely in his flushed olive face, a curious poetic +figure in his reddish-brown mantle and dark yellow cap.</p> + +<p>"<i>Pax vobiscum</i>," he cried, in shrill, jubilant accents.</p> + +<p>"Joseph, what drunken folly is this?" faltered Rachel.</p> + +<p>"<i>Gloria in altissimis Deo</i> and peace on earth to all men of +goodwill," persisted Joseph. "It is Christmas morning, mother." And he +began to troll out the stave of a carol, "Simeon, that good saint of +old—"</p> + +<p>Rachel's hand was clapped rudely over her son's mouth.</p> + +<p>"Blasphemer!" she cried, an ashen gray overspreading her face.</p> + +<p>Joseph gently removed her hand. "It is thou who blasphemest, mother," +he cried. "Rejoice, rejoice, this day the dear Lord Christ was +born—He who was to die for the sins of the world."</p> + +<p>Rachel burst into fresh tears. "Our boy is mad—our boy is mad. What +have they done to him?" All her anticipations of horror were outpassed +by this.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[27]</a></span>Pain shadowed the sweet silence of Miriam's face as she stood in the +recess of the window.</p> + +<p>"Mad! Oh, my mother, I am as one awakened. Rejoice, rejoice with me. +Let us sink ourselves in the universal joy, let us be at one with the +human race."</p> + +<p>Rachel smiled tentatively through her tears. "Enough of this foolery," +she said pleadingly. "It is the feast of Dedication, not of Lots. +There needs no masquerading to-day."</p> + +<p>"Joseph, what ails thee?" interposed the sweet voice of Miriam. "What +hast thou done? Where hast thou been?"</p> + +<p>"Art thou here, Miriam?" His eyes became conscious of her for the +first time. "Would thou hadst been there with me!"</p> + +<p>"Where?"</p> + +<p>"At St. Peter's. Oh, the heavenly music!"</p> + +<p>"At St. Peter's!" repeated Rachel hoarsely. "Thou, my son Joseph, the +student of God's Law, hast defiled thyself thus?"</p> + +<p>"Nay, it is no defilement," interposed Miriam soothingly. "Hast thou +not told us how our fathers went to the Sistine Chapel on Sabbath +afternoons?"</p> + +<p>"Ay, but that was when Michel Angelo Buonarotti was painting his +frescoes of the deliverances of Israel. And they went likewise to see +the figure of our Lawgiver in the Pope's mausoleum. And I have even +heard of Jews who have stolen into St. Peter's itself to gaze on that +twisted pillar from Solomon's temple, which these infidels hold for +our sins. But it is the midnight mass that this Epicurean has been to +hear."</p> + +<p>"Even so," said Joseph in dreamy undertones, "the midnight +mass—incense and lights and the figures of saints, and wonderful +painted windows, and a great multitude of weeping worshippers and +music that wept with them, now <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[28]</a></span>shrill like the passionate cry of +martyrs, now breathing the peace of the Holy Ghost."</p> + +<p>"How didst thou dare show thyself in the cathedral?" whimpered Rachel.</p> + +<p>"Who should dream of a Jew in the immense throng? Outside it was dark, +within it was dim. I hid my face and wept. They looked at the +cardinals in their splendid robes, at the Pope, at the altar. Who had +eyes for me?"</p> + +<p>"But thy yellow cap, Joseph!"</p> + +<p>"One wears not the cap in church, mother."</p> + +<p>"Thou didst blasphemously bare thy head, and in worship?"</p> + +<p>"I did not mean to worship, mother mine. A great curiosity drew me—I +desired to see with my own eyes, and hear with mine own ears, this +adoration of the Christ, at which my teachers scoff. But I was caught +up in a mighty wave of organ-music that surged from this low earth +heavenwards to break against the footstool of God in the crystal +firmament. And suddenly I knew what my soul was pining for. I knew the +meaning of that restless craving that has always devoured me, though I +spake not thereof, those strange hauntings, those dim perceptions—in +a flash I understood the secret of peace."</p> + +<p>"And that is—Joseph?" asked Miriam gently, for Rachel drew such +laboring breath she could not speak.</p> + +<p>"Sacrifice," said Joseph softly, with rapt gaze. "To suffer, to give +one's self freely to the world; to die to myself in delicious pain, +like the last tremulous notes of the sweet boy-voice that had soared +to God in the Magnificat. Oh, Miriam, if I could lead our brethren out +of the Ghetto, if I could die to bring them happiness, to make them +free sons of Rome."</p> + +<p>"A goodly wish, my son, but to be fulfilled by God alone."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[29]</a></span>"Even so. Let us pray for faith. When we are Christians the gates of +the Ghetto will fall."</p> + +<p>"Christians!" echoed Rachel and Miriam in simultaneous horror.</p> + +<p>"Ay, Christians," said Joseph unflinchingly.</p> + +<p>Rachel ran to the door and closed it more tightly. Her limbs shook. +"Hush!" she breathed. "Let thy madness go no further. God of Abraham, +suppose some one should overhear thee and carry thy talk to thy +father." She began to wring her hands.</p> + +<p>"Joseph, bethink thyself," pleaded Miriam, stricken to the heart. "I +am no scholar, I am only a woman. But thou—thou with thy +learning—surely thou hast not been befooled by these jugglers with +the sacred text? Surely thou art able to answer their word-twistings +of our prophets?"</p> + +<p>"Ah, Miriam," replied Joseph tenderly. "Art thou, too, like our +brethren? They do not understand. It is a question of the heart, not +of texts. What is it I feel is the highest, divinest in me? Sacrifice! +Wherefore He who was all sacrifice, all martyrdom, must be divine."</p> + +<p>"Bandy not words with him, Miriam," cried his mother. "Oh, thou +infidel, whom I have begotten for my sins. Why doth not Heaven's fire +blast thee as thou standest there?"</p> + +<p>"Thou talkest of martyrdom, Joseph," cried Miriam, disregarding her. +"It is we Jews who are martyrs, not the Christians. We are penned here +like cattle. We are marked with shameful badges. Our Talmud is burnt. +Our possessions are taxed away from us. We are barred from every +reputable calling. We may not even bury our dead with honor or carve +an epitaph over their graves." The passion in her face matched his. +Her sweetness was exchanged for fire. She had the air of a Judith or a +Jael.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[30]</a></span>"It is our own cowardice that invites the spittle, Miriam. Where is +the spirit of the Maccabæans whom we hymn on this feast of Chanukah? +The Pope issues Bulls, and we submit—outwardly. Our resistance is +silent, sinuous. He ordains yellow hats; we wear yellow hats, but +gradually the yellow darkens; it becomes orange, then ochre, till at +last we go capped in red like so many cardinals, provoking the edict +afresh. We are restricted to one synagogue. We have five for our +different country-folk, but we build them under one roof and call four +of them schools."</p> + +<p>"Hush, thou Jew-hater," cried his mother. "Say not such things aloud. +My God! my God! how have I sinned before Thee?"</p> + +<p>"What wouldst thou have, Joseph?" said Miriam. "One cannot argue with +wolves. We are so few—we must meet them by cunning."</p> + +<p>"Ah, but we set up to be God's witnesses, Miriam. Our creed is naught +but prayer-mumbling and pious mummeries. The Christian Apostles went +through the world testifying. Better a brief heroism than this long +ignominy." He burst into sudden tears and sank into a chair +overwrought.</p> + +<p>Instantly his mother was at his side, bending down, her wet face to +his.</p> + +<p>"Thank Heaven! thank Heaven!" she sobbed. "The madness is over."</p> + +<p>He did not answer her. He had no strength to argue more. There was a +long, strained silence. Presently the mother asked—</p> + +<p>"And where didst thou find shelter for the night?"</p> + +<p>"At the palace of Annibale de' Franchi."</p> + +<p>Miriam started. "The father of the beautiful Helena de' Franchi?" she +asked.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[31]</a></span>"The same," said Joseph flushing.</p> + +<p>"And how camest thou to find protection there, in so noble a house, +under the roof of a familiar of the Pope?"</p> + +<p>"Did I not tell thee, mother, how I did some slight service to his +daughter at the last Carnival, when, adventuring herself masked among +the crowd in the Corso, she was nigh trampled upon by the buffaloes +stampeding from the race-course?"</p> + +<p>"Nay, I remember naught thereof," said Rachel, shaking her head. "But +thou mindest me how these Christians make us race like the beasts."</p> + +<p>He ignored the implied reproach.</p> + +<p>"Signor de' Franchi would have done much for me," he went on. "But I +only begged the run of his great library. Thou knowest how hard it is +for me that the Christians deny us books. And there many a day have I +sat reading till the vesper bell warned me that I must hasten back to +the Ghetto."</p> + +<p>"Ah! 'twas but to pervert thee."</p> + +<p>"Nay, mother, we talked not of religion."</p> + +<p>"And last night thou wast too absorbed in thy reading?" put in Miriam.</p> + +<p>"That is how it came to pass, Miriam."</p> + +<p>"But why did not Helena warn thee?"</p> + +<p>This time it was Joseph that started. But he replied simply—</p> + +<p>"We were reading in Tasso. She hath rare parts. Sometimes she renders +Plato and Sophocles to me."</p> + +<p>"And thou, our future Rabbi, didst listen?" cried Rachel.</p> + +<p>"There is no word of Christianity in these, mother, nor do they +satisfy the soul. Wisely sang Jehudah Halevi, 'Go not near the Grecian +wisdom.'"</p> + +<p>"Didst thou sit near her at the mass?" inquired Miriam.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[32]</a></span>He turned his candid gaze towards her.</p> + +<p>"She did not go," he said.</p> + +<p>Miriam made a sudden movement to the door.</p> + +<p>"Now that thou art safe, Joseph, I have naught further to do here. God +keep thee."</p> + +<p>Her bosom heaved. She hurried out.</p> + +<p>"Poor Miriam!" sighed Rachel. "She is a loving, trustworthy maiden. +She will not breathe a whisper of thy blasphemies."</p> + +<p>Joseph sprang from his feet as if galvanized.</p> + +<p>"Not breathe a whisper! But, mother, I shall shout them from the +housetops."</p> + +<p>"Hush! hush!" breathed his mother in a frenzy of alarm. "The neighbors +will hear thee."</p> + +<p>"It is what I desire."</p> + +<p>"Thy father may come in at any moment to know if thou art safe."</p> + +<p>"I will go allay his anxiety."</p> + +<p>"Nay." She caught him by the mantle. "I will not let thee go. Swear to +me thou wilt spare him thy blasphemies, or he may strike thee dead at +his feet."</p> + +<p>"Wouldst have me lie to him? He must know what I have told thee."</p> + +<p>"No, no; tell him thou wast shut out, that thou didst remain in +hiding."</p> + +<p>"Truth alone is great, mother. I go to bring him the Truth." He tore +his garment from her grasp and rushed without.</p> + +<p>She sat on the floor and rocked to and fro in an agony of +apprehension. The leaden hours crept along. No one came, neither son +nor husband. Terrible images of what was passing between them tortured +her. Towards mid-day she rose and began mechanically preparing her +husband's meal. At the precise minute of year-long habit he came. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[33]</a></span>To +her anxious eye his stern face seemed more pallid than usual, but it +revealed nothing. He washed his hands in ritual silence, made the +blessing, and drew chair to table. A hundred times the question +hovered about Rachel's lips, but it was not till near the end of the +meal that she ventured to say, "Our son is back. Hast thou not seen +him?"</p> + +<p>"Son? What son? We have no son." He finished his meal.</p> + +<br /> +<h4>III</h4> + +<p>The scholarly apostle, thus disowned by his kith and kin, was eagerly +welcomed by Holy Church, the more warmly that he had come of his own +inward grace and refused the tribute of annual crowns with which the +Popes often rewarded true religion—at the expense of the Ghetto, +which had to pay these incomes to its recreants. It was the fashion to +baptize converted Jews in batches—for the greater glory—procuring +them from without when home-made catechumens were scarce, sometimes +serving them up with a proselyte Turk. But in view of the importance +of the accession, and likewise of the closeness of Epiphany, it was +resolved to give Joseph ben Manasseh the honor of a solitary baptism. +The intervening days he passed in a monastery, studying his new faith, +unable to communicate with his parents or his fellow Jews, even had he +or they wished. A cardinal's edict forbade him to return to the +Ghetto, to eat, drink, sleep, or speak with his race during the period +of probation; the whip, the cord, awaited its violation. By day Rachel +and Miriam walked in the precincts of the monastery, hoping to catch +sight of him; nearer than ninety cubits they durst not approach under +pain of bastinado and exile. A word to him, a message <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[34]</a></span>that might have +softened him, a plea that might have turned him back—and the offender +was condemned to the galleys for life.</p> + +<p>Epiphany arrived. A great concourse filled the Basilica di Latran. The +Pope himself was present, and amidst scarlet pomp and swelling music, +Joseph, thrilled to the depths of his being, received the sacraments. +Annibale de' Franchi, whose proud surname was henceforth to be +Joseph's, stood sponsor. The presiding cardinal in his solemn sermon +congratulated the congregants on the miracle which had taken place +under their very eyes, and then, attired in white satin, the neophyte +was slowly driven through the streets of Rome that all might witness +how a soul had been saved for the true faith. And in the ecstasy of +this union with the human brotherhood and the divine fatherhood, and +with Christ, its symbol, Giuseppe de' Franchi saw not the dark, +haggard faces of his brethren in the crowd, the hate that smouldered +in their dusky eyes as the festal procession passed by. Nor while he +knelt before crucifix and image that night, did he dream of that other +ceremonial in the Synagogue of the Piazza of the Temple, half-way from +the river; a scene more impressive in its sombreness than all the +splendor of the church pageant.</p> + +<p>The synagogue was a hidden building, indistinguishable externally from +the neighboring houses; within, gold and silver glistened in the +pomegranates and bells of the Scrolls of the Law or in the broidery of +the curtain that covered the Ark; the glass of one of the windows, +blazing with a dozen colors for the Twelve Tribes, represented the +Urim and the Thummim. In the courtyard stood a model of the ancient +Temple of Jerusalem, furnished with marvellous detail, memorial of +lost glories.</p> + +<p>The Council of Sixty had spoken. Joseph ben Manasseh was to suffer the +last extremity of the Jewish law. All <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[35]</a></span>Israel was called together to +the Temple. An awful air of dread hung over the assemblage; in a +silence as of the grave each man upheld a black torch that flared +weirdly in the shadows of the synagogue. A ram's horn sounded shrill +and terrible, and to its elemental music the anathema was launched, +the appalling curse withdrawing every human right from the outlaw, +living or dead, and the congregants, extinguishing their torches, +cried, "Amen." And in a spiritual darkness as black, Manasseh tottered +home to sit with his wife on the floor and bewail the death of their +Joseph, while a death-light glimmering faintly swam on a bowl of oil, +and the prayers for the repose of the soul of the deceased rose +passionately on the tainted Ghetto air. And Miriam, her Madonna-like +face wet with hot tears, burnt the praying-shawl she was weaving in +secret love for the man who might one day have loved her, and went to +condole with the mourners, holding Rachel's rugged hand in those soft, +sweet fingers that no lover would ever clasp.</p> + +<p>But Rachel wept for her child, and would not be comforted.</p> + +<br /> +<h4>IV</h4> + +<p>Helena de' Franchi gave the news of the ban to Giuseppe de' Franchi. +She had learned it from one of her damsels, who had had it from +Shloumi the Droll, a graceless, humorous rogue, steering betwixt Jews +and Christians his shifty way to profit.</p> + +<p>Giuseppe smiled a sweet smile that hovered on the brink of tears. +"They know not what they do," he said.</p> + +<p>"Thy parents mourn thee as dead."</p> + +<p>"They mourn the dead Jew; the living Christian's love shall comfort +them."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[36]</a></span>"But thou mayst not approach them, nor they thee."</p> + +<p>"By faith are mountains moved; my spirit embraces theirs. We shall yet +rejoice together in the light of the Saviour, for weeping may endure +for a night, but joy cometh in the morning." His pale face gleamed +with celestial radiance.</p> + +<p>Helena surveyed him in wondering compassion. "Thou art strangely +possessed, Ser Giuseppe," she said.</p> + +<p>"It is not strange, Signora, it is all simple—like a child's +thought," he said, meeting her limpid eyes with his profound mystic +gaze.</p> + +<p>She was tall and fair, more like those Greek statues which the +sculptors of her day imitated than like a Roman maiden. A simple dress +of white silk revealed the beautiful curves of her figure. Through the +great oriel window near which they stood the cold sunshine touched her +hair and made spots of glory on the striped beast-skins that covered +the floor, and on the hanging tapestries. The pictures and ivories, +the manuscripts and the busts all contributed to make the apartment a +harmonious setting for her noble figure. As he looked at her he +trembled.</p> + +<p>"And what is thy life to be henceforward?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"Surrender, sacrifice," he said half in a whisper. "My parents are +right. Joseph is dead. His will is God's, his heart is Christ's. There +is no life for me but service."</p> + +<p>"And whom wilt thou serve?"</p> + +<p>"My brethren, Signora."</p> + +<p>"They reject thee."</p> + +<p>"I do not reject them."</p> + +<p>She was silent for a moment. Then more passionately she cried: "But, +Ser Giuseppe, thou wilt achieve nothing. A hundred generations have +failed to move them. The Bulls of all the Popes have left them +stubborn."</p> + +<p>"No one has tried Love, Signora."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[37]</a></span>"Thou wilt throw away thy life."</p> + +<p>He smiled wistfully. "Thou forgettest I am dead."</p> + +<p>"Thou art not dead—the sap is in thy veins. The spring-time of the +year comes. See how the sun shines already in the blue sky. Thou shalt +not die—it is thine to be glad in the sun and in the fairness of +things."</p> + +<p>"The sunshine is but a symbol of the Divine Love, the pushing buds but +prefigure the Resurrection and the Life."</p> + +<p>"Thou dreamest, Giuseppe mio. Thou dreamest with those wonderful eyes +of thine open. I do not understand this Love of thine that turns from +things earthly, that rends thy father's and mother's heart in twain."</p> + +<p>His eyes filled with tears. "Pazienza! earthly things are but as +shadows that pass. It is thou that dreamest, Signora. Dost thou not +feel the transitoriness of it all—yea, even of this solid-seeming +terrestrial plain and yon overhanging roof and the beautiful lights +set therein for our passing pleasure! This sun which swims daily +through the firmament is but a painted phantasm compared with the +eternal rock of Christ's Love."</p> + +<p>"Thy words are tinkling cymbals to me, Ser Giuseppe."</p> + +<p>"They are those of thy faith, Signora."</p> + +<p>"Nay, not of my faith," she cried vehemently. "Thou knowest I am no +Christian at heart. Nay, nor are any of our house, though they +perceive it not. My father fasts at Lent, but it is the Pagan +Aristotle that nourishes his thought. Rome counts her beads and +mumbles her paternosters, but she has outgrown the primitive faith in +Renunciation. Our pageants and processions, our splendid feasts, our +gorgeous costumes, what have these to do with the pale Christ, whom +thou wouldst foolishly emulate?"</p> + +<p>"Then there is work for me to do, even among the Christians," he said +mildly.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[38]</a></span>"Nay, it is but mischief thou wouldst do, with thy passionless ghost +of a creed. It is the artists who have brought back joy to the world, +who have perceived the soul of beauty in all things. And though they +have feigned to paint the Holy Family and the Crucifixion and the Dead +Christ and the Last Supper, it is the loveliness of life that has +inspired their art. Yea, even from the prayerful Giotto downwards, it +is the pride of life, it is the glory of the human form, it is the joy +of color, it is the dignity of man, it is the adoration of the Muses. +Ay, and have not our nobles had themselves painted as Apostles, have +they not intruded their faces into sacred scenes, have they not +understood for what this religious art was a pretext? Is not Rome full +of Pagan art? Were not the Laocoon and the Cleopatra and the Venus +placed in the very orange garden of the Vatican?"</p> + +<p>"Natheless it is the Madonna and the Child that your painters have +loved best to paint."</p> + +<p>"'Tis but Venus and Cupid over again."</p> + +<p>"Nay, these sneers belie the noble Signora de' Franchi. Thou canst not +be blind to the divine aspiration that lay behind a Madonna of Sandro +Botticelli."</p> + +<p>"Thou hast not seen his frescoes in the Villa Lemmi, outside Firenze, +the dainty grace of his forms, the charming color, else thou wouldst +understand that it was not spiritual beauty alone that his soul +coveted."</p> + +<p>"But Raffaello da Urbino, but Leonardo—"</p> + +<p>"Leonardo," she repeated. "Hast thou seen his Bacchus, or his +battle-fresco? Knowest thou the later work of Raffaello? And what +sayest thou to our Fra Lippo Lippi? A Christian monk he, forsooth! +What sayest thou to Giorgione of Venice and his pupils, to this +efflorescence of loveliness, to our statuaries and our builders, to +our goldsmiths and musicians? Ah, we have <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[39]</a></span>rediscovered the secret of +Greece. It is Homer that we love, it is Plato, it is the noble +simplicity of Sophocles; our Dante lied when he said it was Virgil who +was his guide. The poet of Mantua never led mortal to those dolorous +regions. He sings of flocks and bees, of birds and running brooks, and +the simple loves of shepherds; and we listen to him again and breathe +the sweet country air, the sweeter for the memory of those hell-fumes +which have poisoned life for centuries. Apollo is Lord, not Christ."</p> + +<p>"It is Apollyon who tempts Rome thus with the world and the flesh."</p> + +<p>"Thou hast dethroned thy reason, Messer Giuseppe. Thou knowest these +things dignify, not degrade our souls. Hast thou not thrilled with me +at the fairness of a pictured face, at the glow of luminous color, at +the white radiance of a statue?"</p> + +<p>"I sinned if I loved beauty for itself alone, and—forgive me if I +wound thee, lady—this worship of beauty is for the rich, the +well-fed, the few. What of the poor and the down-trodden who weep in +darkness? What comfort holds thy creed for such? All these wonders of +the human hand and the human brain are as straws weighed against a +pure heart, a righteous deed. The ages of Art have always been the +ages of abomination, Signora. It is not in cunning but in simplicity +that our Lord is revealed. Unless ye become as little children, ye +shall not enter the Kingdom of Heaven."</p> + +<p>"Heaven is here." Her eyes gleamed. Her bosom heaved. The fire of her +glance passed to his. Her loveliness troubled him, the matchless face +and form that now blent the purity of a statue with the warmth of +living woman.</p> + +<p>"Verily, where Christ is Heaven is. Thou hast moved in such splendor +of light, Signora de' Franchi, thou dost <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[40]</a></span>not realize thy privilege. +But I, who have always walked in darkness, am as a blind man restored +to sight. I was ambitious, lustful, torn by doubts and questionings; +now I am bathed in the divine peace, all my questions answered, my +riotous blood assuaged. Love, love, that is all; the surrender of +one's will to the love that moves the sun and all the stars, as your +Dante says. And sun and stars do but move to this end, Signora—that +human souls may be born and die to live, in oneness with Love. Oh, my +brethren"—he stretched out his arms yearningly, and his eyes and his +voice were full of tears—"why do ye haggle in the market-place? Why +do ye lay up store of gold and silver? Why do ye chase the futile +shadows of earthly joy? This, this is the true ecstasy, to give +yourself up to God, all in all, to ask only to be the channel of His +holy will."</p> + +<p>Helena's face was full of a grave wonder; for a moment an answering +light was reflected on it as though she yearned for the strange +raptures she could not understand.</p> + +<p>"All this is sheer folly. Thy brethren hear thee now as little as they +will ever hear thee."</p> + +<p>"I shall pray night and day that my lips may be touched with the +sacred fire."</p> + +<p>"Love, too, is a sacred fire. Dost thou purpose to live without that?" +She drew nearer. Her breath stirred the black lock on his forehead. He +moved back a pace, thrilling.</p> + +<p>"I shall have divine Love, Signora."</p> + +<p>"Thou art bent on becoming a Dominican?"</p> + +<p>"I am fixed."</p> + +<p>"The cloister will content thee?"</p> + +<p>"It will be Heaven."</p> + +<p>"Ay, where there is no marrying nor giving in marriage. What +Samson-creed is this that pulls down the pillars of human society?"</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[41]</a></span>"Nay, marriage is in the scheme. 'Tis the symbol of a diviner union. +But it is not for all men. It is not for those who symbolize divine +things otherwise, who typify to their fellow-men the flesh crucified, +the soul sublimed. It is not for priests."</p> + +<p>"But thou art not a priest."</p> + +<p>"'Tis a question of days. But were I even refused orders I should +still remain celibate."</p> + +<p>"Still remain celibate! Wherefore?"</p> + +<p>"Because mine own people are cut off from me. And were I to marry a +Christian, like so many Jewish converts, the power of my example would +be lost. They would say of me, as they say of them, that it was not +the light of Christ but a Christian maiden's eyes that dazzled and +drew. They are hard; they do not believe in the possibility of a true +conversion. Others have enriched themselves by apostasy, or, being +rich, have avoided impoverishing mulcts and taxes. But I have lost all +my patrimony, and I will accept nothing. That is why I refused thy +father's kind offices, the place in the Seal-office, or even the +humbler position of mace-bearer to his Holiness. When my brethren see, +moreover, that I force from them no pension nor moneys, not even a +white farthing, that I even preach to them without wage, verily for +the love of Heaven, as your idiom hath it, when they see that I live +pure and lonely, then they will listen to me. Perchance their hearts +will be touched and their eyes opened." His face shone with wan +radiance. That was, indeed, the want, he felt sure. No Jew had ever +stood before his brethren an unimpeachable Christian, above suspicion, +without fear, and without reproach. Oh, happy privilege to fill this +apostolic rôle!</p> + +<p>"But suppose—" Helena hesitated; then lifting her lovely eyes to meet +his in fearless candor, "she whom you loved were no Christian."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[42]</a></span>He trembled, clenching his hands to drive back the mad wave of earthly +emotion that flooded him, as the tide swells to the moon, under the +fervor of her eyes.</p> + +<p>"I should kill my love all the same," he said hoarsely. "The Jews are +hard. They will not make fine distinctions. They know none but Jews +and Christians."</p> + +<p>"Methinks I see my father galloping up the street," said Helena, +turning to the oriel window. "That should be his feather and his brown +Turkey horse. But the sun dazzles my eyes! I will leave thee."</p> + +<p>She passed to the door without looking at him. Then turning suddenly +so that his own eyes were dazzled, she said—</p> + +<p>"My heart is with thee whatsoever thou choosest. Only bethink thee +well, ere thou donnest cowl and gown, that unlovely costume which, to +speak after thine own pattern, symbolizes all that is unlovely. +<i>Addio!</i>"</p> + +<p>He followed her and took her hand, and, bending down, kissed it +reverently. She did not withdraw it.</p> + +<p>"Hast thou the strength for the serge and the cord, Giuseppe mio?" she +asked softly.</p> + +<p>He drew himself up, holding her hand in his.</p> + +<p>"Yes," he said. "Thou shalt inspire me, Helena. The thought of thy +radiant purity shall keep me pure and unfaltering."</p> + +<p>A fathomless expression crossed Helena's face. She drew away her hand.</p> + +<p>"I cannot inspire to death," she said. "I can only inspire to life."</p> + +<p>He closed his eyes in ecstatic vision. "'Tis not death. He is the +Resurrection and the Life," he murmured.</p> + +<p>When he opened his eyes she was gone. He fell on his knees in a +passion of prayer, in the agony of the crucifixion of the flesh.</p> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[43]</a></span><br /> +<h4>V</h4> + +<p>During his novitiate, before he had been admitted to monastic vows, he +preached a trial "Sermon to the Jews" in a large oratory near the +Ghetto. A church would have been contaminated by the presence of +heretics, and even from the Oratory any religious objects that lay +about had been removed. There was a goodly array of fashionable +Christians, resplendent in gold-fringed mantles and silk-ribboned +hats; for he was rumored eloquent, and Annibale de' Franchi was there +in pompous presidency. One Jew came—Shloumi the Droll, relying on his +ability to wriggle out of the infraction of the ban, and earn a meal +or two by reporting the proceedings to the <i>fattori</i> and the other +dignitaries of the Ghetto, whose human curiosity might be safely +counted upon. Shloumi was rich in devices. Had he not even for months +flaunted a crimson cap in the eye of Christendom, and had he not when +at last brought before the Caporioni, pleaded that this was merely an +ostensive sample of the hats he was selling, his true yellow hat being +unintentionally hidden beneath? But Giuseppe de' Franchi rejoiced at +the sight of him now.</p> + +<p>"He is a gossip, he will scatter the seed," he thought.</p> + +<p>Late in the afternoon of the next day the preacher was walking in the +Via Lepida, near the Monastery of St. Dominic. There was a touch on +his mantle. He turned. "Miriam!" he cried, shrinking back.</p> + +<p>"Why shrinkest thou from me, Joseph?"</p> + +<p>"Knowest thou not I am under the ban? Look, is not that a Jew yonder +who regards us?"</p> + +<p>"I care not. I have a word to say to thee."</p> + +<p>"But thou wilt be accursed."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[44]</a></span>"I have a word to say to thee."</p> + +<p>His eyes lit up. "Ah, thou believest!" he cried exultantly. "Thou hast +found grace."</p> + +<p>"Nay, Joseph, that will never be. I love our fathers' faith. Methinks +I have understood it better than thou, though I have not dived like +thee into holy lore. It is by the heart alone that I understand."</p> + +<p>"Then why dost thou come? Let us turn down towards the Coliseum. 'Tis +quieter, and less frequented of our brethren."</p> + +<p>They left the busy street with its bustle of coaches, and +water-carriers with their asses, and porters, and mounted nobles with +trains of followers, and swash-buckling swordsmen, any of whom might +have insulted Miriam, conspicuous by her beauty and by the square of +yellow cloth, a palm and a half wide, set above her coiffure. They +walked on in silence till they came to the Arch of Titus. +Involuntarily both stopped, for by reason of the Temple candlestick +that figured as spoil in the carving of the Triumph of Titus, no Jew +would pass under it. Titus and his empire had vanished, but the Jew +still hugged his memories and his dreams.</p> + +<p>An angry sulphur sunset, streaked with green, hung over the ruined +temples of the ancient gods and the grass-grown fora of the Romans. It +touched with a glow as of blood the highest fragment of the Coliseum +wall, behind which beasts and men had made sport for the Masters of +the World. The rest of the Titanic ruin seemed in shadow.</p> + +<p>"Is it well with my parents?" said Joseph at last.</p> + +<p>"Hast thou the face to ask? Thy mother weeps all day, save when thy +father is at home. Then she makes herself as stony as he. He—an elder +of the synagogue!—thou hast brought down his gray hairs in sorrow to +the grave."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[45]</a></span>He swallowed a sob. Then, with something of his father's stoniness, +"Suffering chastens, Miriam," he said. "It is God's weapon."</p> + +<p>"Accuse not God of thy cruelty. I hate thee." She went on rapidly, "It +is rumored in the Ghetto thou art to be a friar of St. Dominic. +Shloumi the Droll brought the news."</p> + +<p>"It is so, Miriam. I am to take the vows at once."</p> + +<p>"But how canst thou become a priest? Thou lovest a woman."</p> + +<p>He stopped in his walk, startled.</p> + +<p>"What sayest thou, Miriam?"</p> + +<p>"Nay, this is no time for denials. I know her. I know thy love for +her. It is Helena de' Franchi."</p> + +<p>He was white and agitated. "Nay, I love no woman."</p> + +<p>"Thou lovest Helena."</p> + +<p>"How knowest thou that?"</p> + +<p>"I am a woman."</p> + +<p>They walked on silently.</p> + +<p>"And this is what thou camest to say?"</p> + +<p>"Nay, this. Thou must marry her and be happy."</p> + +<p>"I—I cannot, Miriam. Thou dost not understand."</p> + +<p>"Not understand! I can read thee as thou readest the Law—without +vowels. Thou thinkest we Jews will point the finger of scorn at thee, +that we will say it was Helena thou didst love, not the Crucified One, +that we will not listen to thy gospel."</p> + +<p>"But is it not so?"</p> + +<p>"It is so."</p> + +<p>"Then—"</p> + +<p>"But it will be so, do what thou wilt. Cut thyself into little pieces +and we would not believe in thee or thy gospel. I alone have faith in +thy sincerity, and to me thou art as one mad with over-study. Joseph, +thy dream is <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[46]</a></span>vain. The Jews hate thee. They call thee Haman. +Willingly would they see thee hanged on a high tree. Thy memory will +be an execration to the third and fourth generation. Thou wilt no more +move them than the seven hills of Rome. They have stood too long."</p> + +<p>"Ay, they have stood like stones. I will melt them. I will save them."</p> + +<p>"Thou wilt destroy them. Save rather thyself—wed this woman and be +happy."</p> + +<p>He looked at her.</p> + +<p>"Be happy," she repeated. "Do not throw away thy life for a vain +shadow. Be happy. It is my last word to thee. Henceforth, as a true +daughter of Judah, I obey the ban, and were I a mother in Israel my +children should be taught to hate thee even as I do. Peace be with +thee!"</p> + +<p>He caught at her gown. "Go not without my thanks, though I must reject +thy counsel. To-morrow I am admitted into the Brotherhood of +Righteousness." In the fading light his face shone weird and unearthly +amid the raven hair. "But why didst thou risk thy good name to tell me +thou hatest me?"</p> + +<p>"Because I love thee. Farewell."</p> + +<p>She sped away.</p> + +<p>He stretched out his arms after her. His eyes were blind with mist. +"Miriam, Miriam!" he cried. "Come back, thou too art a Christian! Come +back, my sweet sister in Christ!"</p> + +<p>A drunken Dominican lurched into his open arms.</p> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[47]</a></span><br /> +<h4>VI</h4> + +<p>The Jews would not come to hear Fra Giuseppe. All his impassioned +spirituality was wasted on an audience of Christians and oft-converted +converts. Baffled, he fell back on scholastic argumentation, but in +vain did he turn the weapons of Talmudic dialectic against the +Talmudists themselves. Not even his discovery by cabbalistic +calculations that the Pope's name and office were predicted in the Old +Testament availed to draw the Jews, and it was only in the streets +that he came upon the scowling faces of his brethren. For months he +preached in patient sweetness, then one day, desperate and unstrung, +he sought an interview with the Pope, to petition that the Jews might +be commanded to come to his sermons; he found the Pontiff in bed, +unwell, but chatting blithely with the Bishop of Salamanca and the +Procurator of the Exchequer, apparently of a droll mishap that had +befallen the French Legate. It was a pale scholarly face that lay back +on the white pillow under the purple skull-cap, but it was not devoid +of the stronger lines of action. Giuseppe stood timidly at the door, +till the Wardrobe-Keeper, a gentleman of noble family, told him to +advance. He moved forward reverently, and kneeling down kissed the +Pope's feet. Then he rose and proffered his request. But the ruler of +Christendom frowned. He was a scholar and a gentleman, a great patron +of letters and the arts. Wiser than that of temporal kings, his Jewish +policy had always been comparatively mild. It was his foreign policy +that absorbed his zeal, considerably to the prejudice of his +popularity at home. While Giuseppe de' Franchi was pleading +desperately to a bored Prelate, explaining how he could solve the +Jewish question, how he could play upon his brethren as <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[48]</a></span>David upon +the harp, if he could only get them under the spell of his voice, a +gentleman of the bed-chamber brought in a refection on a silver tray, +the Preguste tasted of the food to ensure its freedom from poison, +though it came from the Papal kitchen, and at a sign from his +Holiness, Giuseppe had to stand aside. And ere the Pope had finished +there were other interruptions; the chief of his band of musicians +came for instructions for the concert at his Ferragosto on the first +of August; and—most vexatious of all—a couple of goldsmiths came +with their work, and with rival models of a button for the Pontifical +cope. Giuseppe fumed and fretted while the Holy Father put on his +spectacles to examine the great silver vase which was to receive the +droppings from his table, its richly chased handles and its festoons +of acanthus leaves, and its ingenious masks; and its fellow which was +to stand in his cupboard and hold water, and had a beautiful design +representing St. Ambrogio on horseback routing the Arians. And when +one of the jewellers had been dismissed, laden with ducats by the +Pope's datary, the other remained an intolerable time, for it appeared +his Holiness was mightily pleased with his wax model, marvelling how +cunningly the artist had represented God the Father in bas-relief, +sitting in an easy attitude, and how elegantly he had set the fine +edge of the biggest diamond exactly in the centre. "Speed the work, my +son," said His Holiness, dismissing him at last, "for I would wear the +button myself before I die." Then, raising a beaming face, "Wouldst +thou aught further with me, Fra Giuseppe? Ah, I recall! Thou yearnest +to preach to thy stiff-necked kinsmen. <i>Ebbene</i>, 'tis a worthy +ambition. Luigi, remember me to-morrow to issue a Bull."</p> + +<p>With sudden-streaming eyes the Friar fell at the Pontiff's feet again, +kissing them and murmuring incoherent thanks. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[49]</a></span>Then he bowed his way +out, and hastened back joyfully to the convent.</p> + +<p>The Bull duly appeared. The Jews were to attend his next sermon. He +awaited the Sabbath afternoon in a frenzy of spiritual ecstasy. He +prepared a wonderful sermon. The Jews would not dare to disobey the +Edict. It was too definite. It could not be evaded. And their +apathetic resistance never came till later, after an obedient start. +The days passed. The Bull had not been countermanded, although he was +aware backstairs influence had been tried by the bankers of the +community; it had not even been modified under the pretence of +defining it, as was the manner of Popes with too rigorous Bulls. No, +nothing could save the Jews from his sermon.</p> + +<p>On the Thursday a plague broke out in the Ghetto; on the Friday a +tenth of the population was dead. Another overflow of the Tiber had +co-operated with the malarious effluvia of those congested alleys, +those strictly limited houses swarming with multiplying broods. On the +Saturday the gates of the Ghetto were officially closed. The plague +was shut in. For three months the outcasts of humanity were pent in +their pestiferous prison day and night to live or die as they chose. +When at length the Ghetto was opened and disinfected, it was the dead, +not the living, that were crowded.</p> + +<br /> +<h4>VII</h4> + +<p>Joseph the Dreamer was half stunned by this second blow to his dreams. +An earthly anxiety he would not avow to himself consumed him during +the progress of the plague, which in spite of all efforts escaped from +the Ghetto as if to punish those who had produced the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[50]</a></span>conditions of +its existence. But his anxiety was not for himself—it was for his +mother and father, it was for the noble Miriam. When he was not in +fearless attendance upon plague-stricken Christians he walked near the +city of the dead, whence no news could come. When at last he learned +that his dear ones were alive, another blow fell. The Bull was still +to be enforced, but the Pope's ear was tenderer to the survivors. He +respected their hatred of Fra Giuseppe, their protest that they would +more willingly hear any other preacher. The duty was to be undertaken +by his brother Dominicans in turn. Giuseppe alone was forbidden to +preach. In vain he sought to approach his Holiness; he was denied +access. Thus began that strange institution, the Predica Coattiva, the +forced sermon.</p> + +<p>Every Sabbath after their own synagogue sermon, a third of the +population of the Ghetto, including all children above the age of +twelve, had to repair in turn to receive the Antidote at the Church of +San Benedetto Alla Regola, specially set apart for them, where a friar +gave a true interpretation of the Old Testament portion read by their +own cantor. His Holiness, ever more considerate than his inferiors, +had enjoined the preachers to avoid the names of Jesus and the Holy +Virgin, so offensive to Jewish ears, or to pronounce them in low +tones; but the spirit of these recommendations was forgotten by the +occupants of the pulpit with a congregation at their mercy to bully +and denounce with all the savage resources of rhetoric. Many Jews +lagged reluctant on the road churchwards. A posse of police with whips +drove them into the holy fold. This novel church procession of men, +women, and children grew to be one of the spectacles of Rome. A new +pleasure had been invented for the mob. These compulsory services +involved no small expense. By a refinement of humor the Jews had to +pay for their own conversion. Evasion of the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[51]</a></span>sermon was impossible; a +register placed at the door of the church kept account of the +absentees, whom fine and imprisonment chastised. To keep this register +a neophyte was needed, one who knew each individual personally and +could expose substitutes. What better man than the new brother? In +vain Giuseppe protested. The Prior would not hearken. And so in lieu +of offering the sublime spectacle of an unpaid apostleship, the +powerless instigator of the mischief, bent over his desk, certified +the identity of the listless arrivals by sidelong peeps, conscious +that he was adding the pain of contact with an excommunicated Jew to +the sufferings of his brethren, for whose Sabbath his writing-pen was +shamelessly expressing his contempt. Many a Sabbath he saw his father, +a tragic, white-haired wreck, touched up with a playful whip to urge +him faster towards the church door. It was Joseph whom that whip stung +most. When the official who was charged to see that the congregants +paid attention, and especially that they did not evade the sermon by +slumber, stirred up Rachel with an iron rod, her unhappy son broke +into a cold sweat. When, every third Sabbath, Miriam passed before his +desk with steadfast eyes of scorn, he was in an ague, a fever of hot +and cold. His only consolation was to see rows of devout faces +listening for the first time in their life to the gospel. At least he +had achieved something. Even Shloumi the Droll had grown regenerate; +he listened to the preachers with sober reverence.</p> + +<p>Joseph the Dreamer did not know that, adopting the whimsical device +hit on by Shloumi, all these devout Jews had wadding stuffed deep into +their ears.</p> + +<p>But, meanwhile, in other pulpits, Fra Giuseppe was gaining great fame. +Christians came from far and near to hear him. He went about among the +people and they grew to love him. He preached at executions, his black +mantle <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[52]</a></span>and white scapulary were welcomed in loathsome dungeons, he +absolved the dying, he exorcised demons. But there was one sinner he +could not absolve, neither by hair-shirt nor flagellation, and that +was himself. And there was one demon he could not exorcise—that in +his own breast, the tribulation of his own soul, bruising itself +perpetually against the realities of life and as torn now by the +shortcomings of Christendom as formerly by those of the Ghetto.</p> + +<br /> +<h4>VIII</h4> + +<p>It was the Carnival week again—the mad blaspheming week of revelry +and devilry. The streets were rainbow with motley wear and thunderous +with the roar and laughter of the crowd, recruited by a vast inflow of +strangers; from the windows and roofs, black with heads, frolicsome +hands threw honey, dirty water, rotten eggs, and even boiling oil upon +the pedestrians and cavaliers below. Bloody tumults broke out, +sacrilegious masqueraders invaded the churches. They lampooned all +things human and divine; the whip and the gallows liberally applied +availed naught to check the popular licence. Every prohibitory edict +became a dead letter. In such a season the Jews might well tremble, +made over to the facetious Christian; always excellent whetstones for +wit, they afforded peculiar diversion in Carnival times. On the first +day a deputation of the chief Jews, including the three gonfaloniers +and the rabbis, headed the senatorial <i>cortége</i>, and, attired in a +parti-colored costume of red and yellow, marched across the whole +city, from the Piazza of the People to the Capitol, through a double +fire of scurrilities. Arrived at the Capitol, the procession marched +into the Hall of the Throne, where the three Conservators and the +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[53]</a></span>Prior of the Caporioni sat on crimson velvet seats with the fiscal +advocate of the Capitol in his black toga and velvet cap. The Chief +Rabbi knelt upon the first step of the throne, and, bending his +venerable head to the ground, pronounced a traditional formula: "Full +of respect and of devotion for the Roman people, we, chiefs and rabbis +of the humble Jewish community, present ourselves before the exalted +throne of Your Eminences to offer them respectfully fidelity and +homage in the name of our co-religionists, and to implore their +benevolent commiseration. For us, we shall not fail to supplicate the +Most High to accord peace and a long tranquillity to the Sovereign +Pontiff, who reigns for the happiness of all; to the Apostolic Holy +Seat, as well as to Your Eminences, to the most illustrious Senate, +and to the Roman people."</p> + +<p>To which the Chief of the Conservators replied: "We accept with +pleasure the homage of fidelity, of vassalage, and of respect, the +expression of which you renew to-day in the name of the entire Jewish +community, and, assured that you will respect the laws and orders of +the Senate, and that you will pay, as in the past, the tribute and the +dues which are incumbent upon you, we accord you our protection in the +hope that you will know how to make yourself worthy of it." Then, +placing his foot upon the Rabbi's neck, he cried: "Andate!" (Begone!)</p> + +<p>Rising, the Rabbi presented the Conservators with a bouquet and a cup +containing twenty crowns, and offered to decorate the platform of the +Senator on the Piazza of the People. And then the deputation passed +again in its motley gear through the swarming streets of buffoons, +through the avenue of scurrilities, to renew its hypocritical +protestations before the throne of the Senator.</p> + +<p>Mock processions parodied this march of Jews. The fishmongers, who, +from their proximity to the Ghetto, were <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[54]</a></span>aware of its customs, +enriched the Carnival with divers other parodies; now it was a +travesty of a rabbi's funeral, now a long cavalcade of Jews galloping +upon asses, preceded by a mock rabbi on horseback, with his head to +the steed's tail, which he grasped with one hand, while with the other +he offered an imitation Scroll of the Law to the derision of the mob. +Truly, the baiting of the Jews added rare spice to the fun of the +Carnival; their hats were torn off, filth was thrown in their faces. +This year the Governor of Rome had interfered, forbidding anything to +be thrown at them except fruit. A noble marquis won facetious fame by +pelting them with pineapples. But it was not till the third day, after +the asses and buffaloes had raced, that the Jews touched the extreme +of indignity, for this was the day of the Jew races.</p> + +<p>The morning dawned blue and cold; but soon the clouds gathered, and +the jostling revellers scented with joy the prospect of rain. At the +Arch of San Lorenza, in Lucina, in the long narrow street of the Via +Corso, where doorways and casements and roofs and footways were agrin +with faces, half a dozen Jews or so were assembled pell-mell. They had +just been given a hearty meal, but they did not look grateful. Almost +naked, save for a white cloak of the meagrest dimensions, comically +indecent, covered with tinsel and decorated with laurels, they stood +shivering, awaiting the command to "Go!" to run the gauntlet of all +this sinister crowd, overwelling with long-repressed venom, seething +with taunts and lewdness. At last a mounted officer gave the word, +and, amid a colossal shout of glee from the mob, the half-naked, +grotesque figures, with their strange Oriental faces of sorrow, +started at a wild run down the Corso. The goal was the Castle of St. +Angelo. Originally the race-course ended with the Corso, but it had +been considerably lengthened to gratify a recent Pope who <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[55]</a></span>wished to +have the finish under his windows as he sat in his semi-secret Castle +chamber amid the frescoed nudes of Giulio Romano. Fast, fast flew the +racers, for the sooner the goal was reached the sooner would they find +respite from this hail of sarcasm mixed with weightier stones, and +these frequent proddings from the lively sticks of the bystanders, or +of the fine folk obstructing the course in coaches in defiance of +edict. And to accelerate their pace still further, the mounted +officer, with a squad of soldiers armed <i>cap-à-pie</i>, galloped at their +heels, ever threatening to ride them down. They ran, ran, puffing, +panting, sweating, apoplectic; for to the end that they might nigh +burst with stitches in the side had a brilliant organizer of the +<i>fête</i> stuffed them full with preliminary meat. Oh, droll! oh, +delicious! oh, rare for Antony! And now a young man noticeable by his +emaciated face and his premature baldness was drawing to the front +amid ironic cheers. When the grotesque racers had passed by, noble +cavaliers displayed their dexterity at the quintain, and beautiful +ladies at the balconies—not masked, as in France, but radiantly +revealed—changed their broad smiles to the subtler smiles of +dalliance. And then suddenly the storm broke—happy ally of the +<i>fête</i>—jocosely drenching the semi-nude runners. On, on they sped, +breathless, blind, gasping, befouled by mud, and bruised by missiles, +with the horses' hoofs grazing their heels; on, on along the thousand +yards of the endless course; on, on, sodden and dripping and +stumbling. They were nearing the goal. They had already passed San +Marco, the old goal. The young Jew was still leading, but a fat old +Jew pressed him close. The excitement of the crowd redoubled. A +thousand mocking voices encouraged the rivals. They were on the +bridge. The Castle of St. Angelo, whose bastions were named after the +Apostles, was in sight. The fat old Jew drew closer, anxious, now +that <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[56]</a></span>he was come so far, to secure the thirty-six crowns that the +prize might be sold for. But the favorite made a mighty spurt. He +passed the Pope's window, and the day was his. The firmament rang with +laughter as the other candidates panted up. A great yell greeted the +fall of the fat old man in the roadway, where he lay prostrate.</p> + +<p>An official tendered the winner the <i>pallio</i> which was the prize—a +piece of red Venetian cloth. The young Jew took it, surveying it with +a strange, unfathomable gaze, but the Judge interposed.</p> + +<p>"The captain of the soldiers tells me they did not start fair at the +Arch. They must run again to-morrow." This was a favorite device for +prolonging the fun. But the winner's eyes blazed ominously.</p> + +<p>"Nay, but we started as balls shot from a falconet."</p> + +<p>"Peace, peace, return him the <i>pallio</i>," whispered a racer behind him, +tugging apprehensively at his one garment.</p> + +<p>"They always adjudge it again to the first winner." But the young man +was reckless.</p> + +<p>"Why did not the captain stop us, then?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"Keep thy tongue between thy dog's teeth," retorted the Judge. "In any +event the race must be run again, for the law ordains eight runners as +a minimum."</p> + +<p>"We are eight," replied the young Jew.</p> + +<p>The Judge glared at the rebel; then, striking each rueful object with +a stick, he counted out, "One—two—three—four—five—six—seven!"</p> + +<p>"Eight," persisted the young man, perceiving for the first time the +old Jew on the ground behind him, and stooping to raise him.</p> + +<p>"That creature! Basta! He does not count. He is drunk."</p> + +<p>"Thou hell-begotten hound!" and straightening himself suddenly, the +young Jew drew a crucifix from within his <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[57]</a></span>cloak. "Thou art right!" he +cried in a voice of thunder. "There are only seven Jews, for I—I am +no Jew. I am Fra Giuseppe!" And the crucifix whirled round, clearing a +space of awe about him.</p> + +<p>The Judge cowered back in surprise and apprehension. The soldiers sat +their horses in stony amazement, the seething crowd was stilled for a +moment, struck to silent attention. The shower had ceased and a ray of +watery sunlight glistened on the crucifix.</p> + +<p>"In the name of Christ I denounce this devil's mockery of the Lord's +chosen people," thundered the Dominican. "Stand back all. Will no one +bring this poor old man a cup of cold water?"</p> + +<p>"Hasn't Heaven given him enough cold water?" asked a jester in the +crowd. But no one stirred.</p> + +<p>"Then may you all burn eternally," said the Friar. He bent down again +and raised the old man's head tenderly. Then his face grew sterner and +whiter. "He is dead," he said. "The Christ he denied receive him into +His mercy." And he let the corpse fall gently back and closed the +glassy eyes. The bystanders had a momentary thrill. Death had lent +dignity even to the old Jew. He lay there, felled by an apoplectic +stroke, due to the forced heavy meal, the tinsel gleaming grotesquely +on his white sodden cloak, his naked legs rigid and cold. From afar +the rumors of revelry, the <i>brouhaha</i> of a mad population, saluted his +deaf ears, the distant music of lutes and viols. The captain of the +soldiers went hot and cold. He had harried the heels of the rotund +runner in special amusement, but he had not designed murder. A wave of +compunction traversed the spectators. But the Judge recovered himself.</p> + +<p>"Seize this recreant priest!" he cried. "He is a backslider. He has +gone back to his people. He is become a Jew again—he shall be flayed +alive."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[58]</a></span>"Back, in the name of Holy Church!" cried Fra Giuseppe, veering round +to face the captain, who, however, had sat his horse without moving. +"I am no Jew. I am as good a Christian as his Holiness, who but just +now sat at yon jalousie, feasting his eyes on these heathen +saturnalia."</p> + +<p>"Then why didst thou race with the Jews? It is contamination. Thou +hast defiled thy cloth."</p> + +<p>"Nay, I wore not my cloth. Am I not half naked? Is this the cloth I +should respect—this gaudy frippery, which your citizens have made a +target for filth and abuse?"</p> + +<p>"Thou hast brought it on thyself," put in the captain mildly. +"Wherefore didst thou race with this pestilent people?"</p> + +<p>The Dominican bowed his head. "It is my penance," he said in tremulous +tones. "I have sinned against my brethren. I have aggravated their +griefs. Therefore would I be of them at the moment of their extremest +humiliation, and that I might share their martyrdom did I beg his +place from one of the runners. But penance is not all my motive." And +he lifted up his eyes and they blazed terribly, and his tones became +again a thunder that rolled through the crowd and far down the bridge. +"Ye who know me, faithful sons and daughters of Holy Church, ye who +have so often listened to my voice, ye into whose houses I have +brought the comfort of the Word, join with me now in ending the long +martyrdom of the Jews, your brethren. It is by love, not hate, that +Christ rules the world. I deemed that it would move your hearts to see +me, whom I know ye love, covered with filth, which ye had never thrown +had ye known me in this strange guise. But lo, this poor old man +pleadeth more eloquently than I. His dead lips shake your souls. Go +home, go home from this Pagan mirth, and sit on the ground in +sackcloth and ashes, and pray God He make you better Christians."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[59]</a></span>There was an uneasy stir in the crowd: the fantastic mud-stained +tinsel cloak, the bare legs of the speaker, did but add to his +impressiveness; he seemed some strange antique prophet, come from the +far ends of the world and time.</p> + +<p>"Be silent, blasphemer," said the Judge. "The sports have the +countenance of the Holy Father. Heaven itself hath cursed these +stinking heretics. Pah!" he spurned the dead Jew with his foot. The +Friar's bosom swelled. His head was hot with blood.</p> + +<p>"Not Heaven but the Pope hath cursed them," he retorted vehemently. +"Why doth he not banish them from his dominions? Nay, he knows how +needful they are to the State. When he exiled them from all save the +three cities of refuge, and when the Jewish merchants of the seaports +of the East put our port of Ancona under a ban, so that we could not +provision ourselves, did not his Holiness hastily recall the Jews, +confessing their value? Which being so, it is love we should offer +them, not hatred and a hundred degrading edicts."</p> + +<p>"Thou shalt burn in the Forum for this," spluttered the Judge. "Who +art thou to set thyself up against God's Vicar?"</p> + +<p>"He God's Vicar? Nay, I am sooner God's Vicar. God speaks through me."</p> + +<p>His wan, emaciated face had grown rapt and shining; to the awed mob he +loomed gigantic.</p> + +<p>"This is treason and blasphemy. Arrest him!" cried the Judge.</p> + +<p>The Friar faced the soldiers unflinchingly, though only the body of +the old Jew divided him from their prancing horses.</p> + +<p>"Nay," he said softly, and a sweet smile mingled with the mystery of +his look. "God is with me. He hath set <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[60]</a></span>this bulwark of death between +you and my life. Ye will not fight under the banner of the +Anti-Christ."</p> + +<p>"Death to the renegade!" cried a voice in the crowd. "He calls the +Pope Anti-Christ."</p> + +<p>"Ay, he who is not for us is against us. Is it for Christ that he +rules Rome? Is it only the Jews whom he vexes? Hath not his rage for +power brought the enemy to the gates of Rome? Have not his companies +of foreign auxiliaries flouted our citizens? Ye know how Rome hath +suffered through the machinations of his bastard son, with his +swaggering troop of cut-throats. Is it for Christ that he hath +begotten this terror of our streets?"</p> + +<p>"Down with Baccio Valori!" cried a stentorian voice, and a dozen +enthusiastic throats echoed the shout.</p> + +<p>"Ay, down with Baccio Valori!" cried the Dominican.</p> + +<p>"Down with Baccio Valori!" repeated the ductile crowd, its holiday +humor subtly passing into another form of recklessness. Some who loved +the Friar were genuinely worked upon, others in mad, vicious mood were +ready for any diversion. A few, and these the loudest, were +swashbucklers and cutpurses.</p> + +<p>"Ay, but not Baccio Valori alone!" thundered Fra Giuseppe. "Down with +all those bastard growths that flourish in the capital of Christendom. +Down with all that hell-spawn, which is the denial of Christ; down +with the Pardoner! God is no tradesman that he should chaffer for the +forgiveness of sins. Still less—oh blasphemy!—of sins undone. Our +Lady wants none of your wax candles. It is a white heart, it is the +flame of a pure soul that the Virgin Mother asks for. Away with your +beads and mummeries, your paternosters and genuflections! Away with +your Carnivals, your godless farewells to meat! Ye are all foul. This +is no city of God, it is a city of hired bravos and adulterous +abominations and gluttonous feasts, and the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[61]</a></span>lust of the eye, and the +pride of the flesh. Down with the foul-blooded Cardinal, who gossips +at the altar, and borrows money of the despised Jews for his secret +sins! Down with the monk whose missal is Boccaccio! Down with God's +Vicegerent who traffics in Cardinals' hats, who dare not take the +Eucharist without a Pretaster, who is all absorbed in profane Greek +texts, in cunning jewel-work, in political manœuvres and domestic +intrigues, who comes caracoling in crimson and velvet upon his proud +Neapolitan barb, with his bareheaded Cardinals and his hundred +glittering horsemen. He the representative of the meek Christ who rode +upon an ass, and said, 'Sell that thou hast and give to the poor, and +come follow me'! Nay," and the passion of righteousness tore his frame +and thralled his listeners, "though he inhabit the Vatican, though a +hundred gorgeous bishops abase themselves to kiss his toe, yet I +proclaim here that he is a lie, a snare, a whited sepulchre, no +protector of the poor, no loving father to the fatherless, no +spiritual Emperor, no Vicar of Christ, but Anti-Christ himself."</p> + +<p>"Down with Anti-Christ!" yelled a pair of Corsican cut-throats.</p> + +<p>"Down with Anti-Christ!" roared the crowd, the long-suppressed hatred +of the ruling power finding vent in a great wave of hysteric emotion.</p> + +<p>"Captain, do thy duty!" cried the Judge.</p> + +<p>"Nay, but the Friar speaks truth. Bear the old man away, Alessandro!"</p> + +<p>"Is Rome demented? Haste for the City Guards, Jacopo!"</p> + +<p>Fra Giuseppe swiftly tied the <i>pallio</i> to his crucifix, and, waving +the red cloth on high, "This is the true flag of Christ!" he cried. +"This, the symbol of our brethren's martyrdom! See, 'tis the color of +the blood He shed for us. Who is for Jesus, follow me!"</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[62]</a></span>"For Christ, for Jesus! <i>Viva Gesú!</i>" A far-rumbling thunder broke +from the swaying mob. His own fire caught extra flame from theirs.</p> + +<p>"Follow me! This day we will bear witness to Christ, we will establish +His kingdom in Rome."</p> + +<p>There was a wild rush, the soldiers spurred their horses, people fell +under their hoofs, and were trampled on. It was a moment of frenzy. +The Dominican ran on, waving the red <i>pallio</i>, his followers +contagiously swollen at every by-street. Unchecked he reached the +great Piazza, where a new statue of the Pope gleamed white and +majestic.</p> + +<p>"Down with Anti-Christ!" shouted a cutpurse.</p> + +<p>"Down with Anti-Christ!" echoed the mob.</p> + +<p>The Friar waved his hand, and there was silence. He saw the yellow +gleam of a Jew's head in the crowd, and called upon him to fling him +his cap. It was hurled from hand to hand. Fra Giuseppe held it up in +the air. "Men of Rome, Sons of Holy Church, behold the contumelious +mark we set upon our fellow-men, so that every ruffian may spit upon +them. Behold the yellow—the color of shame, the stigma of women that +traffic in their womanhood—with which we brand the venerable brows of +rabbis and the heads of honorable merchants. Lo! I set it upon the +head of this Anti-Christ, a symbol of our hate for all that is not +Love." And raising himself on the captain's stirrup, he crowned the +statue with the yellow badge.</p> + +<p>A great shout of derision rent the air. There was a multifarious +tumult of savage voices.</p> + +<p>"Down with Anti-Christ! Down with the Pope! Down with Baccio Valori! +Down with the Princess Teresa!"</p> + +<p>But in another moment all was a wild <i>mêlée</i>. A company of City +Guards—pikemen, musketeers, and horsemen with two-handed swords +dashed into the Piazza from one street, the Pope's troops from +another. They charged the crowd. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[63]</a></span>The soldiers of the revolting +captain, revolting in their turn, wheeled round and drove back their +followers. There was a babel of groans and shrieks and shouts, muskets +rang out, daggers flashed, sword and pike rang against armor, sparks +flew, smoke curled, and the mob broke and scurried down the streets, +leaving the wet, scarlet ground strewn with bodies.</p> + +<p>And long ere the roused passions of the riffraff had assuaged +themselves by loot and outrage in the remoter streets, in the darkest +dungeon of the Nona Tower, on a piece of rotten mattress, huddled in +his dripping tinselled cloak, and bleeding from a dozen cuts, Joseph +the Dreamer lay prostrate, too exhausted from the fierce struggle with +his captors to think on the stake that awaited him.</p> + +<br /> +<h4>IX</h4> + +<p>He had not long to wait. To give the crowd an execution was to crown +the Carnival. Condemned criminals were often kept till Shrove Tuesday, +and keen was the disappointment when there was only the whipping of +courtesans caught masked. The whipping of a Jew, found badgeless, was +the next best thing to the execution of a Christian, for the +flagellator was paid double (at the cost of the culprit), and did not +fail to double his zeal. But the execution of a Jew was the best of +all. And that Fra Giuseppe was a Jew there could be no doubt. The only +question was whether he was a backslider or a spy. In either case +death was his due. And he had lampooned the Pope to boot—in itself +the unpardonable sin. The unpopular Pontiff sagely spared the +others—the Jew alone was to die.</p> + +<p>The population was early astir. In the Piazza of the People—the +centre of the Carnival—where the stake had <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[64]</a></span>been set up, a great +crowd fought for coigns of vantage—a joyous, good-humored tussle. The +great fountain sent its flashing silver spirts towards a blue heaven. +As the death-cart lumbered into the Piazza ribald songs from the +rabble saluted the criminal's ears, and his wild, despairing eyes +lighted on many a merry face that but a few hours before had followed +him to testify to righteousness; and, mixed with theirs, the faces of +his fellow-Jews, sinister with malicious glee. No brother friar droned +consolation to him or held the cross to his eyes—was he not a +pestilential infidel, an outcast from both worlds? The chief of the +Caporioni was present. Troops surrounded the stake lest, perchance, +the madman might have followers who would yet attempt a rescue. But +the precautions were superfluous. Not a face that showed sympathy; +those who, bewitched by the Friar, had followed his crucifix and +<i>pallio</i> now exaggerated their jocosity lest they should be +recognized; the Jews were joyous at the heavenly vengeance which had +overtaken the renegade.</p> + +<p>The Dominican Jew was tied to the timber. They had dressed him in a +gaberdine and set the yellow cap on his shaven poll. Beneath it his +face was calm, but very sad. He began to speak.</p> + +<p>"Gag him!" cried the Magistrate. "He is about to blaspheme."</p> + +<p>"Prithee not," pleaded a bully in the crowd. "We shall lose the +rascal's shrieks."</p> + +<p>"Nay, fear not. I shall not blaspheme," said Joseph, smiling +mournfully. "I do but confess my sin and my deserved punishment. I set +out to walk in the footsteps of the Master—to win by love, to resist +not evil. And lo, I have used force against my old brethren, the Jews, +and force against my new brethren, the Christians. I have urged the +Pope against the Jews, I have urged the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[65]</a></span>Christians against the Pope. +I have provoked bloodshed and outrage. It were better I had never been +born. Christ receive me into His infinite mercy. May He forgive me as +I forgive you!" He set his teeth and spake no more, an image of +infinite despair.</p> + +<p>The flames curled up. They began to writhe about his limbs, but drew +no sound to vie with their crackling. But there was weeping heard in +the crowd. And suddenly from the unobservedly overcast heavens came a +flash of lightning and a peal of thunder followed by a violent shower +of rain. The flames were extinguished. The spring shower was as brief +as it was violent, but the wood would not relight.</p> + +<p>But the crowd was not thus to be cheated. At the order of the +Magistrate the executioner thrust a sword into the criminal's bowels, +then, unbinding the body, let it fall upon the ground with a thud: it +rolled over on its back, and lay still for a moment, the white, +emaciated face staring at the sky. Then the executioner seized an axe +and quartered the corpse. Some sickened and turned away, but the bulk +remained gloating.</p> + +<p>Then a Franciscan sprang on the cart, and from the bloody ominous text +patent to all eyes, passionately preached Christ and dissolved the mob +in tears.</p> + +<br /> +<h4>X</h4> + +<p>In the house of Manasseh, the father of Joseph, there were great +rejoicings. Musicians had been hired to celebrate the death of the +renegade as tradition demanded, and all that the Pragmatic permitted +of luxury was at hand. And they danced, man with man and woman with +woman. Manasseh gravely handed fruits and wine to his guests, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[66]</a></span>but the +old mother danced frenziedly, a set smile on her wrinkled face, her +whole frame shaken from moment to moment by peals of horrible +laughter.</p> + +<p>Miriam fled from the house to escape that laughter. She wandered +outside the Ghetto, and found the spot of unconsecrated ground where +the mangled remains of Joseph the Dreamer had been hastily shovelled. +The heap of stones thrown by pious Jewish hands, to symbolize that by +Old Testament Law the renegade should have been stoned, revealed his +grave. Great sobs swelled Miriam's throat. Her eyes were blind with +tears that hid the beauty of the world. Presently she became aware of +another bowed figure near hers—a stately female figure—and almost +without looking knew it for Helena de' Franchi.</p> + +<p>"I, too, loved him, Signora de' Franchi," she said simply.</p> + +<p>"Art thou Miriam? He hath spoken of thee." Helena's silvery voice was +low and trembling.</p> + +<p>"Ay, Signora."</p> + +<p>Helena's tears flowed unrestrainedly. "Alas! Alas! the Dreamer! He +should have been happy—happy with me, happy in the fulness of human +love, in the light of the sun, in the beauty of this fair world, in +the joy of art, in the sweetness of music."</p> + +<p>"Nay, Signora, he was a Jew. He should have been happy with me, in the +light of the Law, in the calm household life of prayer and study, of +charity, and pity, and all good offices. I would have lit the Sabbath +candles for him and set our children on his knee that he might bless +them. Alas! Alas! the Dreamer!"</p> + +<p>"Neither of these fates was to be his, Miriam. Kiss me, let us comfort +each other."</p> + +<p>Their lips met and their tears mingled.</p> + +<p>"Henceforth, Miriam, we are sisters."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[67]</a></span>"Sisters," sobbed Miriam.</p> + +<p>They clung to each other—the noble Pagan soul and the warm Jewish +heart at one over the Christian's grave.</p> + +<p>Suddenly bells began to ring in the city. Miriam started and +disengaged herself.</p> + +<p>"I must go," she said hurriedly.</p> + +<p>"It is but <i>Ave Maria</i>," said Helena. "Thou hast no vespers to sing."</p> + +<p>Miriam touched the yellow badge on her head. "Nay, but the gates will +be closing, sister."</p> + +<p>"Alas, I had forgotten. I had thought we might always be together +henceforth. I will accompany thee so far as I may, sister."</p> + +<p>They hastened from the lonely, unblessed grave, holding each other's +hand.</p> + +<p>The shadows fell. It was almost dark by the time they reached the +Ghetto.</p> + +<p>Miriam had barely slipped in when the gates shut with a harsh clang, +severing them through the long night.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[68]</a></span> +<h2><a name="URIEL_ACOSTA" id="URIEL_ACOSTA"></a>URIEL ACOSTA</h2> + +<br /> +<h4>PART I</h4> + +<h4>GABRIEL DA COSTA</h4> + +<br /> +<h4>I</h4> + +<p>Gabriel Da Costa pricked his horse gently with the spur, and dashing +down the long avenue of cork-trees, strove to forget the torment of +spiritual problems in the fury of physical movement, to leave theology +behind with the monasteries and chapels of Porto. He rode with grace +and fire, this beautiful youth with the flashing eyes, and the dark +hair flowing down the silken doublet, whom a poet might have feigned +an image of the passionate spring of the South, but for whose own soul +the warm blue sky of Portugal, the white of the almond blossoms, the +pink of the peach sprays, the delicate odors of buds, and the glad +clamor of birds made only a vague background to a whirl of thoughts.</p> + +<p>No; it was impossible to believe that by confessing his sins as the +Church prescribed he could obtain a plenary absolution. If salvation +was to be secured only by particular rules, why, then, one might +despair of salvation altogether. And, perhaps, eternal damnation was +indeed his <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[69]</a></span>destiny, were it only for his doubts, and in despite of +all his punctilious mechanical worship. Oh, for a deliverer—a +deliverer from the questionings that made the splendid gloom of +cathedrals a darkness for the captive spirit! Those cursed Jesuits, +zealous with the zealotry of a new order! His blood flamed as he +thought of their manœuvrings, and putting his hand to his holster, +where hung a pair of silver-mounted pistols marked with his initial, +he drew out one and took flying aim at a bird on a twig, pleasing +himself with the foolish fancy that 'twas Ignatius Loyola. But though +a sure marksman, he had not the heart to hurt any living thing, and +changing with the swiftness of a flash he shot at the twig instead, +snapping it off.</p> + +<p>Why had his dead father set him to study ecclesiastical law? True, for +a wealthy youth of the upper middle classes 'twas the one road to +distinction, to social equality with the nobility—and whose fault but +his own that even after the first stirrings of scepticism he had +accepted semi-sacerdotal office as chief treasurer of a clerical +college? But how should he foresee that these uneasinesses of youth +would be aggravated rather than appeased by deeper study, more +passionate devotion? Strange! All around him, in college or cathedral, +was faith and peace; in his spirit alone a secret disquiet and a +suppressed ferment that not all the soaring music of fresh-voiced boys +could soothe or allay.</p> + +<p>He felt his horse slacken suddenly under him, and had used his spurs +viciously without effect, ere he became conscious that he had come to +the steep, clayey bank of a ravine through which a tiny stream +trickled, and that the animal's flanks were stained with blood. +Instantly his eyes grew humid.</p> + +<p>"<i>Pobre!</i>" he cried, leaping from the saddle and caressing <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[70]</a></span>the +horse's nostrils. "To be shamed before men have I always dreaded, but +'tis worse to be shamed before myself."</p> + +<p>And leading his steed by the bridle, the young cavalier turned back +towards Porto by winding grassy paths purpled with anemones and +bordered by gray olive-trees, with here and there the vivid gleam of +oranges peeping amid deep green foliage that tore the sky into a +thousand azure patches.</p> + +<br /> +<h4>II</h4> + +<p>He remounted his horse as he approached the market-place, from which +the town climbed up; but he found his way blocked, for 'twas +market-day, and the great square, bordered with a colonnade that made +an Eastern bazaar, was thickly planted with stalls, whose white canvas +awnings struck a delicious note of coolness against the throbbing blue +sky and the flaming costumes of the peasants come up from the +environs. Through a corner of the <i>praça</i> one saw poplars and elms and +the fresh gleam of the river. The nasal hum of many voices sounded +blithe and busy. At the bazaar entrance, where old women vended +flowers and fruit, Gabriel reined in his horse.</p> + +<p>"How happy these simple souls!" he mused. "How sure of their +salvation! To count their beads and mutter their <i>Ave Marias</i>; 'tis +all they need. Yon fisher, with his great gold ear-rings, who throws +his nets and cuddles his Juanita and carouses with his mates, hath +more to thank the saints for than miserable I, who, blessed with +wealth, am cursed with loneliness, and loving my fellow-men, yet know +they are but sheep. God's sheep, natheless, silly and deaf to the cry +of their true shepherd, and misled by priestly wolves."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[71]</a></span>A cripple interrupted his reflections by a whining appeal. Gabriel +shuddered with pity at the sight of his sores, and, giving him a piece +of silver, lost himself in a new reverie on the mystery of suffering.</p> + +<p>"Thine herbs sold out too!" cheerily grumbled a well-known voice, and, +turning his head, Gabriel saw that the burly old gentleman addressing +the wrinkled market-woman from the vantage-point of a mule's back was, +indeed, Dom Diego de Balthasar, late professor of the logics at the +University of Coimbra, and newly settled in Porto as a physician.</p> + +<p>"Ay, indeed, ere noon!" the dried-up old dame mumbled. "All Porto +seems hungry for bitter herbs to-day. But thus it happens sometimes +about Eastertide, though I love not such salads myself."</p> + +<p>"Naturally. They are good for the blood," laughed Dom Diego, as his +eye caught Gabriel's. "And thou hast none, good dame."</p> + +<p>There seemed almost a wink in the professorial eye, and the young +horseman smiled in good-natured response to the physician's estimate +of the jest.</p> + +<p>"Then are the eaters sensible," he said.</p> + +<p>"Ay, the only sensible people in Portugal," rejoined Dom Diego, +changing his speech to Latin, but retaining his smile. "And the only +good blood, Da Costa," he added, with what was now an unmistakable +wink. But this time Gabriel failed to see the point.</p> + +<p>"The only good blood?" he repeated. "Dost thou then hold with the +Trappists that meat is an evil?"</p> + +<p>A strange, startled look flashed across the physician's face, sweeping +off its ruddy hue, and though his smile returned on the instant, it +was as though forced back.</p> + +<p>"In a measure," he replied. "Too much flesh generateth humors and +distempers in the blood. Hence Holy <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[72]</a></span>Church hath ordained Lent. She is +no friend to us physicians. <i>Adeos!</i>" and he ambled off on his mule, +waving the young horseman a laughing farewell.</p> + +<p>But Gabriel, skirting the market, rode up the steep streets troubled +by a vague sense of a mystery, and later repeated the conversation to +a friar at the college.</p> + +<br /> +<h4>III.</h4> + +<p>A week later he heard in the town that Dom Diego de Balthasar had been +arrested by the Inquisition for Judaism. The news brought him a more +complex thrill than that shock of horror at the treacherous +persistence of a pestilent heresy which it excited in the breast of +his fellow-citizens. He recalled to mind now that there were +thirty-four traces by which the bloodhounds of the Holy Office scented +out the secret Jew, and that one of the tests ran: "If he celebrates +the Passover by eating bitter herbs and lettuces." But the shudder +which the thought of the Jew had once caused him was, to his own +surprise, replaced by a secret sympathy. In his slowly-matured, +self-evolved scepticism, he had forgotten that a whole race had +remained Protestant from the first, rejecting at any and every cost +the corner-stone of the Christian scheme. And this race—he remembered +suddenly with a leap of the heart and a strange tingling of the +blood—had once been his own! The knowledge that had lurked in the +background of consciousness, like the exiled memory of an ancient +shame, sprang up, strong and assertive. The far-off shadowy figures of +those base-born ancestors of his who had prayed in the ancient +synagogues in the days before the Great Expulsion, shook off the mists +of a hundred years and stood forth solid, heroic, appealing.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[73]</a></span>And then recalling the dearth of bitter herbs in the market-place on +what he now understood was the eve of Passover, he had a sudden +intuition of a great secret brotherhood of the synagogue ramifying +beneath all the outward life of Church and State; of a society +honeycombed with Judaism that persisted tenaciously and eternally +though persecution and expulsion, not in stray units, such as the +Inquisition ferreted out, but in ineradicable communities. It was +because the incautious physician had mistaken him for a member of the +brotherhood of Israel that he had ventured upon his now transparent +jests. "Good God!" thought Da Costa, sickening as he remembered the +<i>auto-da-fé</i> he had seen at Lisbon in his boyhood, when De la Asunçao, +the Franciscan Jew monk, clothed in the Sanbenito, was solemnly burnt +in the presence of the king, the queen, the court, and the mob. "What +if 'twas my tale to Frei José that led to Dom Diego's arrest! But no, +that were surely evidence too trivial, and ambiguous at the best." And +he put the painful suspicion aside and hastened to shut himself up in +his study, sending down an excuse to his mother and brother by Pedro, +the black slave-boy.</p> + +<p>In the beautiful house on the hilltop, built by Gabriel's grandfather, +and adorned with fine panelings and mosaics of many-colored woods from +the Brazils, this study, secluded by its position at the head of the +noble staircase, was not the least beautiful room. The floor and the +walls were of rich-hued tiles, the arched ceiling was ribbed with +polished woods to look like the scooped-out interior of a half-orange. +Costly hangings muffled the noise of the outer world, and large +shutters excluded, when necessary, the glare of the sun. The rays of +Reason alone could not be shut out, and in this haunt of peace the +young Catholic had known his bitterest hours of unrest. Here he now +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[74]</a></span>cast himself feverishly upon the perusal of the Old Testament, +neglected by him, as by the Church.</p> + +<p>"This book, at least, must be true," ran his tumultuous thoughts. "For +this Testament do both creeds revere that wrangle over the later." He +had a Latin text, and first he turned to the fifty-third chapter of +Isaiah, and, reading it critically, he seemed to see that all these +passages of prediction he had taken on trust as prognostications of a +Redeemer might prophesy quite other and more intelligible things. And +long past midnight he read among the Prophets, with flushed cheek and +sparkling eye, as one drunk with new wine. What sublime truths, what +aspirations after peace and justice, what trumpet-calls to +righteousness!</p> + +<p>He thrilled to the cry of Amos: "Take thou away from me the noise of +thy songs, for I will not hear the melody of thy viols. But let +judgment run down as waters, and righteousness as a mighty stream." +And to the question of Micah: "What doth the Lord require of thee but +to do justly and to love mercy and to walk humbly with thy God?" Ay, +justice and mercy and humbleness—not paternosters and penances. He +was melted to tears, he was exalted to the stars.</p> + +<p>He turned to the Pentateuch and to the Laws of Moses, to the tender +ordinances for the poor, the stranger, the beast. "Thou shalt love thy +neighbor as thyself." "Thou shalt be unto me a holy people."</p> + +<p>Why had his ancestors cut themselves off from this great people, whose +creed was once so sublime and so simple? There had reached down to him +some vague sense of the nameless tragedies of the Great Expulsion when +these stiff-necked heretics were confronted with the choice of +expatriation or conversion; but now he searched his book-shelves +eagerly for some chronicle of those days of <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[75]</a></span>Torquemada. The native +historians had little, but that little filled his imagination with +horrid images of that second Exodus—famine, the plague, robbery, +slaughter, the violation of virgins.</p> + +<p>And all on account of the pertinacious ambition of a Portuguese king +to rule Spain through an alliance with a Spanish princess—an ambition +as pertinaciously foiled by the irony of history. No, they were not +without excuse, those ancestors of his who had been left behind +clinging to the Church. Could they have been genuine converts, these +Marranos, or New Christians? he asked himself. Well, whatever his +great-grandfathers had felt, his father's faith had been ardent +enough, of that he could not doubt. He recalled the long years of +ritual; childish memories of paternal pieties. No, the secret +conspiracy had not embraced the Da Costa household. And he would fain +believe that his more distant progenitors, too, had not been +hypocrites; for aught he knew they had gone over to the Church even +before the Expulsion; at any rate he was glad to have no evidence for +an ancestry of deceit. None of the Da Costas had been cowards, thank +Heaven! And he—he was no coward, he told himself.</p> + +<br /> +<h4>IV</h4> + +<p>In the morning, though only a few hours of sleep had intervened, the +enthusiasm of the night had somewhat subsided. "Whence came the +inspiration of Moses?" flew up to his mind almost as soon as he opened +his eyes on the sunlit world. He threw open the protrusive casement of +his bedroom to the balmy air, tinged with a whiff of salt, and gazed +pensively at the white town rambling down towards the shining river. +Had God indeed revealed <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[76]</a></span>Himself on Mount Sinai? But this fresh doubt +was banished by the renewed suspicion which, after having disturbed +his dreams in nebulous distortions, sprang up in daylight clearness. +It was his babbling about Dom Diego that had ruined the genial old +physician. After days of gathering uneasiness, being unable to gain +any satisfaction from the friar, he sought the secretary of the +Inquisition in his bureau at a monastery of the Dominicans. The +secretary rubbed his hands at the sight of the speechful face. "Aha! +What new foxes hast thou scented?" The greeting stung like a stab.</p> + +<p>"None," he replied, with a tremor in his speech and in his limbs. "I +did but desire to learn if I am to blame for Dom Diego's arrest."</p> + +<p>"To blame?" and the secretary looked askance at him. "Say, rather, to +praise."</p> + +<p>"Nay, to blame," repeated Gabriel staunchly. "Mayhap I mistook or +misrendered his conversation. 'Tis scant evidence to imprison a man +on. I trust ye have found more."</p> + +<p>"Ay, thou didst but set Frei José on the track. We did not even +trouble thee to appear before the Qualifiers."</p> + +<p>"And he is, indeed, a Jew!"</p> + +<p>"A Hebrew of Hebrews, by his stiff-neckedness. But 'twas not quite +proven; the fox is a cunning beast. Already he hath had the three +'first audiences,' but he will not confess and be made a Penitent. +This morning we try other means."</p> + +<p>"Torture?" said Gabriel, paling. The secretary nodded.</p> + +<p>"But if he is innocent."</p> + +<p>"No fear of that; he will confess at the first twinge. Come, unknit +thy brow. Wouldst make sure thou hast served Heaven? Thou shalt hear +his confession—as a reward for thy zeal."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[77]</a></span>"He will deem I have come to gloat."</p> + +<p>"Here is a mask for thee."</p> + +<p>Gabriel took it hesitatingly, repelled, but more strongly fascinated, +and after a feverish half-hour of waiting he found himself with the +secretary, the judge of the Inquisition, the surgeon, and another +masked man in an underground vault faintly lit by hanging lamps. On +one side were the massive doors studded with rusty knobs, of airless +cells; on the rough, spider-webbed wall opposite, against which leaned +an iron ladder, were fixed iron rings at varying heights. A thumbscrew +stood in the corner, and in the centre was a small writing-table, at +which the judge seated himself.</p> + +<p>The secretary unlocked a dungeon door, and through the holes of his +mask Gabriel had a glimpse of the despondent figure of the burly +physician crouching in a cell nigh too narrow for turning room.</p> + +<p>"Stand forth, Dom Abraham de Balthasar!" said the judge, +ostentatiously referring to a paper.</p> + +<p>The physician blinked his eyes at the increased light, but did not +budge.</p> + +<p>"My name is Dom Diego," he said.</p> + +<p>"Thy baptismal name imports no more to us than to thee. Perchance I +should have said Dom Isaac. Stand forth!"</p> + +<p>The physician straightened himself sullenly. "A pretty treatment for a +loyal son of Holy Church who hath served his Most Faithful and +Catholic Sovereign at the University," he grumbled. "Who accuses me of +Judaism? Confront me with the rogue!"</p> + +<p>"'Tis against our law," said the secretary.</p> + +<p>"Let me hear the specific charges. Read me the counts."</p> + +<p>"In the audience-chamber. Anon."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[78]</a></span>"Confess! confess!" snapped the judge testily.</p> + +<p>"To confess needs a sin. I have none but those I have told the priest. +But I know my accuser—'tis Gabriel da Costa, a sober and studious +young senhor with no ear for a jest, who did not understand that I was +rallying the market-woman upon the clearance of her stock by these +stinking heretics. I am no more a Jew than Da Costa himself." But even +as he spoke, Gabriel knew that they were brother-Jews—he and the +prisoner.</p> + +<p>"Thou hypocrite!" he cried involuntarily.</p> + +<p>"Ha!" said the secretary, his eye beaming triumph.</p> + +<p>"This persistent denial will avail thee naught," said the judge, +"'twill only bring thee torture."</p> + +<p>"Torture an innocent man! 'Tis monstrous!" the physician protested. +"Any tyro in the logics will tell thee that the onus of proving lies +with the accuser."</p> + +<p>"Tush! tush! This is no University. Executioner, do thy work."</p> + +<p>The other masked man seized the old physician and stripped him to the +skin.</p> + +<p>"Confess!" said the judge warningly.</p> + +<p>"If I confessed I was a Jew, I should be doubly a bad Christian, +inasmuch as I should be lying."</p> + +<p>"None of thy metaphysical quibbles. If thou expirest under the torture +(let the secretary take note), thy death shall not be laid at the door +of the Holy Office, but of thine own obstinacy."</p> + +<p>"Christ will avenge His martyrs," said Dom Diego, with so sublime a +mien that Gabriel doubted whether, after all, instinct had not misled +him.</p> + +<p>The judge made an impatient sign, and the masked man tied the victim's +hands and feet together with a thick cord, and winding it around the +breast, placed the hunched, nude figure upon a stool, while he passed +the ends of the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[79]</a></span>cord through two of the iron rings in the wall. Then, +kicking away the stool, he left the victim suspended in air by cords +that cut into his flesh.</p> + +<p>"Confess!" said the judge.</p> + +<p>But Dom Diego set his teeth. The executioner drew the cords tighter +and tighter, till the blood burst from under his victim's nails, and +ever and anon he let the sharp-staved iron ladder fall against his +naked shins.</p> + +<p>"O Sancta Maria!" groaned the physician at length.</p> + +<p>"These be but the beginning of thy tortures, an thou confessest not," +said the judge, "Draw tighter."</p> + +<p>"Nay," here interrupted the surgeon. "Another draw and he may expire."</p> + +<p>Another tightening, and Gabriel da Costa would have fainted. Deadly +pale beneath his mask, he felt sick and trembling—the cords seemed to +be cutting into his own flesh. His heart was equally hot against the +torturers and the tortured, and he admired the physician's courage +even while he abhorred his cowardice. And while the surgeon was +busying himself to mend the victim for new tortures, Gabriel da Costa +had a shuddering perception of the tragedy of Israel—sublime and +sordid.</p> + +<br /> +<h4>V</h4> + +<p>It was with equally mingled feelings, complicated by astonishment, +that he learned a week or so later that Dom Diego had been acquitted +of Judaism and set free. Impulse drove him to seek speech with the +sufferer. He crossed the river to the physician's house, but only by +extreme insistence did he procure access to the high vaulted room in +which the old man lay abed, surrounded by huge tomes on pillow and +counterpane, and overbrooded by an image of the Christ.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[80]</a></span>"Pardon that I have been reluctant to go back without a sight of +thee," said Gabriel. "My anxiety to see how thou farest after thy +mauling by the hell-hounds must be my excuse."</p> + +<p>Dom Diego cast upon him a look of surprise and suspicion.</p> + +<p>"The hounds may follow a wrong scent; but they are of heaven, not +hell," he said rebukingly. "If I suffered wrongly, 'tis Christian to +suffer, and Christian to forgive."</p> + +<p>"Then forgive me," said Gabriel, mazed by this persistent +masquerading, "for 'twas I who innocently made thee suffer. Rather +would I have torn out my tongue than injured a fellow Jew."</p> + +<p>"I am no Jew," cried the physician fiercely.</p> + +<p>"But why deny it to me when I tell thee I am one?"</p> + +<p>"'In vain is the net spread in the sight of any bird,'" quoted Dom +Diego angrily. "Thou art as good a Christian as I,—and a worse +fowler. A Jew, indeed, who knows not of the herbs! Nay, the bird-lime +is smeared too thick, and there is no cord between the holes of the +net."</p> + +<p>"True, I am neither Jew nor Christian," said the young man sadly. "I +was bred a Christian, but my soul is torn with questionings. See, I +trust my life in thy hand."</p> + +<p>But Dom Diego remained long obdurate, even when Gabriel made the +candid admission that he was the masked man who had cried "Hypocrite!" +in the torture-vault; 'twas not till, limping from the bed, he had +satisfied himself that the young man had posted no auditors without, +that he said at last: "Well, 'tis my word against thine. Mayhap I am +but feigning so as to draw thee out." Then, winking, he took down the +effigy of the Christ and thrust it into a drawer, and filling two +wine-glasses from a decanter that stood at the bedside, he cried +jovially, "Come! Confusion to the Holy Office!"</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[81]</a></span>A great weight seemed lifted off the young man's breast. He smiled as +he quaffed the rich wine.</p> + +<p>"Meseems thou hast already wrought confusion to the Holy Office."</p> + +<p>"Ha! ha!" laughed the physician, expanding in the glow of the wine. +"Yea, the fox hath escaped from the trap, but not with a whole skin."</p> + +<p>"No, alas! How feel thy wounds?"</p> + +<p>"I meant not my corporeal skin," said the physician, though he rubbed +it with rueful recollection. "I meant the skin whereof my purse was +made. To prove my loyalty to Holy Church I offered her half my estate, +and the proof was accepted. 'Twas the surgeon of the Inquisition who +gave me the hint. He is one of us!"</p> + +<p>"What! a Jew!" cried Gabriel, thunderstruck.</p> + +<p>"Hush! hush! or we shall have him replaced by an enemy. 'Twas his +fellow-feeling to me, both as a brother and a medicus, that made him +declare me on the point of death when I was still as lusty as a false +credo. For the rest, I had sufficient science to hold in my breath +while the clown tied me with cords, else had I been too straitened to +breathe. But thou needest a biscuit with thy wine. Ianthe!"</p> + +<p>A pretty little girl stepped in from an adjoining room, her dark eyes +drooping shyly at the sight of the stranger.</p> + +<p>"Thou seest I have a witness against thee," laughed the physician; +"while the evidence against me which the fools could not find we will +eat up. The remainder of the <i>Motsas</i>, daughterling!" And drawing a +key from under his pillow, he handed it to her. "Soft, now, my little +one, and hide them well."</p> + +<p>When the child had gone, the father grumbled, over another glass of +wine, at having to train her to a double life. "But it sharpens the +wits," said he. "Ianthe should <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[82]</a></span>grow up subtle as the secret cupboard +within a cupboard which she is now opening. But a woman scarcely needs +the training." He was yet laughing over his jape when Ianthe returned, +and produced from under a napkin some large, thick biscuits, +peculiarly reticulated. Gabriel looked at them curiously.</p> + +<p>"Knowest thou not Passover cakes?" asked Dom Diego.</p> + +<p>Gabriel shook his head.</p> + +<p>"Thou hast never eaten unleavened bread?"</p> + +<p>"Unleavened bread! Ah, I was reading thereof in the Pentateuch but +yesterday. Stay, is it not one of the Inquisition's tests? But I +figured it not thus."</p> + +<p>"'Tis the immemorial pattern, smuggled in from Amsterdam," said the +wine-flushed physician, throwing caution to the winds. "Taste! 'Tis +more palatable than the Host."</p> + +<p>"Is Amsterdam, then, a Jewish town?"</p> + +<p>"Nay, but 'tis the Jerusalem of the West. Little Holland, since she +shook off Papistry, hath no persecuting polity like the other nations. +And natural enough, for 'tis more a ship than a country. Half my old +friends have drifted thither—'tis a sad drain for our old Portuguese +community."</p> + +<p>Gabriel's bosom throbbed. "Then why not join them?"</p> + +<p>The old physician shook his head. "Nay, I love my Portugal. 'Tis here +that I was born, and here will I die. I love her—her mountains, her +rivers, her valleys, her medicinal springs—always love Portugal, +Ianthe—"</p> + +<p>"Yes, father," said the little girl gravely.</p> + +<p>"And, oh, her poets—her Rubeiro, her Falcão, her Camoëns—my own +grandfather was thought worthy of a place in the 'Cancioneiro Geral'; +and I too have made a Portuguese poem on the first aphorism of +Hippocrates, though 'tis yet in manuscript."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[83]</a></span>"But if thou darest not profess thy faith," said Gabriel, "'tis more +than all the rest. To live a daily lie—intolerable!"</p> + +<p>"Hoity-toity! Thou art young and headstrong. The Catholic religion! +'Tis no more than fine manners; as we say in Hebrew, <i>derech eretz</i>, +the way of the country. Why do I wear breeches and a cocked hat—when +I am abroad, <i>videlicet</i>? Why does little Ianthe trip it in a +petticoat?"</p> + +<p>"Because I am a girl," said Ianthe.</p> + +<p>Dom Diego laughed. "There's the question rhetorical, my little one, +and the question interrogative. However, we'll not puzzle thee with +Quintilian. Run away to thy lute. And so it is, Senhor da Costa. I +love my Judaism more than my Portugal; but while I can keep both my +mistresses at the cost of a little finesse—"</p> + +<p>"But the danger of being burnt alive!"</p> + +<p>"'Tis like hell to the Christian sinner—dim and distant."</p> + +<p>"Thou hast been singed, methinks."</p> + +<p>"Like a blasted tree. The lightning will not strike twice. Help +thyself to more wine. Besides, my stomach likes not the Biscay Bay. +God made us for land animals."</p> + +<p>But Gabriel was not to be won over to the worthy physician's view, and +only half to the man himself. Yet was not this his last visit, for he +clung to Dom Diego as to the only Jew he knew, and borrowed from him a +Hebrew Bible and a grammar, and began secretly to acquire the sacred +tongue, bringing toys and flowers to the little Ianthe, and once a +costlier lute than her own, in return for her father's help with the +idioms. Also he borrowed some of Dom Diego's own works, issued +anonymously from the printing presses of Amsterdam; and from his new +friend's "Paradise of Earthly Vanity," and other oddly entitled +volumes <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[84]</a></span>of controversial theology, the young enthusiast sucked +instruction and confirmation of his doubts. To Dom Diego's Portuguese +fellow-citizens the old gentleman was the author of an erudite essay +on the treatment of phthisis, emphatically denouncing the implicit +reliance on milk.</p> + +<p>But Gabriel could not imitate this comfortable self-adjustment to +surroundings. 'Twas but a half fight for the Truth, he felt, and +ceased to cultivate the semi-recreant physician. For as he grew more +and more in love with the Old Testament, with its simple doctrine of a +people, chosen and consecrate, so grew his sense of far-reaching +destinies, of a linked race sprung from the mysterious East and the +dawn of history, defying destruction and surviving persecution, +agonizing for its faith and its unfaith—a conception that touched the +springs of romance and the source of tears—and his vision turned +longingly towards Amsterdam, that city of the saints, the home of the +true faith, of the brotherhood of man, and the fatherhood of God.</p> + +<br /> +<h4>VI</h4> + +<p>"Mother," said Gabriel, "I have something to say to thee." They were +in the half-orange room, and she had looked in to give her good-night +kiss to the lonely student, but his words arrested her at the door. +She sat down and gazed lovingly at her handsome eldest-born, in whom +her dead husband lived as in his prime. "'Twill be of Isabella," she +thought, with a stir in her breast, rejoiced to think that the +brooding eyes of the scholar had opened at last to the beauty and +goodness of the highborn heiress who loved him.</p> + +<p>"Mother, I have made a great resolution, and 'tis time to tell thee."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[85]</a></span>Her eyes grew more radiant.</p> + +<p>"My blessed Gabriel!"</p> + +<p>"Nay, I fear thou wilt hate me."</p> + +<p>"Hate thee!"</p> + +<p>"Because I must leave thee."</p> + +<p>"'Tis the natural lot of mothers to be left, my Gabriel."</p> + +<p>"Ah, but this is most unnatural. Oh, my God! why am I thus tried?"</p> + +<p>"What meanest thou? What has happened?" The old woman had risen.</p> + +<p>"I must leave Portugal."</p> + +<p>"Wherefore? in Heaven's name! Leave Portugal?"</p> + +<p>"Hush, or the servants will hear. I would become," he breathed low, "a +Jew!"</p> + +<p>Dona da Costa blenched, and stared at him breathless, a strange light +in her eyes, but not that which he had expected.</p> + +<p>"'Tis the finger of God!" she whispered, awestruck.</p> + +<p>"Mother!" He was thrilled with a wild suspicion.</p> + +<p>"Yes, my father was a Jew. I was brought up as a Jewess."</p> + +<p>"Hush! hush!" he cautioned her again, and going to the door peered +into the gloom. "But my father?" he asked, shutting the door +carefully.</p> + +<p>She shook her head.</p> + +<p>"His family, though likewise Marranos, were true believers. It was the +grief of my life that I dared never tell him. Often since his death, +memories from my girlhood have tugged at my heart. But I durst not +influence my children's faith—it would have meant deadly peril to +them. And now—O Heaven!—perchance torture—the stake—!"</p> + +<p>"No, mother, I will fly to where faith is free."</p> + +<p>"Then I shall lose thee all the same. O God of Israel, Thy vengeance +hath found me at last!" And she fell upon <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[86]</a></span>the couch, sobbing, +overwrought. He stood by, helpless, distracted, striving to hush her.</p> + +<p>"How did this thing happen to you?" she sobbed.</p> + +<p>Briefly he told her of his struggles, of the episode of Dom Diego, of +his conviction that the Old Testament was the true and sufficient +guide to life.</p> + +<p>"But why flee?" she asked. "Let us all return to Judaism; thy brother +Vidal is young and malleable, he will follow us. We will be secret; +from my girlhood I know how suspicion may be evaded. We will gradually +change all the servants save Pedro, and have none but blacks. Why +shouldst thou leave this beautiful home of thine, thy friends, thy +station in society, thy chances of a noble match?"</p> + +<p>"Mother, thou painest me. What is all else beside our duty to truth, +to reason, to God? I must worship all these under the naked sky."</p> + +<p>"My brave boy! forgive me!" And she sprang up to embrace him. "We will +go with thee; we will found a new home at Amsterdam."</p> + +<p>"Nay, not at thy years, mother." And he smoothed her silver hair.</p> + +<p>"Yea; I, too, have studied the Old Testament." And her eyes smiled +through their tears. "'Wherever thou goest, I will go. Thy country +shall be my country, and thy God my God.'"</p> + +<p>He kissed her wet cheek.</p> + +<p>Ere they separated in the gray dawn they had threshed out ways and +means; how to realize their property with as little loss and as little +observation as possible, and how secretly to ship for the Netherlands. +The slightest imprudence might betray them to the Holy Office, and so +Vidal was not told till 'twas absolutely essential.</p> + +<p>The poor young man grew pale with fright.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[87]</a></span>"Wouldst drive me to Purgatory?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"Nay, Judaism hath no Purgatory." Then seeing the consolation was +somewhat confused, Gabriel added emphatically, to ease the distress of +one he loved dearly, "There is no Purgatory."</p> + +<p>Vidal looked more frightened than ever. "But the Church says—" he +began.</p> + +<p>"The Church says Purgatory is beneath the earth; but the world being +round, there is no beneath, and, mayhap, men like ourselves do inhabit +our Antipodes. And the Church holds with Aristotle that the heavens be +incorruptible, and contemns Copernicus his theory; yet have I heard +from Dom Diego de Balthasar, who hath the science of the University, +that a young Italian, hight Galileo Galilei, hath just made a wondrous +instrument which magnifies objects thirty-two times, and that +therewith he hath discovered a new star. Also doth he declare the +Milky Way to be but little stars; for the which the Holy Office is +wroth with him, men say."</p> + +<p>"But what have I to make with the Milky Way?" whimpered Vidal, his own +face as milk.</p> + +<p>Gabriel was somewhat taken aback. "'Tis the infallibility of the Pope +that is shaken," he explained. "But in itself the Christian faith is +more abhorrent to Reason than the Jewish. The things it teaches about +God have more difficulties."</p> + +<p>"What difficulties?" quoth Vidal. "I see no difficulties."</p> + +<p>But in the end the younger brother, having all Gabriel's +impressionability, and none of his strength to stand alone, consented +to accompany the refugees.</p> + +<p>During those surreptitious preparations for flight, Gabriel had to go +about his semi-ecclesiastical duties and take part in Church +ceremonies as heretofore. This so chafed him <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[88]</a></span>that he sometimes +thought of proclaiming himself; but though he did not shrink from the +thought of the stake, he shrank from the degradation of imprisonment, +from the public humiliation, foreseeing the horror of him in the faces +of all his old associates. And sometimes, indeed, it flashed upon him +how dear were these friends of his youth, despite reason and religion; +how like a cordial was the laughter in their eyes, the clasp of their +hands, the well-worn jests of college and monastery, market-place and +riding-school! How good it was, this common life, how sweet to sink +into the general stream and be borne along effortless! Even as he +knelt, in conscious hypocrisy, the emotion of all these worshippers +sometimes swayed him in magnetic sympathy, and the crowds of +holiday-makers in the streets, festively garbed, stirred him to +yearning reconciliation. And now that he was to tear himself away, how +dear was each familiar haunt—the woods and waters, the pleasant hills +strewn with grazing cattle! How caressingly the blue sky bent over him, +beseeching him to stay! And the town itself, how he loved its steep +streets, the massive Moorish gates, the palaces, the monasteries, the +whitewashed houses, the old-fashioned ones, quaint and windowless, and +the newer with their protrusive balcony-windows—ay, and the very +flavor of garlic and onion that pervaded everything; how oft he had +sauntered in the Rua das Flores, watching the gold-workers! And as he +moved about the old family home he had a new sense of its intimate +appeal. Every beautiful panel and tile, every gracious curve of the +great staircase, every statue in its niche, had a place, hitherto +unacknowledged, in his heart, and called to him.</p> + +<p>But greater than the call of all these was the call of Reason.</p> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[89]</a></span><br /> +<h4>PART II</h4> + +<h4>URIEL ACOSTA</h4> + +<br /> +<h4>VII</h4> + +<p>With what emotion, as of a pilgrim reaching Palestine, Gabriel found +himself at last in the city where a synagogue stood in the eye of day! +The warmth at his heart annulled whatever of chill stole in at the +grayness of the canaled streets of the northern city after the color +and glow of Porto. His first care as soon as he was settled in the +great, marble-halled house which his mother's old friends and +relatives in the city had purchased on his behalf, was to betake +himself on the Sabbath with his mother and brother to the Portuguese +synagogue. Though his ignorance of his new creed was so great that he +doffed his hat on entering, nor knew how to don the praying-shawl lent +him by the beadle, and was rather disconcerted to find his mother +might not sit at his side, but must be relegated to a gallery behind a +grille, yet his attitude was too emotional to be critical. The +prayer-book interested him keenly, and though he strove to follow the +service, his conscious Hebrew could not at all keep pace with the +congregational speed, and he felt unreasonably shamed at his failures +to rise or bow. Vidal, who had as yet no Hebrew, interested himself in +picking out ancient denizens of Porto and communicating his +discoveries to his brother in a loud whisper, which excited Gabriel's +other neighbor to point out scions of the first Spanish families, +other members of which, at home, were props of Holy Church, bishops, +and even archbishops. A curious figure, this red-bearded, +gross-paunched neighbor, rocking automatically to and fro in his +<i>taleth</i>, but evidently far fainer to gossip than to pray.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[90]</a></span>Friars and nuns of almost every monastic order were, said he, here +regathered to Judaism. He himself, Isaac Pereira, who sat there safe +and snug, had been a Jesuit in Spain.</p> + +<p>"I was sick of the pious make-believe, and itched to escape over here. +But the fools had let me sell indulgences, and I had a goodly stock on +hand, and trade was slack"—here he interrupted himself with a +fervent "Amen!" conceded to the service—"in Spain just then. It's no +use carrying 'em over to the Netherlands, thinks I; they're too clever +over there. I must get rid of 'em in some country free for Jews, and +yet containing Catholics. So what should I do but slip over from +Malaga to Barbary, where I sold off the remainder of my stock to some +Catholics living among the Moors. No sooner had I pocketed +the—Amen!—money than I declared myself a Jew. God of Abraham! The +faces those Gentiles pulled when they found what a bad bargain they +had made with Heaven! They appealed to the Cadi against what they +called the imposition. But"—and here an irrepressible chuckle mingled +with the roar of the praying multitude—"I claimed the privilege of a +free port to sell any description of goods, and the Cadi had to give +his ruling in accordance with the law."</p> + +<p>In the exhilaration of his mood this sounded amusing to Gabriel, an +answering of fools according to their folly. But 'twas not long before +it recurred to him to add to his disgust and his disappointment with +his new brethren and his new faith. For after he had submitted +himself, with his brother, to circumcision, replaced his baptismal +name by the Hebrew Uriel, and Vidal's by Joseph, Latinizing at the +same time the family name to Acosta, he found himself confronted by a +host of minute ordinances far more galling than those of the Church. +Eating, drinking, sleeping, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[91]</a></span>dressing, washing, working; not the +simplest action but was dogged and clogged by incredible imperatives.</p> + +<p>Astonishment gave place to dismay, and dismay to indignation and +abhorrence, as he realized into what a network of ceremonial he had +entangled himself. The Pentateuch itself, with its complex codex of +six hundred and thirteen precepts, formed, he discovered, but the +barest framework for a parasitic growth insinuating itself with +infinite ramifications into the most intimate recesses of life.</p> + +<p>What! Was it for this Rabbinic manufacture that he had exchanged the +stately ceremonial of Catholicism? Had he thrown off mental fetters +but to replace them by bodily?</p> + +<p>Was this the Golden Age that he had looked to find—the simple Mosaic +theocracy of reason and righteousness?</p> + +<p>And the Jews themselves, were these the Chosen People he had clothed +with such romantic glamour?—fat burghers, clucking comfortably under +the wing of the Protestant States-General; merchants sumptuously +housed, vivifying Dutch trade in the Indies; their forms and dogmas +alone distinguishing them from the heathen Hollanders, whom they aped +even to the very patronage of painters; or, at the other end of this +bastard brotherhood of righteousness, sore-eyed wretches trundling +their flat carts of second-hand goods, or initiating a squalid ghetto +of diamond-cutting and cigar-making in oozy alleys and on the +refuse-laden borders of treeless canals. Oh! he was tricked, trapped, +betrayed!</p> + +<p>His wrath gathered daily, finding vent in bitter speeches. If this was +what had become of the Mosaic Law and the Holy People, the sooner a +son of Israel spoke out the better for his race. Was it not an +inspiration from on high that had given him the name of Uriel—"fire +of God"? So, when his private thunders had procured him a <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[92]</a></span>summons +before the outraged Rabbinic court, he was in no wise to be awed by +the <i>Chacham</i> and his Rabbis in their solemn robes.</p> + +<p>"Pharisees!" he cried, and, despite his lost Christianity, all the +scorn of his early training clung to the word.</p> + +<p>"Epicurean!" they retorted, with contempt more withering still.</p> + +<p>"Nay, Epicurus have I never read, and what I know of his doctrine by +hearsay revolteth me. I am for God and Reason, and a pure Judaism."</p> + +<p>"Even so talked Elisha Ben Abuya in Palestine of old," put in the +second Rabbi more mildly. "He with his Greek culture, who stalked from +Sinai to Olympus, and ended in Atheism."</p> + +<p>"I know not of Elisha, but I marvel not that your teaching drove him +to Atheism."</p> + +<p>"Said I not 'twas Atheism, not Judaism, thou talkedst? And an Atheist +in our ranks we may not harbor: our community is young in Amsterdam. +'Tis yet on sufferance, and these Dutchmen are easily moved to riot. +We have won our ground with labor. Traitor! wouldst thou cut the +dykes?"</p> + +<p>"Traitor thou!" retorted Uriel. "Traitor to God and His holy Law."</p> + +<p>"Hold thy peace!" thundered the <i>Chacham</i>, "or the ban shall be laid +upon thee."</p> + +<p>"Hold my peace!" answered Uriel scornfully. "Nay, I expatriated myself +for freedom; I shall not hold my peace for the sake of the ban."</p> + +<p>Nor did he. At home and abroad he exhausted himself in invective, in +exhortation.</p> + +<p>"Be silent, Uriel," begged his aged mother, dreading a breach of the +happiness her soul had found at last in its old spiritual swathings. +"This Judaism thou deridest is the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[93]</a></span>true, the pure Judaism, as I was +taught it in my girlhood. Let me go to my grave in peace."</p> + +<p>"Be silent, Uriel," besought his brother Joseph. "If thou dost not +give over, old Manasseh and his cronies will bar me out from those +lucrative speculations in the Indies, wherein also I am investing thy +money for thee. They have already half a hundred privateers, and the +States-General wink at anything that will cripple Spain, so if we can +seize its silver fleet, or capture Portuguese possessions in South +America, we shall reap revenge on our enemies and big dividends. And +he hath a comely daughter, hath Manasseh, and methinks her eye is not +unkindly towards me. Give over, I beg of thee! This religion liketh me +much—no confession, no damnation, and 'tis the faith of our fathers."</p> + +<p>"No damnation—ay, but no salvation either. They teach naught of +immortality; their creed is of the earth, earthy."</p> + +<p>"Then why didst thou drag me from Portugal?" inquired Joseph angrily.</p> + +<p>But Uriel—the fire of God—was not to be quenched; and so, not +without frequent warning, fell the fire of man. In a solemn conclave +in the black-robed synagogue, with awful symbolisms of extinguished +torches, the ban was laid upon Uriel Acosta, and henceforth no man, +woman, or child dared walk or talk with him. The very beggars refused +his alms, the street hawkers spat out as he passed by. His own mother +and brother, now completely under the sway of their new Jewish circle, +removed from the pollution of his presence, leaving him alone in the +great house with the black page. And this house was shunned as though +marked with the cross of the pestilence. The more high-spirited +Jew-boys would throw stones at its windows or rattle its doors, but it +was even keener sport to run after <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[94]</a></span>its tenant himself, on the rare +occasions when he appeared in the streets, to spit out like their +elders at the sight of him, to pelt him with mud, and to shout after +him, "Epicurean!" "Bastard!" "Sinner in Israel!"</p> + +<br /> +<h4>VIII</h4> + +<p>But although by this isolation the Rabbis had practically cut out the +heretic's tongue—for he knew no Dutch, nor, indeed, ever learned to +hold converse with his Christian neighbors—yet there remained his +pen, and in dread of the attack upon them which rumor declared him to +be inditing behind the shuttered windows of his great lonely house, +they instigated Samuel Da Silva, a physician equally skilled with the +lancet and the quill, to anticipate him by a counterblast calculated +to discredit the thunderer. He denied immortality, insinuated the +horrified Da Silva, in his elegant Portuguese treatise, <i>Tradado da +Immortalide</i>, probably basing his knowledge of Uriel's "bestial and +injurious opinions" on the confused reports of the heretic's brother, +but refraining from mentioning his forbidden name.</p> + +<p>"False slanders!" cried Uriel in his reply—completed—since he had +been anticipated—at his leisure; but he only confirmed the popular +conception of his materialistic errors, seeming, indeed, of wavering +mind on the subject of the future life. His thought had marched on: +and whereas it had been his complaint to Joseph that Rabbinism laid no +stress on immortality, further investigation of the Pentateuch had +shown him that Moses himself had taken no account whatsoever of the +conception, nor striven to bolster up the morality of to-day by the +terrors of a posthumous to-morrow.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[95]</a></span>So Uriel stood self-condemned, and the Rabbis triumphed, superfluously +justified in the eyes of their flock against this blaspheming +materialist. Nay, Uriel should fall into the pit himself had digged. +The elders of the congregation appealed to the magistrates; they +translated with bated breath passages from the baleful book, +<i>Tradiçoens Phariseas conferidos con a Ley escrida</i>. Uriel was +summoned before the tribunal, condemned to pay three hundred guldens, +imprisoned for eight days. The book was burnt.</p> + +<p>No less destructive a flame burnt at the prisoner's heart, as, +writhing on his dungeon pallet, biting his lips, digging his nails +into his palms, he cursed these malignant perverters of pure Judaism, +who had shamed him even before the Hollanders. He, the proud and +fearless gentleman of Portugal, had been branded as a criminal by +these fish-blooded Dutchmen. Never would he hold intercourse with his +fellow-creatures again—never, never! Alone with God and his thoughts +he would live and die.</p> + +<p>And so for year after year, though he lingered in the city that held +his dear ones, he abode in his cold marble-pillared house, save for +his Moorish servant, having speech with man nor woman. Nor did he ever +emerge, unless at hours when his childish persecutors were abed, so +that in time they turned to fresher sport. But at night he would +sometimes be met wandering by the dark canals, with eyes that kept the +inward look of the sequestered student, seeming to see nothing of the +sombre many-twinkling beauty of starlit waters, or the tender coloring +of mist and haze, but full only of the melancholy of the gray marshes, +and sometimes growing wet with bitter yearning for the sun and the +orange-trees and the warmth of friendly faces. And sometimes in the +cold dawn the early market-people met him riding madly in the +environs, in the silk doublet of a Portuguese grandee, his sword +clanking, and in his <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[96]</a></span>hand a silver-mounted pistol, with which he +snapped off the twigs as he flew past. And when his beloved brother +was married to the daughter of Manasseh, the millionaire and the +president of the India Company—which in that wonderful year paid its +shareholders a dividend of seventy-five in the hundred—some of the +wedding-guests averred that they had caught a glimpse of Uriel's dark, +yearning face amid the motley crowd assembled outside the synagogue to +watch the arrival of Joseph Acosta and his beautiful bride; and there +were those who said that Uriel's hands were raised as in blessing. And +once on a moonless midnight, when the venerable Dona Acosta had passed +away, the watchman in the Jews' cemetery, stealing from his turret at +a suspicious noise, turned his lantern upon—no body-snatcher, but—O +more nefarious spectacle!—the sobbing figure of Uriel Acosta across a +new-dug grave, polluting the holy soil of the <i>Beth-Chayim</i>!</p> + +<br /> +<h4>IX</h4> + +<p>And so the seasons and the years wore on, each walling in the lonely +thinker with more solid ice, and making it only the more difficult +ever to break through or to melt his prison walls. Nigh fifteen long +winter years had passed in a solitude tempered by theological thought, +and Uriel, nigh forgotten by his people, had now worked his way even +from the religion of Moses. It was the heart alone that was the seat +of religion; wherefore, no self-styled Revelation that contradicted +Nature could be true. Right Religion was according to Right Reason; +but no religion was reasonable that could set brother against brother. +All ceremonies were opposed to Reason. Goodness was the only true +religion. Such bold conclusions sometimes affrighted <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[97]</a></span>himself, being +alone in the world to hold them. "All evils," his note-book summed it +up in his terse Latin, "come from not following Right Reason and the +Law of Nature."</p> + +<p>And thinking such thoughts in the dead language that befitted one cut +off from life, to whom Dutch was never aught but the unintelligible +jargon of an unspiritual race, he was leaving his house on a bleak +evening when one clapped him on the shoulder, and turning in amaze, he +was still more mazed to find, for the first time in fifteen years, a +fellow-creature tendering a friendly smile and a friendly hand. He +drew back instinctively, without even recognizing the aged, +white-bearded, yet burly figure.</p> + +<p>"What, Senhor Da Costa! thou hast forgotten thy victim?"</p> + +<p>With a strange thrill he felt the endless years in Amsterdam slip off +him like the coils of some icy serpent, as he recognized the genial +voice of the Porto physician, and though he was back again in the +dungeon of the Holy Office, it was not the gloom of the vault that he +felt, but sunshine and blue skies and spring and youth. Through the +soft mist of delicious tears he gazed at the kindly furrowed face of +the now hoary-headed physician, and clasped his great warm hand, +holding it tight, forgetting to drop it, as though it were drawing him +back to life and love and fellowship.</p> + +<p>The first few words made it clear that Dom Diego had not heard of +Uriel's excommunication. He was new in the city, having been driven +there, pathetically enough, at the extreme end of his life by the +renewed activity of the Holy Office. "I longed to die in Portugal," he +said, with his burly laugh; "but not at the hands of the Inquisition."</p> + +<p>Uriel choked back the wild impulse to denounce the crueller +Inquisition of Jewry, from the sudden recollection <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[98]</a></span>that Dom Diego +might at once withdraw from him the blessed privilege of human speech.</p> + +<p>"Didst make a good voyage?" he asked instead.</p> + +<p>"Nay, the billows were in the Catholic League," replied the old man, +making a wry face. "However, the God of Israel neither slumbers nor +sleeps, and I rejoice to have chanced upon thee, were it only to be +guided back to my lodgings amid this water labyrinth."</p> + +<p>On the way, Uriel gave what answers he could to the old man's +questionings. His mother was dead; his brother Vidal had married, +though his wife had died some years later in giving birth to a boy, +who was growing up beautiful as a cherub. Yes, he was prospering in +worldly affairs, having long since intrusted them to Joseph—that was +to say, Vidal—who had embarked all the family wealth in a Dutch +enterprise called the West India Company, which ran a fleet of +privateers, to prey upon the treasure-ships in the war with Spain. He +did not say that his own interests were paid to him by formal letter +through a law firm, and that he went in daily fear that his estranged +and pious brother, now a pillar of the synagogue, would one day +religiously appropriate the heretic's property, backed by who knew +what devilish provision of Church or State, leaving him to starve. But +he wondered throughout their walk why Dom Diego, who had such constant +correspondence with Amsterdam, had never heard of his excommunication, +and his bitterness came back as he realized that the ban had extended +to the mention of his name, that he was as one dead, buried, cast down +to oblivion. Even before he had accepted the physician's invitation to +cross his threshold, he had resolved to turn this silence to his own +profit: he, whose inward boast was his stainless honor, had resolved +to act a silent lie. Was it not fair to outwit the rogues with their +own weapon? He had faded <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[99]</a></span>from human memory—let it be so. Was he to +be cut off from this sudden joy of friendship with one of his blood +and race, he whose soul was perishing with drought, though, until this +moment, he had been too proud to own it to himself?</p> + +<p>But when he entered Dom Diego's lodging and saw the unexpected, +forgotten Ianthe—Ianthe grown from that sweet child to matchless +grace of early womanhood; Ianthe with her dark smiling eyes and her +caressing voice and her gentle movements—then this resolution of +passive silence was exchanged for a determination to fight desperately +against discovery. In the glow of his soul, in the stir of youth and +spring in his veins, in the melting rapture of his mood, that first +sight of a beautiful girl's face bent smilingly to greet her father's +guest had sufficed to set his heart aflame with a new emotion, sweet, +riotous, sacred. What a merry supper-party was that; each dish eaten +with the sauce of joyous memories! How gaily he rallied Ianthe on her +childish ways and sayings! Of course, she remembered him, she said, +and the toys and flowers, and told how comically he had puckered his +brow in argumentation with her father. Yes, he had the same funny +lines still, and once she touched his forehead lightly for an instant +with her slender fingers in facetious demonstration, and he trembled +in painful rapture. And she played on her lute, too, on the lute he +had given her of old, those slender fingers making ravishing music on +the many-stringed instrument, though her pose as she played was more +witching still. What a beautiful glimpse of white shoulders and dainty +lace her straight-cut black bodice permitted!</p> + +<p>He left the house drunk, exalted, and as the cold night air smote the +forehead she had touched he was thrilled with fiery energy. He was +young still, thank God, though <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[100]</a></span>fifteen years had been eaten out of +his life, and he had thought himself as old and gray as the marshes. +He was young still, he told himself fiercely, defiantly. At home his +note-book lay open, as usual, on his desk, like a friend waiting to +hear what thoughts had come to him in his lonely walk. How far off and +alien seemed this cold confidant now, how irrelevant, and yet, when +his eye glanced curiously at his last recorded sentence, how relevant! +"All evils come from not following Right Reason and the Law of +Nature." How true! How true! He had followed neither Right Reason nor +the Law of Nature.</p> + +<br /> +<h4>X</h4> + +<p>In the morning, when the cold, pitiless eye of the thinker penetrated +through the sophisms of desire as clearly as his bodily eye saw the +gray in his hair and the premature age in his face, he saw how +impossible it was to keep the secret of his situation from Dom Diego. +Honor forbade it, though this, he did not shrink from admitting to +himself, might have counted little but for the certainty of discovery. +If he went to the physician's abode he could not fail to meet +fellow-Jews there. To some, perhaps, of the younger generation, his +forgotten name would convey no horrid significance; but then, Dom +Diego's cronies would be among the older men. No; he must himself warn +Dom Diego that he was a leper—a pariah. But not—since that might +mean final parting—not without a farewell meeting. He sent Pedro with +a note to the physician's lodgings, begging to be allowed the +privilege of returning his hospitality that same evening; and the +physician accepting for himself and daughter, a charwoman was sent +for, the great cobwebbed house was scrubbed and furbished in the +living <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[101]</a></span>chambers, the ancient silver was exhumed from mildewed +cupboards, the heavy oil-paintings were dusted, a lively canary in a +bright cage was hung on a marble pillar of the dining-room, over the +carven angels; flowers were brought in, and at night, in the soft +light of the candles, the traces of year-long neglect being subdued +and hidden, a spirit of festivity and gaiety pervaded the house as of +natural wont, while the Moorish attendant's red knee-breeches, +gold-braided coat, and blue-feathered turban, hitherto so incongruous +in the general grayness, now seemed part of the normal color. And +Uriel, too, grown younger with the house, made a handsome be-ruffed +figure as he sat at the board, exchanging merry sallies with the +physician and Ianthe.</p> + +<p>After the meal and the good wine that alone had not had its cobwebs +brushed shamefacedly away, Dom Diego fell conveniently asleep, looking +so worn and old when the light of his lively fancy had died out of his +face, that the speech of Uriel and Ianthe took a tenderer tone for +fear of disturbing him. Presently, too, their hands came together, +and—such was the swift sympathy between these shapely creatures—did +not dispart. And suddenly, kindled to passion by her warm touch and +breathing presence, stabbed with the fear that this was the last time +he would see her, he told her that for the first time in his life he +knew the meaning of love.</p> + +<p>"Oh, if thou wouldst but return my love!" he faltered with dry throat. +"But no! that were too much for a man of my years to hope. But whisper +at least, that I am not repugnant to thee."</p> + +<p>She was about to reply, when he dropped her hand and stayed her with a +gesture as abrupt as his avowal.</p> + +<p>"Nay, answer me not. Not till I have told thee what honor forbids I +should withhold."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[102]</a></span>And he told the story of his ban and his long loneliness, her face +flashing 'twixt terror and pity.</p> + +<p>"Answer me, now," he said, almost sternly. "Couldst thou love such a +man, proscribed by his race, a byword and a mockery, to whom it is a +sin against Heaven even to speak?"</p> + +<p>"They would not marry us," she breathed helplessly.</p> + +<p>"But couldst thou love me?"</p> + +<p>Her eyes drooped as she breathed, "The more for thy sufferings."</p> + +<p>But even in the ecstasy of this her acknowledgment, he had a chill +undercurrent of consciousness that she did not understand; that, never +having lived in an unpersecuted Jewish community, she had no real +sense of its own persecuting power. Still, there was no need to remain +in Amsterdam now: they would live together in some lonely spot, in the +religion of Right Reason that he would teach her. So their hands came +together again, and once their lips met. But the father was yet to be +told of their sudden-born, sudden-grown love, and this with +characteristic impulse Uriel did as soon as the old physician awoke.</p> + +<p>"God bless my soul!" said Dom Diego, "am I dreaming still?"</p> + +<p>His sense of dream increased when Uriel went on to repeat the story of +his excommunication.</p> + +<p>"And the ban—is it still in force?" he interrupted.</p> + +<p>"It has not been removed," said Uriel sadly.</p> + +<p>The burly graybeard sprang to his feet. "And with such a brand upon +thy brow thou didst dare speak to my daughter!"</p> + +<p>"Father!" cried Ianthe.</p> + +<p>"Father me not! He hath beguiled us here under false pretences. He +hath made us violate the solemn decree of the synagogue. He is +outlawed—he and his house and his <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[103]</a></span>food.—Sinner! The viands thou +hast given us, what of them? Is thy meat ritually prepared?"</p> + +<p>"Thou, a man of culture, carest for these childish things?"</p> + +<p>"Childish things? Wherefore, then, have I left my Portugal?"</p> + +<p>"All ceremonies are against Right Reason," said Uriel in low tones, +his face grown deadly white.</p> + +<p>"Now I see that thou hast never understood our holy and beautiful +religion. Men of culture, forsooth! Is not our Amsterdam congregation +full of men of culture—grammarians, poets, exegetes, philosophers, +jurists, but flesh and blood, mark you, not diagrams, cut out of +Euclid? Whence the cohesion of our race? Ceremony! What preserves and +unifies its scattered atoms throughout the world? Ceremony! And what +is ceremony? Poetry. 'Tis the tradition handed down from hoary +antiquity; 'tis the color of life."</p> + +<p>"'Tis a miserable thraldom," interposed Uriel more feebly.</p> + +<p>"Miserable! A happy service. Hast never danced at the Rejoicing of the +Law? Who so joyous as our brethren? Where so cheerful a creed? The +trouble with thee is that thou hast no childish associations with our +glorious religion, thou camest to it in manhood with naught but the +cold eye of Reason."</p> + +<p>"But thou dost not accept every invention of Rabbinism. Surely in +Porto thou didst not practise everything."</p> + +<p>"I kept what I could. I believe what I can. If I have my private +doubts, why should I set them up to perplex the community withal? +There's a friend of mine in this very city—not to mention names—but +a greater heretic, I ween, than even thou. But doth he shatter the +peace of the vulgar? Nay, not he: he hath a high place in the +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[104]</a></span>synagogue, is a blessing to the Jewry, and confideth his doubts to me +in epistles writ in elegant Latin. Nay, nay, Senhor Da Costa, the +world loves not battering-rams."</p> + +<p>And as the old physician spoke, Uriel began dimly to suspect that he +had misconceived human life, taken it too earnestly, and at his heart +was a hollow aching sense of futile sacrifice. And with it a suspicion +that he had mistaken Judaism, too—missed the poetry and humanity +behind the forms, and, as he gazed wistfully at Ianthe's tender +clouded face, he felt the old romantic sense of brotherhood stirring +again. How wonderful to be reabsorbed into his race, fused with +Ianthe!</p> + +<p>But Right Reason resurged in relentless ascendency, and he knew that +his thought could never more go back on itself, that he could never +again place faith in any Revelation.</p> + +<p>"I will be an ape among apes," he thought bitterly.</p> + +<br /> +<h4>XI</h4> + +<p>And the more he pondered upon this resolution, after Dom Diego had +indignantly shaken off the dust of his threshold, the more he was +confirmed in it. To outwit the Jewry would be the bitterest revenge, +to pay lip-service to its ideals and laugh at it in his sleeve. And +thus, too, he would circumvent its dreaded design to seize upon his +property. Deception? Ay, but the fault was theirs who drove him to it, +leaving him only a leper's life. In the Peninsula they had dissembled +among Christians; he would dissemble among Jews, aping the ancient +apes. He foresaw no difficulty in the recantation. And—famous +idea!—his brother Joseph, poor, dear fool, should bring it about +under the illusion that he was the instrument of Providence: <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[105]</a></span>for to +employ Dom Diego as go-between were to risk the scenting of his real +motive. Then, when the Synagogue had taken him to its sanctimonious +arms, Ianthe—overwhelming thought!—would become his wife. He had +little doubt of that; her farewell glance, after her father's back was +turned, was sweet with promises and beseechments, and a brief note +from her early the next morning dissipated his last doubts.</p> + +<p>"My poor Senhor Da Costa," she wrote, "I have lain awake all night +thinking of thee. Why ruin thy life for a mere abstraction? Canst thou +not make peace!—Thy friend, Ianthe."</p> + +<p>He kissed the note; then, his wits abnormally sharpened, he set to +work to devise how to meet his brother, and even as he was meditating +how to trick him, his heart was full of affection for his little +Vidal. Poor Vidal! How he must have suffered to lose his beautiful +wife!</p> + +<p>There were days on which Joseph's business or pleasure took him past +his brother's house, though he always walked on the further side, and +Uriel now set himself to keep watch at his study window from morning +to night, the pair of Dutch mirrors fixed slantingly outside the +window enabling him to see all the street life without being seen. +After three days, his patience was rewarded by the reflected image of +the portly pillar of the synagogue, and with him his little boy of +six. He ran downstairs and into the street and caught up the boy in +his arms—</p> + +<p>"Oh, Vidal!" he said, real affection struggling in his voice.</p> + +<p>"Thou!" said Joseph, staggering with the shock, and trembling at the +sound of his submerged name. Then, recovering himself, he said +angrily, "Pollute not my Daniel with thy touch."</p> + +<p>"He is my nephew. I love him, too! How beautiful <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[106]</a></span>he is!" And he +kissed the wondering little fellow. He refused to put him down. He ran +towards his own door. He begged Vidal to give him a word in pity of +his loneliness. Joseph looked fearfully up and down the street. No Jew +was in sight. He slipped hastily through the door. From that moment +Uriel played his portly brother like a chess-piece, which should make +complicated moves and think it made them of its own free will. +Gradually, by secret conversations, daily renewed, Joseph, fired with +enthusiasm and visions of the glory that would redound upon him in the +community—for he was now a candidate for the dignity of +treasurer—won Uriel back to Judaism. And when the faith of the revert +was quite fixed, Joseph made great talk thereof, and interceded with +the Rabbis.</p> + +<p>Uriel Acosta was given a document of confession of his errors to sign; +he promised to live henceforward as a true Jew, and the ban was +removed. On the Sabbath he went to the synagogue, and was called up to +read in the Law. The elders came to shake him by the hand; a wave of +emotion traversed the congregation. Uriel, mentally blinking at all +this novel sunshine, had moments of forgetfulness of his sardonic +hypocrisy, thrilled to be in touch with humanity again, and moved by +its forgiving good-will. The half-circle of almond and lemon trees +from Portugal, planted in gaily-painted tubs before the Holy Ark, +swelled his breast with tender, tearful memories of youth and the +sun-lands. And as Ianthe's happy eyes smiled upon him from the +gallery, the words of the Prophet Joel sang in his ears: "And I will +restore to you the years that the locust hath eaten."</p> + +<p>It was a glad night when Dom Diego and Ianthe sat again at his table, +religiously victualled this time, and with them his beloved brother +Joseph, not the least happy of the guests in the reconciliation with +Uriel and the near <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[107]</a></span>prospect of the treasuryship. What a handsome +creature he was! thought Uriel fondly. How dignified in manners, yet +how sprightly in converse!—no graven lines of suffering on his brow, +no gray in his hair. The old wine gurgled, the old memories glowed. +Joseph was let into the secret of the engagement—which was not to be +published for some months—but was too sure of the part he had played +to suspect he had been played with. He sang the Hebrew grace +jubilantly after the meal, and Ianthe's sweet voice chimed in happily. +Ere the brothers parted, Uriel had extracted a promise that little +Daniel should be lent him for a few days to crown his happiness and +brighten the great lonely house for the coming of the bride.</p> + +<br /> +<h4>XII</h4> + +<p>Uriel Acosta sat at dinner with little Daniel, feasting his eyes on the +fresh beauty of the boy, whose prattle had made the last two days +delightful. Daniel had been greatly exercised to find that his great +big uncle could not talk Dutch, and that he must talk Portuguese—which +was still kept up in families—to be understood. He had hitherto +imagined that grown-up people knew everything. Pedro, his black face +agrin with delight, waited solicitously upon the little fellow.</p> + +<p>He changed his meat plate now, and helped him lavishly to tart. +"Cream?" said Uriel, tendering the jug.</p> + +<p>"No, no!" cried Daniel, with a look of horror and a violent movement +of repulsion.</p> + +<p>Uriel chuckled. "What! Little boys not like cream! We shall find cats +shuddering at milk next." And pouring the contents of the jug lavishly +over his own triangle of tart, he went on with his meal.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[108]</a></span>But little Daniel was staring at him with awe struck vision, +forgetting to eat.</p> + +<p>"Uncle," he cried at last, "thou art not a Jew."</p> + +<p>Uriel laughed uneasily. "Little boys should eat and not talk."</p> + +<p>"But, Uncle! We may not eat milk after meat."</p> + +<p>"Well, well, then, little Rabbi!" And Uriel pushed his plate away and +pinched the child's ear fondly.</p> + +<p>But when the child went home he prattled of his uncle's +transgressions, and Joseph hurried down, storming at this misleading +of his boy, and this breach of promise to the synagogue. Uriel +retorted angrily with that native candor of his which made it +impossible for him long to play a part.</p> + +<p>"I am but an ape among apes," he said, using his pet private sophism.</p> + +<p>"Say rather an ape among lynxes, who will spy thee out," said Joseph, +more hotly. "Thy double-dealing will be discovered, and I shall become +the laughing-stock of the congregation."</p> + +<p>It was the beginning of a second quarrel—fiercer, bitterer than the +first. Joseph denounced Uriel privily to Dom Diego, who thundered at +the heretic in his turn.</p> + +<p>"I give not my daughter to an ape," he retorted, when Uriel had +expounded himself as usual.</p> + +<p>"Ianthe loves the ape; 'tis her concern," Uriel was stung into +rejoining.</p> + +<p>"Nay, 'tis my concern. By Heaven, I'll grandsire no gorillas!"</p> + +<p>"Methinks in Porto thou wast an ape thyself," cried Uriel, raging.</p> + +<p>"Dog!" shrieked the old physician, his venerable countenance +contorted; "dost count it equal to deceive the Christians and thine +own brethren?" And he flung from the house.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[109]</a></span>Uriel wrote to Ianthe. She replied—</p> + +<p>"I asked thee to make thy peace. Thou hast made bitterer war. I cannot +fight against my father and all Israel. Farewell!"</p> + +<p>Uriel's face grew grim: the puckers in his brow that her fingers had +touched showed once more as terrible lines of suffering; his teeth +were clenched. The old look of the hunted man came back. He took out +her first note, which he kept nearest his heart, and re-read it +slowly—</p> + +<p>"Why ruin thy life for a mere abstraction? Canst thou not make peace?"</p> + +<p>A mere abstraction! Ah! Why had that not warned him of the woman's +calibre? Nay, why had he forgotten—and here he had a vivid vision of +a little girl bringing in Passover cakes—her training in a double +life? Not that woman needed that—Dom Diego was right. False, frail +creatures! No sympathy with principles, no recognition of the great +fight he had made. Tears of self-pity started to his eyes. Well, she +had, at least, saved him from cowardly surrender. The old fire flamed +in his veins. He would fight to the death.</p> + +<p>And as he tore up her notes, a strange sense of relief mingled with +the bitterness and fierceness of his mood; relief to think that never +again would he be called upon to jabber with the apes, to grasp their +loathly paws, to join in their solemnly absurd posturings, never would +he be tempted from the peace and seclusion of his book-lined study. +The habits of fifteen years tugged him back like ropes of which he had +exhausted the tether.</p> + +<p>He seated himself at his desk, and took up his pen to resume his +manuscript. "All evils come from not following Right Reason and the +Law of Nature." He wrote on for hours, pausing from time to time to +select his Latin phrases. Suddenly a hollow sense of the futility of +his <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[110]</a></span>words, of Reason, of Nature, of everything, overcame him. What +was this dreadful void at his breast? He leaned his tired, aching head +on his desk and sobbed, as little Daniel had never sobbed yet.</p> + +<br /> +<h4>XIII</h4> + +<p>To the congregation at large, ignorant of these inner quarrels, the +backsliding of Uriel was made clear by the swine-flesh which the +Christian butcher now openly delivered at the house. Horrified zealots +remonstrated with him in the streets, and once or twice it came to a +public affray. The outraged elders pressed for a renewal of the ban; +but the Rabbis hesitated, thinking best, perhaps, henceforward to +ignore the thorn in their sides.</p> + +<p>It happened that a Spaniard and an Italian came from London to seek +admission into the Jewish fold, Christian sceptics not infrequently +finding peace in the bosom of the older faith. These would-be +converts, hearing the rumors anent Uriel Acosta, bethought themselves +of asking his advice. When the House of Judgment heard that he had +bidden them beware of the intolerable yoke of the Rabbis, its members +felt that this was too much. Uriel Acosta was again excommunicated.</p> + +<p>And now began new years of persecution, more grievous, more determined +than ever. Again his house was stoned, his name a byword, his walks +abroad a sport to the little ones of a new generation. And now even +the worst he had feared came to pass. Gradually his brother, who had +refused on various pretexts to liberate his capital, encroached on his +property. Uriel dared not complain to the civil magistrates, by whom +he was already suspect as an Atheist; besides, he still knew no Dutch, +and in <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[111]</a></span>worldly matters was as a child. Only his love for his brother +turned to deadly hate, which was scarcely intensified when Joseph led +Ianthe under the marriage canopy.</p> + +<p>So seven terrible years passed, and Uriel, the lonely, prematurely +aged, found himself sinking into melancholia. He craved for human +companionship, and the thought that he could find it save among Jews +never occurred to him. And at last he humbled himself, and again +sought forgiveness of the synagogue.</p> + +<p>But this time he was not to be readmitted into the fold so lightly. +Imitating the gloomy forms of the Inquisition, from which they had +suffered so much, the elders joined with the Rabbis in devising a +penance, which would brand the memory of the heretic's repentance upon +the minds of his generation.</p> + +<p>Uriel consented to the penance, scarcely knowing what they asked of +him. Anything rather than another day of loneliness; so into the great +synagogue, densely filled with men and women, the penitent was led, +clothed in a black mourning garb and holding a black candle. He whose +earliest dread had been to be shamed before men, was made to mount a +raised stage, wherefrom he read a long scroll of recantation, +confessing all his ritual sins and all his intellectual errors, and +promising to live till death as a true Jew. The <i>Chacham</i>, who stood +near the sexton, solemnly intoned from the seventy-eighth Psalm: "But +He, being full of compassion, forgave their iniquity and destroyed +them not: yea, many a time turned He his anger away and did not stir +up all his wrath. For He remembered that they were but flesh: a wind +that passeth away and cometh not again."</p> + +<p>He whispered to Uriel, who went to a corner of the synagogue, stripped +as far as the girdle, and received with dumb lips thirty-nine lashes +from a scourge. Then, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[112]</a></span>bleeding, he sat on the ground, and heard the +ban solemnly removed. Finally, donning his garments, he stretched +himself across the threshold, and the congregation passed out over his +body, some kicking it in pious loathing, some trampling on it +viciously. The penitent remained rigid, his face pressed to the +ground. Only, when his brother Joseph trampled upon him, he knew by +subtle memories of his tread and breathing who the coward was.</p> + +<p>When the last of the congregants had passed over his body, Uriel arose +and went through the pillared portico, speaking no word. The +congregants, standing in groups about the canal-bridge, still +discussing the terrible scene, moved aside, shuddering, silenced, as +like a somnambulist that strange figure went by, the shoulders thrown +back, the head high, in superb pride, the nostrils quivering, but the +face as that of the dead. Never more was he seen of men. Shut up in +his study, he worked feverishly day and night, writing his +autobiography. <i>Exemplar Humanae Vitae</i>—an Ensample of Human Life, he +called it, with tragic pregnancy. Scarcely a word of what the world +calls a man's life—only the dry account of his abstract thought, of +his progress to broader standpoints, to that great discovery—"All +evils come from not following Right Reason and the Law of Nature." And +therewith a virulent denunciation of Judaism and its Rabbis: "They +would crucify Jesus even now if He appeared again." And, garnering the +wisdom of his life-experience, he bade every man love his neighbor, +not because God bids him, but by virtue of being a man. What Judaism, +what Christianity contains of truth belongs not to revealed, but to +natural religion. Love is older than Moses; it binds men together. The +Law of Moses separates them: one brings harmony, the other discord +into human society.</p> + +<p>His task was drawing to an end. His long fight with <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[113]</a></span>the Rabbis was +ending, too. "My cause is as far superior to theirs as truth is more +excellent than falsehood: for whereas they are advocates for a fraud +that they may make a prey and slaves of men, I contend nobly in the +cause of Truth, and assert the natural rights of mankind, whom it +becomes to live suitably to the dignity of their nature, free from the +burden of superstitions and vain ceremonies."</p> + +<p>It was done. He laid down his quill and loaded his pair of +silver-mounted pistols. Then he placed himself at the window as of +yore, to watch in his two mirrors for the passing of his brother +Joseph. He knew his hand would not fail him. The days wore on, but +each sunrise found him at his post, as it was reflected sanguinarily +in those fatal mirrors.</p> + +<p>One afternoon Joseph came, but Daniel was with him. And Uriel laid +down his pistol and waited, for he yet loved the boy. And another time +Joseph passed by with Ianthe. And Uriel waited.</p> + +<p>But the third time Joseph came alone. Gabriel's heart gave a great +leap of exultation. He turned, took careful aim, and fired. The shot +rang through the startled neighborhood, but Joseph fled in panic, +uninjured, shouting.</p> + +<p>Uriel dropped his pistol, half in surprise at his failure, half in +despairing resignation.</p> + +<p>"There is no justice," he murmured. How gray the sky was! What a cold, +bleak world!</p> + +<p>He went to the door and bolted it. Then he took up the second pistol. +Irrelevantly he noted the "G." graven on it. Gabriel! Gabriel! What +memories his old name brought back! There were tears in his eyes. Why +had he changed to Uriel? Gabriel! Gabriel! Was that his mother's voice +calling him, as she had called him in sunny Portugal, amid the vines +and the olive-trees?</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[114]</a></span>Worn out, world-weary, aged far beyond his years, beaten in the long +fight, despairing of justice on earth and hopeless of any heaven, +Uriel Acosta leaned droopingly against his beloved desk, put the +pistol's cold muzzle to his forehead, pressed the trigger, and fell +dead across the open pages of his <i>Exemplar Humanae Vitae</i>, the thin, +curling smoke lingering a little ere it dissipated, like the futile +spirit of a passing creature—"a wind that passeth away and cometh not +again."</p> + +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<a name="THE_TURKISH_MESSIAH" id="THE_TURKISH_MESSIAH"></a><hr /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[115]</a></span><br /> + +<h3>THE TURKISH MESSIAH<span class="totoc"><a href="#toc">ToC</a></span></h3> +<br /> + +<h4>SCROLL THE FIRST</h4> + +<br /> +<h4>I</h4> + +<p>In the year of the world five thousand four hundred and eight, sixteen +hundred and forty-eight years after the coming of Christ, and in the +twenty-third year of his own life on earth, Sabbataï Zevi, men said, +declared himself at Smyrna to his disciples—the long-expected Messiah +of the Jews. They were gathered together in the winter midnight, a +little group of turbaned, long-robed figures, the keen stars +innumerable overhead, the sea stretching sombrely at their feet, and +the swarming Oriental city, a black mystery of roofs, minarets, and +cypresses, dominated by the Acropolis, asleep on the slopes of its +snow-clad hill.</p> + +<p>Anxiously they had awaited their Prophet's emergence from his +penitential lustration in the icy harbor, and as he now stood before +them in naked majesty, the water dripping from his black beard and +hair, a perfect manly figure, scarred only by self-inflicted +scourgings, awe and wonder held them breathless with expectation. +Inhaling that strange fragrance of divinity that breathed from his +body, and penetrated by the kingliness of his mien, the passionate yet +spiritual beauty of his dark, dreamy face, they awaited the great +declaration. Some common instinct told <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[116]</a></span>them that he would speak +to-night, he, the master of mystic silences.</p> + +<p>The <i>Zohar</i>—that inspired book of occult wisdom—had long since +foretold this year as the first of the epoch of regeneration, and ever +since the shrill ram's horn had heralded its birth, the souls of +Sabbataï Zevi's disciples had been tense for the great moment. Surely +it was to announce himself at last that he had summoned them, blessed +partakers in the greatest moment of human and divine history.</p> + +<p>What would he say?</p> + +<p>Austere, silent, hedged by an inviolable sanctity, he stood long +motionless, realizing, his followers felt, the Cabalistic teaching as +to the Messiah, incarnating the Godhead through the primal Adam, pure, +sinless, at one with himself and elemental Nature. At last he raised +his luminous eyes heavenwards, and said in clear, calm tones one +word—</p> + +<p><span class="sc">Yahweh!</span></p> + +<p>He had uttered the dread, forbidden Name of God. For an instant the +turbaned figures stood rigid with awe, their blood cold with an +ineffable terror, then as they became conscious again of the stars +glittering on, the sea plashing unruffled, the earth still solid under +their feet, a great hoarse shout of holy joy flew up to the shining +stars. "<i>Messhiach! Messhiach!</i> The Messiah!"</p> + +<p>The Kingdom was come.</p> + +<p>The Messianic Era had begun.</p> + +<br /> +<h4>II</h4> + +<p>How long, O Lord, how long?</p> + +<p>That desolate cry of the centuries would be heard no more.</p> + +<p>While Israel was dispersed and the world full of sin, the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[117]</a></span>higher and +lower worlds had been parted, and the four letters of God's name had +been dissevered, not to be pronounced in unison. For God Himself had +been made imperfect by the impeding of His moral purpose.</p> + +<p>But the Messiah had pronounced the Tetragrammaton, and God and the +Creation were One again. O mystic transport! O ecstatic reunion! The +joyous shouts died into a more beatific silence.</p> + +<p>From some near mosque there broke upon the midnight air the solemn +voice of the <i>muëddin</i> chanting the <i>adán</i>—</p> + +<p>"God is most great. I testify that there is no God but God. I testify +that Mohammed is God's Prophet."</p> + +<p>Sabbataï shivered. Was it the cold air or some indefinable foreboding?</p> + +<br /> +<h4>III</h4> + +<p>It was the day of Messianic dreams. In the century that was over, +strange figures had appeared of prophets and martyrs and Hebrew +visionaries. From obscurity and the far East came David Reubeni, +journeying to Italy by way of Nubia to obtain firearms to rid +Palestine of the Moslem—a dark-faced dwarf, made a skeleton by fasts, +riding on his white horse up to the Vatican to demand an interview, +and graciously received by Pope Clement. In Portugal—where David +Reubeni, heralded by a silken standard worked with the Ten +Commandments, had been received by the King with an answering +pageantry of banners and processions—a Marrano maiden had visions of +Moses and the angels, undertook to lead her suffering kinsfolk to the +Holy Land, and was burnt by the Inquisition. Diogo Pires—handsome and +brilliant and young, and a Christian by birth—returned to the faith +of his fathers, and, under the name of Solomon Molcho, passed his +brief <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[118]</a></span>life in quest of prophetic ecstasies and the pangs of +martyrdom. He sought to convert the Pope to Judaism, and predicting a +great flood at Rome, which came to pass, with destructive earthquakes +at Lisbon, was honored by the Vatican, only to meet a joyful death at +Mantua, where, by order of the Emperor, he was thrown upon the blazing +funeral pyre. And in these restless and terrible times for the Jews, +inward dreams mingled with these outward portents. The <i>Zohar</i>—the +Book of Illumination, composed in the thirteenth century—printed now +for the first time, shed its dazzling rays further and further over +every Ghetto.</p> + +<p>The secrets reserved for the days of the Messiah had been revealed in +it: Elijah, all the celestial conclave, angels, spirits, higher souls, +and the Ten Spiritual Substances had united to inspire its composers, +teach them the bi-sexual nature of the World-Principle, and discover +to them the true significance of the <i>Torah</i> (Law), hitherto hidden in +the points and strokes of the Pentateuch, in its vowels and accents, +and even in the potential transmutations of the letters of its words. +Lurya, the great German Egyptian Cabalist, with Vital, the Italian +alchemist, sojourned to the grave of Simon bar Yochai, its fabled +author. Lurya himself, who preferred the silence and loneliness of the +Nile country to the noise of the Talmud-School, who dressed in white +on Sabbath, and wore a fourfold garment to signify the four letters of +the Ineffable Name, and who by permutating these, could draw down +spirits from Heaven, passed as the Messiah of the Race of Joseph, +precursor of the true Messiah of the Race of David. The times were +ripe. "The kingdom of heaven is at hand," cried the Cabalists with one +voice. The Jews had suffered so much and so long. Decimated for not +dying of the Black Death, pillaged and murdered by the Crusaders, +hounded remorselessly from Spain and Portugal, roasted <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[119]</a></span>by thousands +at the <i>autos-da-fé</i> of the Inquisition, everywhere branded and +degraded, what wonder if they felt that their cup was full, that +redemption was at hand, that the Lord would save Israel and set His +people in triumph over the heathen! "I believe with a perfect faith +that the Messiah will come, and though His coming be delayed, +nevertheless will I daily expect Him."</p> + +<p>So ran their daily creed.</p> + +<p>In Turkey what time the Jews bore themselves proudly, rivalling the +Venetians in the shipping trade, and the Grand Viziers in the beauty +of their houses, gardens, and kiosks; when Joseph was Duke of Naxos, +and Solomon Ashkenazi Envoy Extraordinary to Venice; when Tiberias was +turned into a new Jerusalem and planted with mulberry-trees; when +prosperous physicians wrote elegant Latin verses; in those days the +hope of the Messiah was faint and dim. But it flamed up fiercely +enough when their strength and prestige died down with that of the +Empire, and the harem and the Janissaries divided power with the +Prætorians of the Spahis, and the Jews were the first objects of +oppression ready to the hand of the unloosed pashas, and the black +turban marked them off from the Moslem. It was a Rabbi of the Ottoman +Empire who wrote the religious code of "The Ordered Table" to unify +Israel and hasten the coming of the Messiah, and his dicta were +accepted far and wide.</p> + +<p>And not only did Israel dream of the near Messiah, the rumor of Him +was abroad among the nations. Men looked again to the mysterious +Orient, the cradle of the Divine. In the far isle of England sober +Puritans were awaiting the Millennium and the Fifth Monarchy of the +Apocalypse—the four "beasts" of the Babylonian, Persian, Greek, and +Roman monarchies having already passed away—and when Manasseh ben +Israel of Amsterdam petitioned Cromwell to <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[120]</a></span>readmit the Jews, his plea +was that thereby they might be dispersed through all nations, and the +Biblical prophecies as to the eve of the Messianic age be thus +fulfilled. Verily, the times were ripe for the birth of a Messiah.</p> + +<br /> +<h4>IV</h4> + +<p>He had been strange and solitary from childhood, this saintly son of +the Smyrniote commission agent. He had no playmates, none of the +habits of the child. He would wander about the city's steep bustling +alleys that seemed hewn in a great rock, or through the long, +wooden-roofed bazaars, seeming to heed the fantastically colored +spectacle as little as the garbage under foot, or the trains of +gigantic camels, at the sound of whose approaching bells he would +mechanically flatten himself against the wall. And yet he must have +been seeing, for if he chanced upon anything that suffered—a child, a +lean dog, a cripple, a leper—his eyes filled with tears. At times he +would stand on the brink of the green gulf and gaze seawards long and +yearningly, and sometimes he would lie for hours upon the sudden plain +that stretched lonely behind the dense port.</p> + +<p>In the little congested school-room where hundreds of children +clamored Hebrew at once he was equally alone; and when, a brilliant +youth, he headed the lecture-class of the illustrious Talmudist, +Joseph Eskapha, his mental attitude preserved the same aloofness. +Quicker than his fellows he grasped the casuistical hair-splittings in +which the Rabbis too often indulged, but his contempt was as quick as +his comprehension. A note of revolt pierced early through his +class-room replies, and very soon he threw over these barren +subtleties to sink himself—at a tenderer age than tradition knew +of—in the spiritual mysticisms, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[121]</a></span>the poetic fervors, and the +self-martyrdoms of the Cabalistic literature. The transmigrations of +souls, mystic marriages, the summoning of spirits, the creation of the +world by means of attributes, or how the Godhead had concentrated +itself within itself in order to unfold the finite Many from the +infinite One; such were the favorite studies of the brooding youth of +fifteen.</p> + +<p>"Learning shall be my life," he said to his father.</p> + +<p>"Thy life! But what shall be thy livelihood?" replied Mordecai Zevi. +"Thy elder brothers are both at work."</p> + +<p>"So much more need that one of thy family should consecrate himself to +God, to call down a blessing on the work of the others."</p> + +<p>Mordecai Zevi shook his head. In his olden days, in the Morea, he had +known the bitterness of poverty. But he was beginning to prosper now, +like so many of his kinsmen, since Sultan Ibrahim had waged war +against the Venetians, and, by imperilling the trade of the Levant, +had driven the Dutch and English merchants to transfer their ledgers +from Constantinople to Smyrna. The English house of which Mordecai had +obtained the agency was waxing rich, and he in its wake, and so he +could afford to have a scholar-son. He made no farther demur, and even +allowed his house to become the seat of learning in which Sabbataï and +nine chosen companions studied the Zohar and the Cabalah from dawn to +darkness. Often they would desert the divan for the wooden +garden-balcony overlooking the oranges and the prune-trees. And the +richer Mordecai grew, the greater grew his veneration for his son, to +whose merits, and not to his own diligence and honesty, he ascribed +his good fortune.</p> + +<p>"If the sins of the fathers are visited on the children," he was wont +to say, "then surely the good deeds of the children are repaid to the +fathers." His marked reverence <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[122]</a></span>for his wonderful son spread outwards, +and Sabbataï became the object of a wistful worship, of a wild +surmise.</p> + +<p>Something of that wild surmise seemed to the father to flash into his +son's own eyes one day when, returned from a great journey to his +English principals, Mordecai Zevi spoke of the Fifth Monarchy men who +foretold the coming of the Messiah and the Restoration of the Jews in +the year 1666.</p> + +<p>"Father!" said the boy. "Will not the Messiah be born on the ninth of +Ab?"</p> + +<p>"Of a surety," replied Mordecai, with beating heart. "He will be born +on the fatal date of the destruction of both our Temples, in token of +consolation, as it is written; 'and I will cause the captivity of +Judah and the captivity of Israel to return, and will build them, as +at the first.'"</p> + +<p>The boy relapsed into his wonted silence. But one thought possessed +father and son. Sabbataï had been born on the ninth of Ab—on the +great Black Fast.</p> + +<p>The wonder grew when the boy was divorced from his wife—the beautiful +Channah. Obediently marrying—after the custom of the day—the maiden +provided by his father, the young ascetic passionately denied himself +to the passion ripened precociously by the Eastern sun, and the +marvelling <i>Beth-Din</i> (House of Judgment) released the virgin from her +nominal husband. Prayer and self-mortification were the pleasures of +his youth. The enchanting Jewesses of Smyrna, picturesque in baggy +trousers and open-necked vests, had no seduction for him, though no +muslin veil hid their piquant countenances as with the Turkish women, +though no prescription silenced their sweet voices in the psalmody of +the table, as among the sin-fearing congregations of the West. In vain +the maidens stuck roses under their ear or wore honeysuckle in their +hair to denote their willingness to be led under the canopy. But +Mordecai, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[123]</a></span>anxious that he should fulfil the law, according to which +to be celibate is to live in sin, found him a second mate, even more +beautiful; but the youth remained silently callous, and was soon +restored afresh to his solitary state.</p> + +<p>"Now shall the <i>Torah</i> (Law) be my only bride," he said.</p> + +<p>Blind to the beauty of womanhood, the young, handsome, and now rich +Sabbataï, went his lonely, parsimonious way, and a wondering band +followed him, scarcely disturbing his loneliness by their reverential +companionship. When he entered the sea, morning and night, summer and +winter, all stood far off; by day he would pray at the fountain which +the Christians called <i>Sancta Veneranda</i>, near to the cemetery of the +Jews, and he would stretch himself at night across the graves of the +righteous in a silent agony of appeal, while the jackals barked in the +lonely darkness and the wind soughed in the mountain gorges.</p> + +<p>But at times he would speak to his followers of the Divine mysteries +and of the rigorous asceticism by which alone these were to be reached +and men to be regenerated and the Kingdom to be won; and sometimes he +would sing to them Spanish songs in his sweet, troubling +voice—strange Cabalistic verses, composed by himself or Lurya, and +set to sad, haunting melodies yearning with mystic passion. And in +these songs the womanhood he had rejected came back in amorous strains +that recalled the Song of Songs, which is Solomon's, and seemed to his +disciples to veil as deep an allegory:—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"There the Emperor's daughter<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lay agleam in the water,<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Melisselda.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And its breast to her breast<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lay in tremulous rest,<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Melisselda.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From her bath she arose<br /></span><span class='pn'><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[124]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Pure and white as the snows,<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Melisselda.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Coral only at lips<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And at sweet finger-tips,<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Melisselda.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In the pride of her race<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As a sword shone her face,<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Melisselda.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And her lips were steel bows,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But her mouth was a rose,<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Melisselda."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="noin">And in the eyes of the tranced listeners were tears of worship for +Melisselda as for the Messiah's mystic Bride.</p> + +<br /> +<h4>V</h4> + +<p>And while the silent Sabbataï said no word of Messiah or mission, no +word save the one word on the seashore, his disciples, first secret, +then bold, spread throughout Smyrna the news of the Messiah's advent.</p> + +<p>They were not all young, these first followers of Sabbataï. No one +proclaimed him more ardently than the grave, elderly man of science, +Moses Pinhero. But the sceptics far outnumbered the believers. +Sabbataï was scouted as a madman. The Jewry was torn by dissensions +and disturbances. But Sabbataï took no part in them. He had no +communion with the bulk of his brethren, save in religious ceremonies, +and for these he would go to the poorest houses in the most noisome +courts. It was in a house of one room, the raised part of which, +covered with a strip of carpet, made the bed-and living-room, and the +unraised part the kitchen, that his next manifestation of occult power +was made. The ceremony was the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[125]</a></span>circumcision of the first-born son, +but as the <i>Mohel</i> (surgeon) was about to operate he asked him to stay +his hand awhile. Half an hour passed.</p> + +<p>"Why are we waiting?" the guests ventured to ask of him at last.</p> + +<p>"Elijah the Prophet has not yet taken his seat," he said.</p> + +<p>Presently he made a sign that the proceedings might be resumed. They +stared in reverential awe at the untenanted chair, where only the +inspired vision of Sabbataï could perceive the celestial form of the +ancient Prophet.</p> + +<p>But the ancient Talmudical college frowned upon the new Prophet, +particularly when his disciples bruited abroad his declaration on the +sea-shore. He was cited before the <i>Chachamim</i> (Rabbis).</p> + +<p>"Thou didst dare pronounce the ineffable Name" cried Joseph Eskapha, +his old Master. "What! Shall thy unconsecrated lips pollute the sacred +letters that even in the time of Israel's glory only the High Priest +might breathe in the Holy of Holies on the Day of Atonement!"</p> + +<p>"'Tis a divine mystery known to me alone," said Sabbataï.</p> + +<p>But the Rabbis shook their heads and laid the ban upon him and his +disciples. A strange radiance came in Sabbataï's face. He betook +himself to the fountain and prayed.</p> + +<p>"I thank Thee, O my Father," he said, "inasmuch as Thou hast revealed +myself to myself. Now I know that my own penances have not been in +vain."</p> + +<p>But the excommunication of the Sabbatians did not quiet the commotion +in the Jewish quarter of Smyrna, fed by Millennial dreams from the +West. In England, indeed, a sect of Old Testament Christians had +arisen, working for the adoption of the Mosaic Code as the law of the +State.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[126]</a></span>From land to land of Christendom, on the feverish lips of eager +believers, passed the rumor of the imminence of the Messiah of the +Jews. According to some he would appear before the Grand Seignior in +June, 1666, take from him his crown by force of music only, and lead +him in chains like a captive. Then for nine months he would disappear, +the Jews meanwhile enduring martyrdom, but he would return, mounted on +a Celestial Lion, with his bridle made of seven-headed serpents, +leading back the lost ten tribes from beyond the river Sambatyon, and +he should be acknowledged for Solomon, King of the Universe, and the +Holy Temple should descend from Heaven already built, that the Jews +might offer sacrifice therein for ever. But these hopes found no +lodgment in the breasts of the Jewish governors of the Smyrniote +quarter, where hard-headed Sephardim were busy in toil and traffic, +working with their hands, or shipping freights of figs or valonea; as +for the <i>Schnorrers</i>, the beggars who lived by other people's wits, +they were even more hard-headed than the workers. Hence constant +excitements and wordy wars, till at last the authorities banished the +already outlawed Sabbataï from Smyrna. When he heard the decree he +said, "Is Israel not in exile?" He took farewell of his brothers and +of his father, now grown decrepit in his body and full of the gout and +other infirmities.</p> + +<p>"Thou hast brought me wealth," said old Mordecai, sobbing; "but now I +had rather lose my wealth than thee. Lo, I am on the brink of the +grave, and my saintly son will not close mine eyes, nor know when to +say <i>Kaddish</i> (mourning prayer) over my departed soul."</p> + +<p>"Nay, weep not, my father," said Sabbataï. "The souls depart—but they +will return."</p> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[127]</a></span><br /> +<h4>VI</h4> + +<p>He wandered through the Orient, everywhere gaining followers, +everywhere discredited. Constantinople saw him, and Athens, +Thessalonica and Cairo.</p> + +<p>For the Jew alone travel was easy in those days. The scatterings of +his race were everywhere. The bond of blood secured welcome: Hebrew +provided a common tongue. The scholar-guest, in especial, was hailed +in flowery Hebrew as a crown sent to decorate the head of his host. +Sumptuously entertained, he was laden with gifts on his departure, the +caravan he was to join found for him, the cost defrayed, and even his +ransom, should he unhappily be taken captive by robbers.</p> + +<p>At the Ottoman capital the exile had a mingled reception. In the great +Jewish quarter of Haskeui, with its swarming population of small +traders, he found many adherents and many adversaries. Constantinople +was a nest of free-lances and adventurers. Abraham Yachiny, the +illustrious preacher, an early believer, was inspired to have a tomb +opened in the ancient "house of life." He asked the sceptical Rabbis +to dig up the earth. They found it exceedingly hard to the spade, but, +persevering, presently came upon an earthen pot and therein a +parchment which ran thus: "I, Abraham, was shut up for forty years in +a cave. I wondered that the time of miracles did not arrive. Then a +voice replied to me: 'A son shall be born in the year of the world +5386 and be called Sabbataï. He shall quell the great dragon; he is +the true Messiah, and shall wage war without weapons.'"</p> + +<p>Verily without weapons did Sabbataï wage war, almost without words. +Not even the ancient Parchment convinced the scoffers, but Sabbataï +took note of it as little <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[128]</a></span>as they. To none did he proclaim himself. +His tall, majestic figure, with its sweeping black beard, was +discerned in the dusk, passionately pleading at the graves of the +pious. He was seen at dawn standing motionless upon his bulging wooden +balcony that gave upon the Golden Horn. When he was not fasting, none +but the plainest food passed his lips. He flagellated himself daily. +Little children took to him, and he showered sweetmeats upon them and +winning smiles of love. When he walked the refuse-laden, deep-rutted +streets, slow and brooding, jostled by porters, asses, dervishes, +sheiks, scribes, fruit-pedlars, shrouded females, and beggars, +something more than the sombreness of his robes marked him out from +the medley of rainbow-colored pedestrians. Turkish beauties peered +through their yashmaks, cross-legged craftsmen smoking their narghiles +raised their heads as he passed through the arched aisles of the Great +Bazaar. Once he wandered into the slave-market, where fair Circassians +and Georgians were being stripped to furnish the Kiosks of the +Bosphorus, and he grew hot-eyed for the corrupt chaos of life in the +capital, with its gorgeous pachas and loathly cripples, its countless +mosques and brothels, its cruel cadis and foolish dancing dervishes. +And when an angry Mussulman, belaboring his ass, called it "Jew!" his +heart burnt with righteous anger. Verily, only Israel had chosen +Righteousness—one little nation, the remnant that would save the +world, and bring about the Kingdom of God. But alas! Israel herself +was yet full of sin, hard and unbelieving.</p> + +<p>"Woe! woe!" he cried aloud to his brethren as he entered the Jewish +quarter. "Your sins shall be visited upon you. For know that when God +created the world, it was not from necessity but from pure love, and +to be recognized by men as their Creator and Master. But ye return Him +not love for love. Woe! woe! There shall <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[129]</a></span>come a fire upon +Constantinople and a great burning upon your habitations and +substance."</p> + +<p>Then his breast swelled with sobs; in a strange ecstasy his spirit +seemed to soar from his body, and hover lovingly over all the motley +multitude. All that night his followers heard him praying aloud with +passionate tears, and singing the Psalms of David in his sweet +melancholy voice as he strode irregularly up and down the room.</p> + +<br /> +<h4>VII</h4> + +<p>At Constantinople a messenger brought him a letter of homage from +Damascus from his foremost disciple, Nathan of Gaza.</p> + +<p>Nathan was a youthful enthusiast, son of a Jerusalem begging-agent, +and newly married to the beautiful, but one-eyed daughter of a rich +Portuguese, who had migrated from Damascus to Gaza. Opulent and +zealous, he devoted himself henceforth to preaching the Messiah, +living and dying his apostle and prophet—no other in short than the +Elijah who was to be the Messiah's harbinger. Nor did he fail to work +miracles in proof of his mission. Merely on reading a man's name, he +would recount his life, defaults and sins, and impose just correction +and penance. Evil-doers shunned his eye. More readily than on Sabbataï +men believed on him, inasmuch as he claimed but the second place, and +an impostor, said they, would have claimed the first. Couched in the +tropes and metaphors of Rabbinical Hebrew, Nathan's letter ran thus:—</p> + +<p class="cen">"22ND CHESVAN OF THIS YEAR.</p> + +<p>"To the King, our King, Lord of our Lords, who gathers the Dispersed +of Israel, who redeems our Captivity, the Man elevated to the Height +of all sublimity, the Messiah <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[130]</a></span>of the God of Jacob, the true Messiah, +the Celestial Lion, Sabbataï Zevi, whose honor be exalted and his +dominion raised in a short time, and for ever, Amen. After having +kissed thy hands and swept the dust from thy feet, as my duty is to +the King of Kings, whose Majesty be exalted and His Empire enlarged. +These are to make known to the Supreme Excellency of that Place, which +is adorned with the beauty of thy Sanctity, that the Word of the King +and of His Law hath enlightened our Faces; that day hath been a solemn +day unto Israel and a day of light unto our Rulers, for immediately we +applied ourselves to perform thy Commands as our duty is. And though +we have heard of many strange things, yet we are courageous, and our +heart is as the heart of a Lion; nor ought we to inquire or reason of +thy doings; for thy works are marvellous and past finding out. And we +are confirmed in our Fidelity without all exception, resigning up our +very souls for the Holiness of thy Name. And now we are come as far as +Damascus, intending shortly to proceed in our journey to Scanderone, +according as thou hast commanded us: that so we may ascend and see the +face of God in light, as the light of the face of the King of life. +And we, servants of thy servants, shall cleanse the dust from thy +feet, beseeching the majesty of thine excellency and glory to +vouchsafe from thy habitation to have a care of us, and help us with +the Force of thy Right Hand of Strength, and shorten our way which is +before us. And we have our eyes towards Jah, Jah, who will make haste +to help us and to save us, that the Children of Iniquity shall not +hurt us; and towards whom our hearts pant and are consumed within us: +who shall give us Talons of Iron to be worthy to stand under the +shadow of thine ass. These are the words of thy Servant of Servants, +who prostrates himself to be trod on by the soles of thy +feet.—<span class="sc">Nathan Benjamin.</span>"</p> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[131]</a></span><br /> +<h4>VIII</h4> + +<p>But it was at Thessalonica—now known as Salonica—that Sabbataï +gained the greatest following. For Thessalonica was the chief +stronghold of the Cabalah; and though the triangular battlemented +town, sloping down the mountain to the gulf, was in the hands of the +Turks, who had built four fortresses and set up twelve little cannons +against the Corsairs, yet Jews were largely in the ascendant, and +their thirty synagogues dominated the mosques of their masters and the +churches of the Greeks, even as the crowns they received for supplying +the cloths of the Janissaries far exceeded their annual tribute. +Castilians, Portuguese, Italians, they were further recruited by an +influx of students from all parts of the Empire, for here were two +great colleges teaching more than ten thousand scholars. In this +atmosphere of pious warmth Sabbataï found consolation for the apathy +of Constantinople. Not only men were of his devotees now, but women, +and maidens, in all their Eastern fervor, raising their face-veils and +putting off their shrouding <i>izars</i> as they sat at his feet. Virgins, +untaught to love or to dissemble, lifted adoring eyes. But Sabbataï's +vision was still inwards and heavenwards; and one day he made a great +feast, and invited all his friends to his wedding in the chief +synagogue. They came with dancing and music and lighted torches, but +racked by curiosity, full of guesses as to the bride. Through the +close lattice-work of the ladies' balcony peered a thousand eager +eyes. When the moment came, Sabbataï, in festal garments, took his +stand under the canopy. But no visible bride stood beside him. Moses +Pinhero reverently drew a Scroll of the Law from the ark, vested in +purple and gold broideries, and hung with golden chains and a +breastplate <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[132]</a></span>and bells that made sweet music, and he bore it beneath +the canopy, and Sabbataï, placing a golden ring on a silver peak of +the Scroll, said solemnly:</p> + +<p>"I betroth thee unto me according to the Law of Moses and Israel."</p> + +<p>A buzz of astonishment swelled through the synagogue, blent with +heavier murmurs of protest from shocked pietists. But the more poetic +Cabalists understood. They explained that it was the union of the +Torah, the Daughter of Heaven, with the Messiah, the Son of Heaven, +who was never to mate with a mortal.</p> + +<p>But a <i>Chacham</i> (Rabbi), unappeased, raised a loud plaint of +blasphemy.</p> + +<p>"Nay, the blasphemy is thine," replied the Bridegroom of the law +quietly. "Say not your prophets that the Truth should be the spouse of +those who love the Truth?"</p> + +<p>But the orthodox faction prevailed, and he was driven from the city.</p> + +<p>He went to the Morea, to his father's relatives; he wandered to and +fro, and the years slipped by. Worn by fasts and penances, living in +inward dreams of righteousness and regeneration, he grew towards +middle age, and always on his sweet scholarly face an air of patient +waiting through the slow years. And his train of disciples grew and +changed; some died, some wearied of the long expectation. But Samuel +Primo, of Jerusalem, became his devoted secretary, and Abraham Rubio +was also ever at his side, a droll, impudent beggar, professing +unlimited faith in the Messiah, and feasting with unbounded appetite +on the good things sent by the worshippers, and put aside by the +persistent ascetic.</p> + +<p>"Tis fortunate I shall be with thee when thou carvest the Leviathan," +he said once. "Else would the heathen princesses who shall wait upon +us come in for thy pickings."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[133]</a></span>"In those days of the Kingdom there shall be no more need for +abnegation," said Sabbataï. "As it is written, 'And thy fast-days +shall become feast-days.'"</p> + +<p>"Nay, then, thy feast-days shall become my fast-days," retorted Rubio.</p> + +<p>Sabbataï smiled. The beggar was the only man who could make him smile. +But he smiled—a grim, bitter smile—when he heard that the great fire +he had predicted had devastated Constantinople, and wrought fierce +mischief in the Jewish quarter.</p> + +<p>"The fire will purify their hearts," he said.</p> + +<br /> +<h4>IX</h4> + +<p>Nathan the Prophet did not fail to enlarge upon the miraculous +prediction of his Master, and through all the lands of the Exile a +tremor ran.</p> + +<p>It reached that hospitable table in Cairo where each noon half a +hundred learned Cabalists dined at the palace of the Saraph-Bashi, the +Jewish Master of the Mint, himself given to penances and visions, and +swathed in sackcloth below the purple robes with which he drove abroad +in his chariot of state.</p> + +<p>"He who is sent thee," wrote Nathan to Raphael Joseph Chelebi, this +pious and open-handed Prince in Israel, "is the first man in the +world—I may say no more. Honor him, then, and thou shalt have thy +reward in his lifetime, wherein thou wilt witness miracles beyond +belief. Whatever thou shouldst see, be not astonied. It is a divine +mystery. When the time shall come I will give up all to serve him. +Would it were granted me to follow him now!"</p> + +<p>Chelebi was prepared to follow Sabbataï forthwith; he went to meet +Sabbataï's vessel, and escorted him to his <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[134]</a></span>palace with great honor. +But Sabbataï would not lodge therein.</p> + +<p>"The time is not yet," he said, and sought shelter with a humble +vendor of holy books, whose stall stood among the money-changers' +booths, that led to the chief synagogue, and his followers distributed +themselves among the quaint high houses of the Jewry, and walked +prophetic in its winding alleys, amid the fantastic chaos of buyers +and sellers and donkeys, under the radiant blue strip of Egyptian sky. +Only at mid-day did they repair to the table of the Saraph-Bashi.</p> + +<p>"Hadst any perils at sea?" asked the host on the first day. "Men say +the Barbary Corsairs are astir again."</p> + +<p>Sabbataï remained silent, but Samuel Primo, his secretary, took up the +reply.</p> + +<p>"Perils!" quoth he. "My Master will not speak of them, but the Captain +will tell thee a tale. We never thought to pass Rhodes!"</p> + +<p>"Ay," chimed in Abraham Rubio, "we were pursued all night by two +pirates, one on either side of us like beggars."</p> + +<p>"And the Captain," said Isaac Silvera, "despairing of escape, planned +to take to the boats with his crew, leaving the passengers to their +fate."</p> + +<p>"But he did not?" quoth a breathless Cabalist.</p> + +<p>"Alas, no," said Abraham Rubio, with a comical grimace. "Would he had +done so! For then we should have owned a goodly vessel, and the Master +would have saved us all the same."</p> + +<p>"But righteousness must needs be rewarded," protested Samuel Primo. +"And inasmuch as the Captain wished to save the Master in the boats—"</p> + +<p>"The Master was reading," put in Solomon Lagnado. "The Captain cries +out, 'The Corsairs are upon us!' 'Where?' says the Master. 'There!' +says the Captain. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[135]</a></span>The Master stretches out his hands, one towards +each vessel, and raises his eyes to heaven, and in a moment the ships +tack and sail away on the high sea."</p> + +<p>Sabbataï sat eating his meagre meal in silence.</p> + +<p>But when the rumor of his miracle spread, the sick and the crippled +hastened to him, and, protesting he could do naught, he laid his hands +on them, and many declared themselves healed. Also he touched the lids +of the sore-eyed and they said his fingers were as ointment. But +Sabbataï said nothing, made no pretensions, walking ever the path of +piety with meek and humble tread. Howbeit he could not linger in +Egypt. The Millennial Year was drawing nigh—the mystic 1666.</p> + +<p>Sabbataï Zevi girded up his loins, and, regardless of the rumors of +Arab robbers, nay, wearing his phylacteries on his forehead as though +to mark himself out as a Jew, and therefore rich, joined a caravan for +Jerusalem, by way of Damascus.</p> + +<br /> +<h4>X</h4> + +<p>O the ecstasy with which he prostrated himself to kiss for the first +time the soil of the sacred city! Tears rolled from his eyes, half of +rapture, half of passionate sorrow for the lost glories of Zion, given +over to the Moslem, its gates guarded by Turkish sentries, and even +the beauty of his first view of it—domes, towers, and bastions bathed +in morning sunlight—fading away in the squalor of its steep alleys.</p> + +<p>Nathan the Prophet had apprised the Jews of the coming of their King, +and the believers welcomed him with every mark of homage, even +substituting Sabbataï Zevi for Sultan Mehemet in the Sabbath prayer +for the Sovereign, and at the Wailing Place the despairing sobs of the +Sons of the Law were tempered by a great hope.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[136]</a></span>Poor, squeezed to famishing point by the Turkish officials, deprived +of their wonted subsidies from the pious Jews of Poland, who were +decimated by Cossack massacres, they had had their long expectation of +the Messiah intensified by the report which Baruch Gad had brought +back to them from Persia—how the Sons of Moses, living beyond the +river Sambatyon (that ceased to run on the Sabbath), were but +awaiting, amid daily miracles, the word of the Messiah to march back +to Jerusalem. The lost Ten Tribes would reassemble: at the blast of +the celestial horn the dispersed of Israel would be gathered together +from the four corners of the Earth. But Sabbataï deprecated the +homage; of Redemption he spake no word.</p> + +<p>And verily his coming seemed to bode destruction rather than +salvation. For a greedy Pacha, getting wind of the disloyalty of the +synagogue to the Sultan, made it a pretext for an impossible fine.</p> + +<p>The wretched community was dashed back to despair. Already reduced to +starvation, whence were they to raise this mighty sum? But, +recovering, all hearts turned at once to the strange sorrowful figure +that went humbly to and fro among them.</p> + +<p>"Money?" said he. "Whence should I take so much money?"</p> + +<p>"But thou art Messiah?"</p> + +<p>"I Messiah?" He looked at them wistfully.</p> + +<p>"Forgive us—we know the hour of thy revelation hath not yet struck. +But wilt thou not save us by thy human might?"</p> + +<p>"How so?"</p> + +<p>"Go for us, we pray thee, on a mission to the friendly Saraph-Bashi of +Cairo. His wealth alone can ransom us."</p> + +<p>"All that man can do I will do," said Sabbataï.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[137]</a></span>"May thy strength increase!" came the grateful ejaculation, and +white-bearded sages stooped to kiss the hem of his garment.</p> + +<p>So Sabbataï journeyed back to Cairo by caravan through the desert, +preceded, men said, by a pillar of fire, and accompanied when he +travelled at night by myriads of armed men that disappeared in the +morning, and wheresoever he passed all the Jewish inhabitants flocked +to gaze upon him. In Hebron they kept watch all night around his +house.</p> + +<p>From his casement Sabbataï looked up at the silent stars and down at +the swaying sea of faces.</p> + +<p>"What if the miracle be not wrought!" he murmured. "If Chelebi refuses +to sacrifice so much of his substance! But they believe on me. It must +be that Jerusalem will be saved, and that I am the Messiah indeed."</p> + +<p>At Cairo the pious Master of the Mint received him with ecstasy, and +granted his request ere he had made an end of speaking.</p> + +<p>That night Sabbataï wandered away from all his followers, beyond the +moonlit Nile, towards the Great Pyramid, on, on, unto the white +desert, his eyes seeing only inward visions.</p> + +<p>"Yea, I am Messiah," he cried at length to the vast night, "I am G—!"</p> + +<p>The sudden shelving of the sand made him stumble, and in that instant +he became aware of the Sphinx towering over him, its great granite +Face solemn in the moonlight. His voice died away in an awed whisper. +Long, long he gazed into the great stone eyes.</p> + +<p>"Speak!" he whispered. "Thou, <i>Abou-el-Hol</i>, Father of Terror, thou +who broodedst over the silences ere Moses ben Amram led my people from +this land of bondage, shall I not lead them from their dispersal to +their ancient <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[138]</a></span>unity in the day when God shall be One, and His Name +One?"</p> + +<p>The Sphinx was silent. The white sea of sand stretched away endlessly +with noiseless billows. The Pyramids threw funereal shadows over the +arid waste.</p> + +<p>"Yea," he cried, passionately. "My Father hath not deceived me. +Through me, through me flow the streams of grace to recreate and +rekindle. Hath He not revealed it to me, even ere this day of +Salvation for Jerusalem, by the date of my birth, by the ancient +parchment, by the homage of Nathan, by the faith of my brethren and +the rumor of the nations, by my sufferings, by my self-appointed +martyrdoms, by my long, weary years of forced wanderings to and fro +upon the earth, by my loneliness—ah, God—my loneliness!"</p> + +<p>The Sphinx brooded solemnly under the brooding stars. Sabbataï's voice +was as the wail of a wind.</p> + +<p>"Yea, I will save Israel, I will save the world. Through my holiness +the world shall be a Temple. Sin and evil and pain shall pass. Peace +shall sit under her fig-tree, and swords shall be turned into +pruning-hooks, and gladness and brotherhood shall run through all the +earth, even as my Father declared unto Israel by the mouth of his +prophet Hosea. Yea, I, even I, will allure her and bring her into the +desert, and speak comfortably unto her. And I will give her vineyards +from thence, and the Valley of Achor for a door of hope; and she shall +sing there as in the days of her youth and as in the days when she +came up out of the land of Egypt. And I will say to them which were +not my people, 'Thou art my people'; and they shall say, 'Thou art my +God.'"</p> + +<p>The Sphinx was silent. And in that silence there was the voice of dead +generations that had bustled and dreamed and passed away, countless as +the grains of desert sand.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[139]</a></span>Sabbataï ceased and surveyed the Face in answering silence, his own +face growing as inscrutable.</p> + +<p>"We are strong and lonely—thou and I," he whispered at last. But the +Sphinx was silent.</p> + +<p class="cen">(<i>Here endeth the First Scroll.</i>)</p> + +<br /> +<br /> +<h4>SCROLL THE SECOND</h4> + +<br /> +<h4>XI</h4> + +<p>In a little Polish town, early one summer morning, two Jewish women, +passing by the cemetery, saw a spirit fluttering whitely among the +tombs.</p> + +<p>They shrieked, whereupon the figure turned, revealing a beautiful girl +in her night-dress, her face, albeit distraught, touched unmistakably +with the hues of life.</p> + +<p>"Ah, ye be daughters of Israel!" cried the strange apparition. "Help +me! I have escaped from the nunnery."</p> + +<p>"Who art thou?" said they, moving towards her.</p> + +<p>"The Messiah's Bride!" And her face shone. They stood rooted to the +soil. A fresh thrill of the supernatural ran through them.</p> + +<p>"Nay, come hither," she cried. "See." And she showed them nail-marks +on her naked flesh. "Last night my father's ghostly hands dragged me +from the convent."</p> + +<p>At this the women would have run away, but each encouraged the other.</p> + +<p>"Poor creature! She is mad," they signed and whispered to each other. +Then they threw a mantle over her.</p> + +<p>"Ye will hide me, will ye not?" she said, pleadingly, and her wild +sweetness melted their hearts.</p> + +<p>They soothed her and led her homewards by unfrequented byways.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[140]</a></span>"Where are thy friends, thy parents?"</p> + +<p>"Dead, scattered—what know I? O those days of blood!" She shuddered +violently. "Baptism or death! But they were strong. I see a Cossack +dragging my mother along with a thong round her neck. 'Here's a red +ribbon for you, dear,' he cries with laughter; they betrayed us to the +Cossacks, those Greek Christians within our gates—the Zaporogians +dressed themselves like Poles—we open the gates—the gutters run +blood—oh, the agonies of the tortured!—oh! father!"</p> + +<p>They hushed her cries. Too well they remembered those terrible days of +the Chmielnicki massacres, when all the highways of Europe were +thronged with haggard Polish Jews, flying from the vengeance of the +Cossack chieftain with his troops of Haidamaks, and a quarter of a +million of Jewish corpses on the battle-fields of Poland were the +blunt Cossack's reply to the casuistical cunning engendered by the +Talmud.</p> + +<p>"They hated my father," the strange beautiful creature told them, when +she was calmer. "He was the lessee of the Polish imposts; and in order +that he might collect the fines on Cossack births and marriages, he +kept the keys of the Greek church, and the Pope had to apply to him, +ere he could celebrate weddings or baptisms—they offered to baptize +him free of tax, but he held firm to his faith; they impaled him on a +stake and lashed him—oh, my God! And the good sisters found me +weeping, a little girl, and they took me to the convent and were kind +to me, and spoke to me of Christ. But I would not believe, no, I could +not believe. The psalms and lessons of the synagogue came back to my +lips; in visions of the night I saw my father, blood-stained, but +haloed with light.</p> + +<p>"'Be faithful,' he would say, 'be faithful to Judaism. A great destiny +awaits thee. For lo! our long persecution <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[141]</a></span>draws to an end, the days +of the Messiah are at hand, and thou shalt be the Messiah's bride,' +And the glory of a great hope came into my life, and I longed to +escape from my prison into the sunlit world. I, the bride of the +cloister!" she cried, and revolt flung roses into her white face. +"Nay, the bride of the Messiah am I, who shall restore joy to the +earth, who shall wipe the tears from off all faces. Last night my +father came to me again, and said, 'Be faithful to Judaism.' Then I +replied, 'If thou wert of a truth my father, thou wouldst cease thy +exhortations, thou wouldst know I would rather die than renounce my +faith, thou wouldst rescue me from these hated walls, and give me unto +my Bridegroom.' Thereupon he said, 'Stretch out thine hand,' and I +stretched out my hand, and I felt an invisible hand clasp it, and when +I awoke I found myself by his grave-side, where ye came upon me. Oh, +take me to the Woman's Bath forthwith, I pray ye, that I may wash off +the years of pollution."</p> + +<p>They took her to the Woman's Bath, admiring her marvellous beauty.</p> + +<p>"Where is the Messiah?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"He is not come yet," they made answer, for the rising up of Sabbataï +was as yet known to but a few disciples.</p> + +<p>"Then I will go find Him," she answered.</p> + +<p>She wandered to Amsterdam—the capital of Jewry—and thence to +Frankfort-on-the-Main, and thence, southwards, in vain search to +Livorne.</p> + +<p>And there in the glory of the Italian sunshine, her ardent, unbalanced +nature, starved in the chilly convent, yielded to passion, for there +were many to love her. But to none would she give herself in marriage. +"I am the Messiah's destined bride," she said, and her wild eyes had +always an air of waiting.</p> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[142]</a></span><br /> +<h4>XII</h4> + +<p>And in the course of years the news of her and of her prophecy +travelled to Sabbataï Zevi, and found him at Cairo the morning after +he had spoken to the Sphinx in the great silences. And to him under +the blue Egyptian sky came an answering throb of romance. The +womanhood that had not moved him in the flesh thrilled him, vaguely +imaged from afar, mystically, spiritually.</p> + +<p>"Let her be sent for," he said, and his disciples noted an unwonted +restlessness in the weary weeks while his ambassadors were away.</p> + +<p>"Dost think she will come?" he said once to Abraham Rubio.</p> + +<p>"What woman would not come to thee?" replied the beggar. "What dainty +is not offered thee? I trow natheless that thou wilt refuse, and that +I shall come in for thy leavings."</p> + +<p>Sabbataï smiled faintly.</p> + +<p>"What have I to do with women?" he murmured. "But I would fain know +what hath been prophetically revealed to her!"</p> + +<p>One afternoon his ambassadors returned, and announced that they had +brought her. She was resting after the journey, and would visit him on +the morrow. He appointed their meeting in the Palace of the +Saraph-Bashi. Then, unable to rest, he mounted the hill of the citadel +and saw an auspicious golden glow over the mosques and houses of +Cairo, illumining even the desert and the Pyramids. He stood watching +the sun sink lower and lower, till suddenly it went out like a snuffed +candle.</p> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[143]</a></span><br /> +<h4>XIII</h4> + +<p>On the morrow he left his mean brick dwelling in the Jewry, and +received her alone in a marble-paved chamber in the Palace, the walls +adorned with carvings of flowers and birds, minutely worked, the +ceiling with arabesques formed of thin strips of painted wood, the air +cooled by a fantastic fountain playing into a pool lined with black +and white marbles and red tiling. Lattice-work windows gave on the +central courtyard, and were supplemented by decorative windows of +stained glass, wrought into capricious patterns.</p> + +<p>"Peace, O Messiah!" Her smile was dazzling, and there was more of +gaiety than of reverence in her voice. Her white teeth flashed 'twixt +laughing lips. Sabbataï's heart was beating furiously at the sight of +the lady of his dreams. She was clad in shimmering white Italian silk, +which, draped tightly about her bosom, showed her as some gleaming +statue. Bracelets glittered on her white wrists, gems of fire sparkled +among her long, white fingers, a network of pearls was all her +head-dress. Her eyes had strange depths of passion, perfumes breathed +from her skin, lustreless like dead ivory. Not thus came the maidens +of Israel to wedlock, demure, spotless, spiritless, with shorn hair, +priestesses of the ritual of the home.</p> + +<p>"Peace, O Melisselda," he replied involuntarily.</p> + +<p>"Nay, wherefore Melisselda?" she cried, ascending to the <i>leewán</i> on +which he stood.</p> + +<p>"And wherefore Messiah?" he answered.</p> + +<p>"I have seen thee in visions—'tis the face, the figure, the prophetic +beauty—But wherefore Melisselda?"</p> + +<p>He laughed into her eyes and hummed softly:—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"'From her bath she arose,<br /></span><span class='pn'><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[144]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Pure and white as the snows,<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Melisselda.'"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>"Ay, that did I, when I washed off the convent. But my name is Sarah."</p> + +<p>"Nay, not Sarah, but Saraï—my Princess!" His voice was hoarse and +faltering. This strange new sense of romance that, like a callow-bird, +had been stirring in his breast ever since he had heard of her quest +of him, spread its wings and soared heavenwards. She had been +impure—but her impurity swathed her in mystic seductiveness. The +world's law bound her no more than him—she was free and elemental, a +spirit to match his own; purified perpetually by its own white fire. +She came nearer, and her eyes wrapped him in flame.</p> + +<p>"My Prince!" she cried.</p> + +<p>He drew backward towards the divan. "Nay, but I must know no woman."</p> + +<p>"None but thy true mate," she answered. "Thou hast kept thyself pure +for me even as I have kept myself passionate for thee. Come, thou +shalt make me pure, and I will make thee passionate."</p> + +<p>He looked at her wistfully. The cool plash of the fountain was +pleasant in the silence.</p> + +<p>"I make thee pure!" he breathed.</p> + +<p>"Ay," and she repeated softly:—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"'Pure and white as the snows,<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Melisselda.'"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>"Melisselda!" he whispered.</p> + +<p>"Messiah!" she cried, with heaving bosom. "Come, I will teach thee the +joy of life. Together we will rule the world. What! when thou hast +redeemed the world, shall <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[145]</a></span>it not rejoice, shall not the morning stars +sing together? My King, my Sabbataï."</p> + +<p>Her figure was a queen's, her eyes were stars, her lips a woman's.</p> + +<p>"Kiss me!" they pleaded. "Thy long martyrdom is over. Now begins <i>my</i> +mission—to bring thee joy. So hath it been revealed to me."</p> + +<p>"Hath it been indeed revealed to thee?" he demanded hoarsely.</p> + +<p>"Yea, again and again, in dreams of the night. The bride of the +Messiah—so runs my destiny. Embrace thy bride."</p> + +<p>His eyes kindled to hers. He seemed in a circle of dazzling white +flame that exalted and not destroyed.</p> + +<p>"Then I am Messiah, indeed," he thought, glowing, and, stooping, he +knew for the first time the touch of a woman's lips.</p> + +<br /> +<h4>XIV</h4> + +<p>The Master of the Mint was overjoyed to celebrate the Messiah's +marriage under his own gilded roof. To the few who shook their heads +at the bride's past, Sabbataï made answer that the prophecies must be +fulfilled, and that he; too, had had visions in which he was +commanded, like the prophet Hosea, to marry an unchaste wife. And his +disciples saw that it was a great mystery, symbolizing what the Lord +had spoken through the mouth of Jeremiah: "Again I will build thee and +thou shalt be built, O virgin of Israel: thou shalt again be adorned +with thy tabrets and shall go forth in the dances of them that make +merry." So the festivities set in, and the Palace was filled with +laughter and dancing and merrymaking.</p> + +<p>And Melisselda inaugurated the reign of joy. Her <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[146]</a></span>advent brought many +followers to Sabbataï. Thousands fell under the spell of her beauty, +her queenly carriage, gracious yet gay. A new spirit of romance was +born in ritual-ridden Israel. Men looked upon their wives +distastefully, and the wives caught something of her fire and bearing +and learnt the movement of abandon and the glance of passion. And so, +with a great following, enriched by the beauty of Melisselda and the +gold of the Master of the Mint, Sabbataï returned to redeem Jerusalem.</p> + +<p>Jerusalem was intoxicated with joy: the prophecies of Elijah the +Tishbite, known on earth as Nathan of Gaza, were borne on wings of air +to the four corners of the world.</p> + +<div class="block" style="padding-bottom: .25em; padding-top: .25em;"><p>"To the Remnant of the Israelites," he wrote, "Peace without +end. Behold I go to meet the face of our Lord, whose majesty be +exalted, for he is the Sovereign of the King of Kings, whose +empire be enlarged. And now I come to make known unto you that +though ye have heard strange things of our Lord, yet let not +your hearts faint or fear, but rather fortify yourselves in your +Faith because all his actions are miraculous and secret, which +human understanding cannot comprehend, and who can penetrate +into the depth of them? In a brief time all things shall be +manifested to you clearly in their purity, and ye shall know and +consider and be instructed by the Inventor himself. Blessed is +he who can expect and arrive to the Salvation of the true +Messiah, who will speedily publish his Authority and Empire over +us now and for ever.</p> + +<p class="right sc">"Nathan."</p> +</div> + +<p>In the Holy City the aged Rabbis of the Sacred Colleges alone betrayed +misgivings, fearing that the fine would be annually renewed, and even +the wealth of Chelebi <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[147]</a></span>exhausted. Elsewhere, the Jewries were divided +into factions, that fought each other with texts, and set the Word +against the Word. This verse clearly proved the Messiah had come, and +that verse that the signs were not yet fulfilled; and had not Solomon, +the wise king, said that the fool gave belief at once to all +indifferently, while the wise man weighed and considered before +believing? Fiercely waged the battle of texts, and a comet appeared on +behalf of the believers. Demoniacles saw Sabbataï Zevi in heaven with +three crowns, one for Messiah, one for King, and one for Conqueror of +the Peoples. But the Jerusalem Rabbis remaining sceptical, Nathan +proclaimed in an ecstasy that she was no longer the sacred city, the +primacy had passed to Gaza. But Sabbataï was fain to show himself at +Smyrna, his native city, and hither he marched, preceded by apostles +who kindled the communities he was to pass through. Raphael, another +Greek beggar, rhapsodized interminably, and Bloch, a Cabalist from +Germany, a meek, simple soul, had frenzies of fiery inspiration. +Samuel Primo, the untiring secretary, scattered ceaseless letters and +mysterious manifestoes. But to none did Sabbataï himself claim to be +the Messiah—he commanded men not to speak of it till the hour should +come. Yet was his progress one long triumphal procession. At Aleppo +the Jews hastened to meet him with songs and dances; "the gates of joy +are opened," they wrote to Constantinople. At Smyrna itself the exile +was received with delirium, with cries of "<i>Messhiach!</i> Messiah!" +which he would not acknowledge, but to which Melisselda responded with +seductive smiles. His aged father fell upon his neck.</p> + +<p>"The souls depart," said Sabbataï, kissing him. "But they return."</p> + +<p>He was brought before the Cadi, who demanded a miracle.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[148]</a></span>"Thou askest a miracle?" said Sabbataï scornfully. "Wouldst see a +pillar of fire?"</p> + +<p>The Sabbatians who thronged the audience chamber uttered a cry and +covered their faces with their hands.</p> + +<p>"Yea, we see, we see," they shouted; the word was passed to the dense +crowd surging without, and it swayed madly. Husbands ran home to tell +their wives and children, and when Sabbataï left the presence chamber +he was greeted with delirious acclamations.</p> + +<p>And while Smyrna was thus seething, and its Jews were preparing +themselves by purification and prayer for the great day, a courier, +dark as a Moor with the sunburn of unresting travel, arrived in the +town with a letter from the Holy City. It was long before he could +obtain audience with Sabbataï, who, with his inmost disciples, was +celebrating a final fast, and meantime the populace was in a ferment +of curiosity, the messenger recounting how he had tramped for weeks +and weeks through the terrible heat to see the face of the Messiah and +kiss his feet and deliver the letter from the holy men of Jerusalem, +who were too poor to pay for his speedier journeying. But when at last +Sabbataï read the letter, his face lit up, though he gave no sign of +the contents. His disciples pressed for its publication, and, after +much excitement, Sabbataï consented that it should be read from the +<i>Al Memor</i> of the synagogue. When they learned that it bore the homage +of repentant Jerusalem, their joy was tumultuous to the point of +tears. Sabbataï threw twenty silver crowns on a salver for the +messenger, and invited others to do the same, so that the happy envoy +could scarce stagger away with his reward.</p> + +<p>Nevertheless Sabbataï still delayed to declare himself.</p> + +<p>But at last the long silence drew to an end. The great year of 1666 +was nigh, before many moons the New Year of <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[149]</a></span>the Christians would +dawn. Under the direction of Melisselda men were making sleeved robes +of white satin for the Messiah. And one day, thus arrayed in gleaming +white, at the head of a great procession walking two by two, Sabbataï +Zevi marched to the House of God.</p> + +<br /> +<h4>XV</h4> + +<p>In the gloom of the great synagogue, while the worshippers swayed +ghostly, and the ram's horn sounded shrill and jubilant, Sabbataï, +standing before the Ark, where the Scrolls of the Law stood solemn, +proclaimed himself, amid a tense awe as of heavens opening in +ineffable vistas, the Righteous Redeemer, the Anointed of Israel.</p> + +<p>A frenzied shout of joy, broken by sobs, answered him from the vast +assembly.</p> + +<p>"Long live our King! Our Messiah!" Many fell prostrate on the ground, +their faces to the floor, kissing it, weeping, screaming, shouting in +ecstatic thankfulness; others rocked to and fro, blinded by their +tears, hoarse with exultation.</p> + +<p>"<i>Messhiach! Messhiach!</i>"</p> + +<p>"The Kingdom has come!"</p> + +<p>"Blessed be the Messiah!"</p> + +<p>In the women's gallery there were shrieks and moans: some swooned, +others fell a-prophesying, contorting themselves spasmodically, +uttering wild exclamations; the spirit seized upon little children, +and they waved their arms and shouted frantically.</p> + +<p>"<i>Messhiach! Messhiach!</i>"</p> + +<p>The long exile of Israel was over—the bitter centuries of the badge +and the byword, slaughter and spoliation; no longer, O God! to cringe +in false humility, the scoff of <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[150]</a></span>the street-boy, the mockery of +mankind, penned in Ghettos, branded with the wheel or the cap—but +restored to divine favor as every Prophet had predicted, and uplifted +to the sovereignty of the peoples.</p> + +<p>"<i>Messhiach! Messhiach!</i>"</p> + +<p>They poured into the narrow streets, laughing, chattering, leaping, +dancing, weeping hysterically, begging for forgiveness of their +iniquities. They fell at Sabbataï feet, women spread rich carpets for +him to tread (though he humbly skirted them), and decked their windows +and balconies with costly hangings and cushions. Some, conscious of +sin that might shut them out from the Kingdom, made for the harbor and +plunged into the icy waters; some dug themselves graves in the damp +soil and buried themselves up to their necks till they were numb and +fainting; others dropped melted wax upon their naked bodies. But the +most common way of mortification was to prick their backs and sides +with thorns and then give themselves thirty-nine lashes. Many fasted +for days upon days and kept Cabalistic watches by night, intoning +<i>Tikkunim</i> (prayers).</p> + +<p>And, blent with these penances, festival after festival, riotous, +delirious, whenever Sabbataï Zevi, with his vast train of followers, +and waving a fan, showed himself in the street on his way to a +ceremony or to give Cabalistic interpretations of Scripture in the +synagogue. The shop-keepers of the Jewish bazaar closed their doors, +and followed in the frenzied procession, singing "The right hand of +the Lord is exalted, the right hand bringeth victory," jostling, +fighting, in their anxiety to be touched with the fan and inherit the +Kingdom of Heaven. And over these vast romping crowds, drunk with +faith, Melisselda queened it with her voluptuous smiles and the joyous +abandon of her dancing, and men and women, boys and girls, embraced +and <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[151]</a></span>kissed in hysterical frenzy. The yoke of the Law was over, the +ancient chastity forgotten. In the Cabalistic communities of +Thessalonica, where the pious began at once to do penance, some dying +of a seven-days' fast, and others from rolling themselves naked in the +snow, parents hastened to marry young children so that all the unborn +souls which through the constant re-incarnations, necessary to enable +the old sinful souls to work out their Perfection, had not yet been +able to find bodies, might enter the world, and so complete the scheme +of creation. Seven hundred children were thus joined in wedlock. +Business, work was suspended; the wheel of the cloth-workers ceased; +the camels no longer knelt in the Jewish quarter of Smyrna, the Bridge +of Caravans ceased to vibrate with their passing, the shops remained +open only so long as was necessary to clear off the merchandise at any +price; whoso of private persons had any superfluity of household stuff +sold it off similarly, but yet not to Jews, for these were interdicted +from traffic, business being the mark of the unbeliever, and +punishable by excommunication, pecuniary mulcts, or corporeal +chastisements. Everybody prepared for the imminent return to +Palestine, when the heathen should wait at the table of the Saints and +the great Leviathan deck the Messianic board. In the interim the poor +were supported by the rich. In Thessalonica alone four thousand +persons lived on gifts; truly Messianic times for the Abraham Rubios. +In Smyrna the authority of the Cadi was ignored or silenced by purses; +when the Turks complained, the Seraglio swallowed gold on both sides. +The <i>Chacham</i> Aaron de la Papa, being an unbeliever and one of those +who had originally driven him from his birthplace, was removed by +Sabbataï, and Chayim Benvenisti appointed <i>Chacham</i> instead. The noble +Chayim Penya, the one sceptic of importance left in Smyrna, was +wellnigh torn to <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[152]</a></span>pieces in the synagogue by the angry multitude, but +when his own daughters went into prophetic trances and saw the glory +of the Kingdom he went over to Sabbataï's side, and reports flew +everywhere that the Messiah's enemies were struck with frenzies and +madness, till, restored by him to their former temper and wits, they +became his friends, worshippers, and disciples. Four hundred other men +and women fell into strange ecstasies, foamed at the mouth, and +recounted their visions of the Lion of Judah, while infants, who could +scarcely stammer out a syllable plainly, repeated the name of +Sabbataï, the Messiah; being possessed, and voices sounding from their +stomachs and entrails. Such reports, bruited through the world by the +foreign ambassadors at Smyrna, the clerks of the English and Dutch +houses, the resident foreigners, and the Christian ministers, excited +a prodigious sensation, thrilling civilized mankind. On the Exchanges +of Europe men took the odds for and against a Jewish kingdom.</p> + +<p>Upon the Jews of the world the news that the Messiah had passed from a +far-off aspiration into a reality fell like a thunderbolt; they were +dazed with joy; then they began to prepare for the great journey. +Everywhere self-flagellation, almsgiving, prophetic ecstasies and +trances, the scholars and the mob at one in joyous belief. And +everywhere also profligacy, adultery, incest, through the spread of a +mystical doctrine that the sinfulness of the world could only be +overcome by the superabundance of sin.</p> + +<br /> +<h4>XVI</h4> + +<p>Amsterdam and Hamburg—the two wealthiest communities—receiving +constant prophetic messages from Nathan of Gaza, became eager +participators in the coming <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[153]</a></span>Kingdom. In the Dutch capital, the houses +of prayer grew riotous with music and dancing, the dwelling-houses +gloomy with penitential rigors. The streets were full of men and women +prophesying spasmodically, the printing presses panted, turning out +new prayer-books with penances and formulæ for the faithful. And in +these <i>Tikkunim</i>, starred with mystic emblems of the Messiah's +dominance, the portrait of Sabbataï appeared side by side with that of +King David. At Hamburg the Jews were borne heavenwards on a wave of +exultation; they snapped their fingers at the Christian tormentor, +refused any longer to come to the compulsory Christian services. Their +own services became pious orgies. Stately Spanish Jews, grave +blue-blooded Portuguese, hitherto smacking of the Castilian hidalgo, +noble seigniors like Manuel Texeira, the friend of a Queen of Sweden, +erudite physicians like Bendito de Castro, president of the +congregation, shed their occidental veneer and might have been seen in +the synagogue skipping like harts upon the mountains, dancing wild +dances with the Holy Scroll clasped to their bosoms.</p> + +<p>"<i>Hi diddi hulda hi ti ti!</i>" they carolled in merry meaninglessness.</p> + +<p>"Nay, but this is second childhood," quoth the venerable Jacob +Sasportas, chief Rabbi of the English Jews, as he sat in the +presidential pew, an honored visitor at Hamburg. "Surely thy flock is +demented."</p> + +<p>De Castro's brow grew black.</p> + +<p>"Have a care, or my sheep may turn dog. An they overhear thee, it were +safer for thee even to go back to thy London."</p> + +<p>Sasportas shook his head with a humorous twinkle.</p> + +<p>"Yea, if Sabbataï will accompany me. An he be Messiah let him face the +Plague, let him come and prophesy in <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[154]</a></span>London and outdo Solomon Eagle; +let him heal the sick and disburden the death-carts."</p> + +<p>"He should but lay his hands on the sick and they were cured!" +retorted De Castro. "But his mission is not in the isles of the West; +he establisheth the throne in Zion."</p> + +<p>"Well for thee not in Hamburg, else would thy revenues dwindle, O wise +physician. But the Plague is wellnigh spent now; if he come now he may +take the credit of the cure."</p> + +<p>"Rabbi as thou art, thou art an Epicurean; thou sittest in the seat of +the scorner."</p> + +<p>"'Twas thou didst invite me thereto," murmured Sasportas, smiling.</p> + +<p>"The Plague is but a sign of the Messianic times, and the Fire that +hath burnt thy dwelling-place is but the castigation for thine +incredulity."</p> + +<p>"Yea, there be those who think our royal Charles the Messiah, and +petition him to declare himself," said Sasportas, with his genial +twinkle. "Hath he not also his Melisseldas?"</p> + +<p>"Hush, thou blasphemer!" cried De Castro, looking anxiously at the +howling multitude. "But thou wilt live to eat thy words."</p> + +<p>"Be it so," said Sasportas, with a shrug of resignation. "I eat +nothing unclean."</p> + +<p>But it was vain for the Rabbi of the little western isle to contend by +quip or reason against the popular frenzy. England, indeed, was a +hotbed of Christian enthusiasts awaiting the Jewish Millennium, the +downfall of the Pope and Anti-Christ, and Jews and Christians caught +mutual fire.</p> + +<p>From the far North of Scotland came a wonderful report of a ship with +silken sails and ropes, worked by sailors who spoke with one another +in the solemn syllables of <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[155]</a></span>the sacred tongue, and flying a flag with +the inscription, "The Twelve Tribes of Israel!" And a strange rumor +told of the march of multitudes from unknown parts into the remote +deserts of Arabia. Fronted with sceptics, believers offered wagers at +ten to one that within two years Sabbataï would be anointed King of +Jerusalem; bills of exchange were drawn in Threadneedle Street upon +the issue.</p> + +<p>And, indeed, Sabbataï was already King of the Jews. From all the lands +of the Exile crowds of the devout came to do him homage and tender +allegiance—Turkish Jews with red fez or saffron-yellow turban; +Jerusalem Jews in striped cotton gowns and soft felt hats; Polish Jews +with foxskin caps and long caftans; sallow German Jews, gigantic +Russian Jews, high-bred Spanish Jews; and with them often their wives +and daughters—Jerusalem Jewesses with blue shirts and head-veils, +Egyptian Jewesses with sweeping robes and black head-shawls, Jewesses +from Ashdod and Gaza, with white visors fringed with gold coins, +Polish Jewesses with glossy wigs, Syrian Jewesses with eyelashes black +as though lined with kohl, fat Jewesses from Tunis, with clinging +breeches interwoven with gold and silver.</p> + +<p>Daily he held his court, receiving deputations, advices, messengers. +Young men and maidens offered him their lives to do with as he would; +the rich laid their fortunes at his feet, and fought for the honor of +belonging to his body-guard. That abstract deity of the Old +Testament—awful in His love and His hate, without form, without +humanity—had been replaced by a Man, visible, tangible, lovable; and +all the yearning of their souls, all that suppressed longing for a +visual object of worship which had found vent and satisfaction in the +worship of the Bible or the Talmud in its every letter and syllable, +now went out <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[156]</a></span>towards their bodily Redeemer. From the Ancient of Days +a new divine being had been given off—the Holy King, the Messiah, the +Primal Man, Androgynous, Perfect, who would harmonize the jarring +chords, restore the spiritual unity of the Universe. Before the love +in his eyes sin and sorrow would vanish as evil vapors; the frozen +streams of grace would flow again.</p> + +<p>"I, the Lord your God, Sabbataï Zevi!"</p> + +<p>Thus did Secretary Samuel Primo sign the Messianic decrees and +ordinances.</p> + +<br /> +<h4>XVII</h4> + +<p>The month of Ab approached—the Messiah's birthday, the day of the +Black Fast, commemorating the fall of the Temples. But Melisselda +protested against its celebration by gloom and penance, and the word +went out to all the hosts of captivity—</p> + +<p>"The only and just-begotten Son of God, Sabbataï Zevi, Messiah and +Redeemer of the people of Israel, to all the sons of Israel, Peace! +Since ye have been worthy to behold the great day, and the fulfilment +of God's word to the prophets, let your lament and sorrow be changed +into joy, and your fasts into festivals; for ye shall weep no more. +Rejoice with drums, organs, and music, making of every day a New Moon, +and change the day which was formerly dedicated to sadness and sorrow +into a day of jubilee, because I have appeared; and fear ye naught, +for ye shall have dominion not only over the nations, but over the +creatures also in the depths of the sea."</p> + +<p>Thereat arose a new and stranger commotion throughout all the Ghettos, +Jewries, and Mellahs. The more part received the divine message in +uproarious jubilation. The Messiah was come, indeed! Those terrible +twenty-four <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[157]</a></span>hours of absolute fasting and passionate prayer—henceforward +to be hours of feasting and merriment! O just and joyous edict! The +Jewish Kingdom was on the eve of restoration—how then longer bewail +its decay!</p> + +<p>But the staunchest pietists were staggered, and these the most fervent +of the followers of Sabbataï. What! The penances and prayers of +sixteen hundred years to be swept away! The Yoke of the Torah to be +abolished! Surely true religion rather demanded fresh burdens. What +could more fitly mark the Redemption of the World than new and more +exacting laws, if, indeed, such remained to be invented? True, God +himself was now incarnate on earth—of that they had no doubt. But how +could He wish to do away with the laws deduced from the Holy Book and +accumulated by the zealous labors of so many generations of faithful +Rabbis; how could He set aside the venerated prescriptions of the +<i>Shulchan Aruch</i> of the pious Benjamin Caro (his memory for a +blessing), and all that network of ceremonial and custom for the +zealous maintenance of which their ancestors had so often laid down +their lives? How could He so blaspheme?</p> + +<p>And so—in blind passion, unreasoning, obstinate—they clung to their +threatened institutions; in every Jewry they formed little parties for +the defence of Judaism.</p> + +<p>What they had prayed for so passionately for centuries had come to +pass. The hopes that they had caught from the <i>Zohar</i>, that they had +nourished and repeated day and night, the promise that sorrow should +be changed into joy and the Law become null and void—here was the +fulfilment. The Messiah was actually incarnate—the Kingdom of the +Jews was at hand. But in their hearts was a vague fear of the dazzling +present, and a blind clinging to the unhappy past.</p> + +<p>In the Jewry of Smyrna the Messiah walked on the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[158]</a></span>afternoon of the +abolished fast, and a vast concourse seethed around him, dancing and +singing, with flute and timbrel, harp and drum. Melisselda's voice led +the psalm of praise. Suddenly a whisper ran through the mob that there +were unbelievers in the city, that some were actually fasting and +praying in the synagogue. And at once there was a wild rush. They +found the doors shut, but the voice of wailing was heard from inside.</p> + +<p>"Beat in the doors!" cried Isaac Silvera. "What do they within, +profaning the festal day?"</p> + +<p>The crowd battered in the doors, they tore up the stones of the street +and darted inside.</p> + +<p>The floor was strewn with worshippers, rocking to and fro.</p> + +<p>The venerable Aaron de la Papa, shorn of his ancient Rabbinical +prestige, but still a commanding figure, rose from the floor, his +white shroud falling weirdly about him, his face deadly pale from the +long fast.</p> + +<p>"Halt!" he cried. "How dare you profane the House of God?"</p> + +<p>"Blasphemers!" retorted Silvera. "Ye who pray for what God in His +infinite mercy has granted, do ye mock and deride Him?"</p> + +<p>But Solomon Algazi, a hoary-headed zealot, cried out, "My fathers have +fasted before me, and shall I not fast?"</p> + +<p>For answer a great stone hurtled through the air, just grazing his +head.</p> + +<p>"Give over!" shouted Elias Zevi, one of Sabbataï's brothers. "Be done +with sadness, or thou shalt be stoned to death. Hath not the Lord +ended our long persecution, our weary martyrdom? Cease thy prayer, or +thy blood be on thine own head." Algazi and De la Papa were driven +from the city; the <i>Kofrim</i>, as the heretics were dubbed, were +obnoxious to excommunication. The <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[159]</a></span>thunder of the believers silenced +the still small voice of doubt.</p> + +<p>And from the Jewries of the world, from Morocco to Sardinia, from +London to Lithuania, from the Brazils to the Indies, one great cry in +one tongue rose up:—"<i>Leshanah Haba Berushalayim—Leshanah Haba Beni +Chorin.</i> Next year in Jerusalem—next year, sons of freedom!"</p> + +<br /> +<h4>XVIII</h4> + +<p>It was the eve of 1666. In a few days the first sun of the great year +would rise upon the world. The Jews were winding up their affairs, +Israel was strung to fever pitch. The course of the exchanges, +advices, markets, all was ignored, and letters recounting miracles +replaced commercial correspondence.</p> + +<p>Elijah the Prophet, in his ancient mantle, had been seen everywhere +simultaneously, drinking the wine-cups left out for him, and sometimes +filling them with oil. He was seen at Smyrna on the wall of a festal +chamber, and welcomed with compliments, orations, and thanksgivings. +At Constantinople a Jew met him in the street, and was reproached for +neglecting to wear the fringed garment and for shaving. At once +fringed garments were reintroduced throughout the Empire, and heads, +though always shaven after the manner of Turks and the East, now +became overgrown incommodiously with hair—even the <i>Piyos</i>, or +earlock, hung again down the side of the face, and its absence served +to mark off the <i>Kofrim</i>.</p> + +<p>Sabbataï Zevi, happy in the love of Melisselda, rapt in heavenly joy, +now confidently expecting the miracle that would crown the miracle of +his career, prepared to set out for Constantinople to take the Crown +from the Sultan's <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[160]</a></span>head to the sound of music. He held a last solemn +levée at Smyrna, and there, surrounded by his faithful followers, with +Melisselda radiantly enthroned at his side, he proceeded to parcel out +the world among his twenty-six lieutenants.</p> + +<p>Of these all he made kings and princes. His brothers came first. Elias +Zevi he named King of Kings, and Joseph Zevi King of the Kings of +Judah.</p> + +<p>"Into thee, O Isaac Silvera," said he, "has the soul of David, King of +Israel, migrated. Therefore shalt thou be called King David and shalt +have dominion over Persia. Thou, O Chayim Inegna, art Jeroboam, and +shalt rule over Araby. Thou, O Daniel Pinto, art Hilkiah, and thy +kingdom shall be Italia. To thee, O Matassia Aschenesi, who +reincarnatest Asa, shall be given Barbary, and thou, Mokiah Gaspar, in +whom lives the soul of Zedekiah, shalt reign over England." And so the +partition went on, Elias Azar being appointed Vice-King or Vizier of +Elias Zevi, and Joseph Inernuch Vizier of Joseph Zevi.</p> + +<p>"And for me?" eagerly interrupted Abraham Rubio, the beggar from the +Morea.</p> + +<p>"I had not forgotten thee," answered Sabbataï. "Art thou not Josiah?"</p> + +<p>"True—I had forgotten," murmured the beggar.</p> + +<p>"To thee I give Turkey, and the seat of thine empire shall be Smyrna."</p> + +<p>"May thy Majesty be exalted for ever and ever," replied King Josiah +fervently. "Verily shall I sit under my own fig-tree."</p> + +<p>Portugal fell to a Marrano physician who had escaped from the +Inquisition. Even Sabbataï's old enemy, Chayim Penya, was +magnanimously presented with a kingdom.</p> + +<p>"To thee, my well-beloved Raphael Joseph Chelebi of Cairo," wound up +Sabbataï, "in whose palace Melisselda <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[161]</a></span>became my Queen, to thee, under +the style of King Joash, I give the realm of Egypt."</p> + +<p>The Emperor of the World rose, and his Kings prostrated themselves at +his feet.</p> + +<p>"Prepare yourselves," said he. "On the morning of the New Year we set +out."</p> + +<p>When he had left the chamber a great hubbub broke out. Wealthy men who +had been disappointed of kingdoms essayed to purchase them from their +new monarchs. The bidding for the Ottoman Empire was particularly +high.</p> + +<p>"Away! Flaunt not your money-bags!" cried Abraham Rubio, flown with +new-born majesty. "Know ye not that this Smyrna is our capital city, +and we could confiscate your gold to our royal exchequer? Josiah is +King here." And he took his seat upon the throne vacated by Sabbataï. +"Get ye gone, or the bastinado and the bowstring shall be your +portion."</p> + +<br /> +<h4>XIX</h4> + +<p>Punctually with the dawn of the Millennial Year the Turkish Messiah, +with his Queen and his train of Kings, took ship for Constantinople to +dethrone the Grand Turk, the Lord of Palestine. He voyaged in a +two-masted Levantine Saic, the bulk of his followers travelling +overland. Though his object had been diplomatically unpublished, +pompous messages from Samuel Primo had heralded his advent. The day of +his arrival was fixed. Constantinople was in a ferment. The Grand +Vizier gave secret orders for his arrest as a rebel; a band of +Chiauses was sent to meet the Saic in the harbor. But the day came and +went and no Messiah. Instead, thunders and lightnings and rain and +gales and news of wrecks. The wind was northerly, as commonly in the +Hellespont and Propontis, and it <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[162]</a></span>seemed as if the Saic must have been +blown out of her course.</p> + +<p>The Jews of Constantinople asked news of every vessel. The captain of +a ketch from the Isles of Marmora told them that a chember had cast +anchor in the isles, and a tall man, clothed in white, who bestrode +the deck, being apprised that the islanders were Christians, had +raised his finger, whereupon the church burnt down. When at last the +Jews heard of the safety of Sabbataï's weather—beaten vessel, which +had made for a point on the coast of the Dardanelles, they told how +their Master had ruled the waves and the winds by the mere reading of +the hundred and sixteenth Psalm. But the news of his safety was +speedily followed by the news of his captivity; the Vizier's officers +were bringing him to Constantinople.</p> + +<p>It was true; yet his Mussulman captors were not without a sense of the +majesty of their prisoner, for they stopped their journey at Cheknesé +Kutschuk, near the capital, so that he might rest for the Sabbath, and +hither, apprised in advance by messenger, the Sabbatians of +Constantinople hastened with food and money. They still expected to +see their Sovereign arrive with pomp and pageantry, but he came up +miserably on a sorry horse, chains clanking dismally at his feet. Yet +was he in no wise dismayed. "I am like a woman in labor," he said to +his body-guard of Kings, "the redoubling of whose anguish marks the +near deliverance. Ye should laugh merrily, like the Rabbi in the +Talmud when he saw the jackal running about the ruined walls of the +Temple; for till the prophecies are utterly fulfilled the glory cannot +return." And his face shone with conscious deity.</p> + +<p>He was placed in a khan with a strong guard. But his worshippers +bought off his chains, and even made for him a kind of throne. On the +Sunday his captors brought him, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[163]</a></span>and him alone, to Constantinople. A +vast gathering of Jews and Turks—a motley-colored medley—awaited him +on the quay; mounted police rode about to keep a path for the +disembarking officers and to prevent a riot. At length, amid clamor +and tumult, Sabbataï set fettered foot on shore.</p> + +<p>His sad, noble air, the beauty of his countenance, his invincible +silence, set a circle of mystery around him. Even the Turks had a +moment of awe. A man-god, surely!</p> + +<p>The Pacha had sent his subordinate with a guard to transfer him to the +Seraglio. By them he was first hastily conducted into the +custom-house, the guard riding among and dispersing the crowd.</p> + +<p>Sabbataï sat upon a chest as majestically as though it were the throne +of Solomon.</p> + +<p>But the Sub-Pacha shook off the oppressive emotion with which the +sight of Sabbataï inspired him.</p> + +<p>"Rise, traitor," said he, "it is time that thou shouldst receive the +reward of thy treasons and gather the fruit of thy follies." And +therewith he dealt Sabbataï a sounding box of the ear.</p> + +<p>His myrmidons, relieved from the tension, exploded in a malicious +guffaw.</p> + +<p>Sabbataï looked at the brutal dignitary with sad, steady gaze, then +silently turned the other cheek.</p> + +<p>The Sub-Pacha recoiled with an uncanny feeling of the supernatural; +the mockery of the bystanders was hushed.</p> + +<p>Sabbataï was conducted by side ways, to avoid the mob, to the Palace +of the Kaimacon, the Deputy-Vizier.</p> + +<p>"Art thou the man," cried the Kaimacon, "whom the Jews aver to have +wrought miracles at Smyrna? Now is thy time to work one, for lo! thy +treason shall cost thee dear."</p> + +<p>"Miracles!" replied Sabbataï meekly. "I—what am I <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[164]</a></span>but a poor Jew, +come to collect alms for my poor brethren in Jerusalem? The Jews of +this great city persuade themselves that my blessing will bring them +God's grace; they flock to welcome me. Can I stay them?"</p> + +<p>"Thou art a seditious knave."</p> + +<p>"An arrant impostor," put in the Sub-Pacha, "with the airs of a god. I +thought to risk losing my arm when I cuffed him on the ear, but lo! +'tis stronger than ever." And he felt his muscle complacently.</p> + +<p>"To gaol with the rogue!" cried the Kaimacon.</p> + +<p>Sabbataï, his face and mien full of celestial conviction, was placed +in the loathsome dungeon which served as a prison for Jewish debtors.</p> + +<br /> +<h4>XX</h4> + +<p>For a day or so the Moslems made merry over the disconcerted Jews and +their Messiah. The street-boys ran after the Sabbatians, shouting, +"<i>Gheldi mi? Gheldi mi?</i>" (Is he coming? Is he coming?); the very bark +of the street-dogs sounded sardonic. But soon the tide turned. +Sabbataï's prophetic retinue testified unshaken to their +Master—Messiah because Sufferer. Women and children were rapt in +mystic visions, and miracles took place in the highways. Moses Suriel, +who in fun had feigned to call up spirits, suddenly hearing strange +singing and playing, fell into a foaming fury, and hollow prophecies +issued from him, sublimely eloquent and inordinately rapid, so that on +his recovery he went about crying, "Repent! Repent! I was a mocker and +a sinner. Repent! Repent!" The Moslems themselves began to waver. A +Turkish Dervish, clad in white flowing robes, with a stick in his +hand, preached in the street corners to his countrymen, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[165]</a></span>proclaiming +the Jewish Messiah. "Think ye," he cried, "that to wash your hands +stained with the blood of the poor and full of booty, or to bathe your +feet which have walked in the way of unrighteousness, suffices to +render you clean? Vain imagination! God has heard the prayers of the +poor whom ye despise! He will raise the humble and abash the proud." +Bastinadoed in vain several times, he was at last brought before the +Cadi, who sent him to the <i>Timar-Hané</i>, the mad-house. But the doctors +testified that he was sound, and he was again haled before the Cadi, +who threatened him with death if he did not desist. "Kill me," said +the Dervish pleadingly, "and ye will deliver me from the spirits which +possess me and drive me to prophesy." Impressed, the Cadi dismissed +him, and would have laden him with silver, but the Dervish refused and +went his rhapsodical way. And in the heavens a comet flamed.</p> + +<p>Soon Sabbataï had a large Turkish following. The Jews already in the +debtors' dungeon hastened to give him the best place, and made a rude +throne for him. He became King of the Prison. Thousands surged round +the gates daily to get a glimpse of him. The keeper of the prison did +not fail to make his profit of their veneration, and instead of the +five <i>aspres</i> which friends of prisoners had to pay for the privilege +of a visit, he charged a crown, and grew rapidly rich. Some of the +most esteemed Jews attended a whole day before Sabbataï in the +Oriental postures of civility and service—eyes cast down, bodies +bending forward, and hands crossed on their breasts. Before these +visitors, who came laden with gifts, Sabbataï maintained an equally +sublime silence; sometimes he would point to the chapter of Genesis +recounting how Joseph issued from his dungeon to become ruler of +Egypt.</p> + +<p>"How fares thy miserable prisoner?" casually inquired the Kaimacon of +his Sub-Pacha one day.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[166]</a></span>"Miserable prisoner, Sire!" ejaculated the Sub-Pacha. "Nay, happy and +glorious Monarch! The prison is become a palace. Where formerly +reigned perpetual darkness, incessant wax tapers burn; in what was a +sewer of filth and dung, one breathes now only amber, musk, aloe-wood, +otto of roses, and every perfume; where men perished of hunger now +obtains every luxury; the crumbs of Sabbataï's table suffice for all +his fellow-prisoners."</p> + +<p>The Deputy-Vizier was troubled, and cast about for what to do.</p> + +<p>Meantime the fame of Sabbataï grew. It was said that every night a +light appeared over his head, sometimes in stars, sometimes as an +olive bough. Some English merchants in Galata visited him to complain +of their Jewish debtors at Constantinople, who had ceased to traffic +and would not discharge their liabilities. Sabbataï took up his quill +and wrote:</p> + +<p>"To you the Nation of Jews who expect the appearance of the Messiah +and the Salvation of Israel, Peace without end. Whereas we are +informed that ye are indebted to several of the English nation: It +seemeth right unto us to order you to make satisfaction to these your +just debts: which if you refuse to do, and not obey us herein, know ye +that then ye are not to enter with us into our Joys and Dominions."</p> + +<p>The debts were instantly paid, and the glory of the occupant of the +debtors' prison waxed greater still. The story of his incarceration +and of the homage paid him, even by Mussulmans, spread through the +world. What! The Porte—so prompt to slay, the maxim of whose polity +was to have the Prince served by men he could raise without envy and +destroy without danger—the Turk, ever ready with the cord and the +sack, the sword and the bastinado, dared not put to death a rebel, the +vaunted dethroner of the Sultan. A miracle and a Messiah indeed!</p> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[167]</a></span><br /> +<h4>XXI</h4> + +<p>But the Kaimacon was embarking for the war with Crete; in his absence +he feared to leave Sabbataï in the capital. The prisoner was therefore +transferred to the abode of State prisoners, the Castle of the +Dardanelles at Abydos, with orders that he was to be closely confined, +and never to go outside the gates. But, under the spell of some +strange respect, or in the desire to have a hold upon them, too, the +Kaimacon allowed his retinue of Kings to accompany him, likewise his +amanuensis, Samuel Primo, and his consort, Melisselda.</p> + +<p>The news of his removal to better quarters did not fail to confirm the +faith of the Sabbatians. It was reported, moreover, that the +Janissaries sent to take him fell dead at a word from his mouth, and +being desired to revive them he consented, except in the case of some +who, he said, were not true Turks. Then he went of his own accord to +the Castle, but the shackles they laid on his feet fell from him, +converted into gold with which he gratified his true and faithful +believers, and, spite of steel bars and iron locks, he was seen to +walk through the streets with a numerous attendance. Nor did the +Sabbatians fail to find mystic significance in the fact that their +Messiah arrived at his new prison on the Eve of Passover—of the +anniversary of Freedom.</p> + +<p>Sabbataï at once proceeded to kill the Paschal lamb for himself and +his followers, and eating thereof with the fat, in defiance of +Talmudic Law, he exclaimed:—"Blessed be God who hath restored that +which was forbidden."</p> + +<p>To the Tower of Strength, as the Sabbatians called the castle at +Abydos, wherein the Messiah held his Court, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[168]</a></span>streamed treasure-laden +pilgrims from Poland, Germany, Italy, Vienna, Amsterdam, Cairo, +Morocco, thinking by the pious journey to become worthy of seeing his +face; and Sabbataï gave them his benediction, and promised them +increase of their stores and enlargement of their possessions in the +Holy Land. The ships were overburdened with passengers; freights rose. +The natives grew rich by accommodating the pilgrims, the castellan +(interpreting liberally the Kaimacon's instructions to mean that +though the prisoner might not go out visitors might come in) by +charging them fifteen to thirty marks for admission to the royal +precincts. A shower of gold poured into Abydos. Jew, Moslem, +Christian—the whole world wondered, and half of it believed. The +beauty and gaiety of Melisselda witched the stubbornest sceptics. +Men's thoughts turned to "The Tower of Strength," from the far ends of +the world. Never before in human history had the news of a Messiah +travelled so widely in his own lifetime. To console those who could +not make the pilgrimage to him or to Jerusalem, Sabbataï promised +equal indulgence and privilege to all who should pray at the tombs of +their mothers. His initials, S.Z., were ornamentally inscribed in +letters of gold over almost every synagogue, with a crown on the wall, +in the circle of which was the ninety-first Psalm, and a prayer for +him was inserted in the liturgy: "Bless our Lord and King, the holy +and righteous Sabbataï Zevi, the Messiah of the God of Jacob."</p> + +<p>The Ghettos began to break up. Work and business dwindled in the most +sceptical. In Hungary the Jews commenced to demolish their houses. The +great commercial centres, which owed their vitality to the Jews, were +paralyzed. The very Protestants wavered in their Christianity. +Amsterdam, under the infection of Jewish enthusiasm, effervesced with +joy. At Hamburg, despite the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[169]</a></span>epistolary ironies of Jacob Sasportas, +the rare <i>Kofrim</i>, or Anti-Sabbatians, were forced, by order of +Bendito de Castro, to say Amen to the Messianic prayer. At Livorne +commerce dried up. At Venice there were riots, and the <i>Kofrim</i> were +threatened with death. In Moravia the Governor had to interfere to +calm the tumult. At Salee, in Algeria, the Jews so openly displayed +their conviction of their coming dominance that the Emir decreed a +persecution of them. At Smyrna, on the other hand, a <i>Chacham</i> who +protested to the Cadi against the vagaries of his brethren, was, by +the power of their longer purse, shaved of his beard and condemned to +the galleys.</p> + +<p>Three months of princely wealth and homage for Sabbataï had passed. In +response to the joyous inspiration of Melisselda, he had abandoned all +his ascetic habits, and lived the life of a king, ruling a world never +again to be darkened with sin and misery. The wine sparkled and +flowed, the choicest dishes adorned the banqueting-table, flowers and +delicate odors made grateful the air, and the beautiful maidens of +Israel danced voluptuously before him, shooting out passionate glances +from under their long eyelashes. The fast of the seventeenth of Tammuz +came round. Sabbataï abolished it, proclaiming that on that day the +conviction that he was the Messiah had been borne in upon him. The +ninth of Ab—the day of his Nativity—was again turned from a fast to +a festival, the royal edict, promulgated throughout the world, quoting +the exhortation of Zephaniah: "Sing and rejoice, O daughter of Zion; +for lo I come, and I will dwell in the midst of thee, saith the Lord." +Detailed prescriptions as to the order of the services and the +psalmody accompanied the edict.</p> + +<p>And in this supreme day of jubilation and merrymaking, of majesty and +splendor, crowned with the homage and <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[170]</a></span>benison of his race, +deputations of which came from all climes and soils to do honor to his +nativity, the glory of Sabbataï culminated.</p> + +<p class="cen">(<i>Here endeth the Second Scroll.</i>)</p> + +<br /> +<br /> +<h4>SCROLL THE THIRD</h4> + +<br /> +<h4>XXII</h4> + +<p>In the hour of his triumph, two Poles, who had made the pious +pilgrimage, told him of a new Prophet who had appeared in far-off +Lemberg, one Nehemiah Cohen, who announced the advent of the Kingdom, +but not through Sabbataï Zevi.</p> + +<p>That night, when his queen and his courtiers were sleeping, Sabbataï +wrestled sore with himself in his lonely audience-chamber. The spectre +of self-doubt—long laid to rest by music and pageantry—was raised +afresh by this new and unexpected development. It was a rude reminder +that this pompous and voluptuous existence was, after all, premature, +that the Kingdom had yet to be won.</p> + +<p>"O my Father in Heaven!" he prayed, falling upon his face. "Thou hast +not deceived me. Tell me that this Prophet is false, I beseech Thee, +that it is through me that Thy Kingdom is to be established on earth. +I await the miracle. The days of the great year are nigh gone, and lo! +I languish here in mock majesty. A sign! A sign!"</p> + +<p>"Sabbataï!" A ravishing voice called his name. He looked up. +Melisselda stood in the doorway, come from her chamber as lightly clad +as on that far-off morning in the cemetery.</p> + +<p>There was a strange rapt expression in her face, and, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[171]</a></span>looking closer, +he saw that her laughing eyes were veiled in sleep.</p> + +<p>"It is the sign," he muttered in awe.</p> + +<p>He sprang to his feet and took her white hand, that burnt his own, and +she led him back to her chamber, walking unerringly.</p> + +<p>"It is the sign," he murmured, "the sign that Melisselda hath truly +led me to the Kingdom of Joy."</p> + +<p>But in the morning he awoke still troubled. The meaning of the sign +seemed less clear than in the silence of the night; the figure of the +new Prophet loomed ominous.</p> + +<p>When the Poles went back they bore a royal letter, promising the +Polish Jews vengeance on the Cossacks, and commanding Nehemiah to come +to the Messiah with all speed.</p> + +<p>The way was long, but by the beginning of September Nehemiah arrived +in Abydos. He was immediately received in private audience. He bore +himself independently.</p> + +<p>"Peace to thee, Sabbataï."</p> + +<p>"Peace to thee, Nehemiah. I desired to have speech with thee; men say +thou deniest me."</p> + +<p>"That do I. How should Messiah—Messiah of the House of David, appear +and not his forerunner, Messiah of the House of Ephraim, as our holy +books foretell?" Sabbataï answered that the Ben Ephraim had already +appeared, but he could not convince Nehemiah, who proved highly +learned in the Hebrew, the Syriac, and the Chaldean, and argued point +by point and text by text. The first Messiah was to be a preacher of +the Law, poor, despised, a servant of the second. Where was he to be +found?</p> + +<p>Three days they argued, but Nehemiah still went about repeating his +rival prophecies. The more zealous of the Sabbatians, angry at the +pertinacious and pugnacious <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[172]</a></span>casuist, would have done him a mischief, +but the Prophet of Lemberg thought it prudent to escape to Adrianople. +Here in revenge he sought audience with the Kaimacon.</p> + +<p>"Treason, O Mustapha, treason!" he announced. He betrayed the +fantastic designs upon the Sultan's crown, still cherished by Sabbataï +and known to all but the Divan; the Castellan of Abydos, for the sake +of his pocket, having made no report of the extraordinary doings at +the Castle.</p> + +<p>Nehemiah denounced Sabbataï as a lewd person, who endeavored to +debauch the minds of the Jews and divert them from their honest course +of livelihood and obedience to the Grand Seignior. And, having thus +avenged himself, the Prophet of Lemberg became a Mohammedan.</p> + +<p>A Chiaus was at once dispatched to the Sultan, and there was held a +Council. The problem was grave. To execute Sabbataï—beloved as he was +by Jew and Turk alike—would be but to perpetuate the new sect. The +Mufti Vanni—a priestly enthusiast—proposed that they should induce +him to follow in the footsteps of Nehemiah, and come over to Islam. +The suggestion seemed not only shrewd, but tending to the greater +glory of Mohammed, the one true Prophet. An aga set out forthwith for +Abydos. And so one fine day when the Castle of the Dardanelles was +besieged by worshippers, when the Tower of Strength was gay with +brightly clad kings, and filled with pleasant plants and odors and the +blended melodies of instruments and voices, a body of moustachioed +Janissaries flashed upon the scene, dispersing the crowd with their +long wands; they seized the Messiah and his queen, and brought them to +Adrianople.</p> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[173]</a></span><br /> +<h4>XXIII</h4> + +<p>The Hakim Bashi, the Sultan's physician, who as a Jew-Turk himself, +was thought to be the fittest to approach Sabbataï, laid the decision +of the Grand Seignior before him on the evening of his arrival at +Adrianople. The released prisoner was lodged with mocking splendor in +a commodious apartment in the palace, overlooking the river, and lay +upon a luxurious divan, puffing at a chibouque with pretended calm.</p> + +<p>"What reverences is it customary to make to the Grand Seignior?" he +asked, with affected nonchalance, when the first salutations with the +physician had been exchanged. "I would not be wanting in the forms +when I appear before his exalted majesty."</p> + +<p>"An end to the farce, Sabbataï Zevi!" said the Hakim Bashi, sternly. +"The Sultan demands of thee not posturings, but a miracle."</p> + +<p>"Have not miracles enough been witnessed?" asked Sabbataï, in a low +tone.</p> + +<p>"Too many," returned the ex-Jew drily. "Yet if thou wouldst save thy +life there needs another."</p> + +<p>"What miracle?"</p> + +<p>"That thou turn Turk!" And a faint smile played about the physician's +lips.</p> + +<p>There was a long silence. Sabbataï's own lips twitched, but not with +humor. The regal radiance of Abydos had died out of his face, but its +sadness was rather of misery than the fine melancholy of yore.</p> + +<p>"And if I refuse this miracle?"</p> + +<p>"Thou must give us a substitute. The Mufti Vanni suggests that thou be +stript naked and set as a mark for the archers; if thy flesh and skin +are proof like armor, we <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[174]</a></span>shall recognize thee as the Messiah indeed, +and the person designed by Allah for the dominions and greatnesses to +which thou dost pretend."</p> + +<p>"And if I refuse this miracle, too?"</p> + +<p>"Then the stake waits at the gate of the seraglio to compel thee," +thundered the Hakim Bashi; "thou shalt die with tortures. The mercy of +decapitation shall be denied thee, for thou knowest well Mohammedans +will not pollute their swords with the blood of a Jew. Be advised by +me, Sabbataï," he continued, lowering his tone. "Become one of us. +After all, the Moslem are but the posterity of Hagar. Mohammed is but +the successor of Moses. We recognize the One God who rules the heavens +and the earth, we eat not swine-flesh. Thou canst Messiah it in a +white turban as well as in a black," he ended jocosely.</p> + +<p>Sabbataï winced. "Renegade!" he muttered.</p> + +<p>"Ay, and an excellent exchange," quoth the physician. "The Sultan is a +generous paymaster, may his shadow never grow less. He giveth thee +till the morn to decide—Turk or martyr? With burning torches attached +to thy limbs thou art to be whipped through the streets with fiery +scourges in the sight of the people—such is the Sultan's decree. He +is a generous paymaster. After all, what need we pretend—between +ourselves, two Jews, eh?" And he winked drolly. "The sun greets +Mohammed every morn, say these Turks. Let to-morrow's greet another +Mohammedan."</p> + +<p>Sabbataï sprang up with an access of majesty.</p> + +<p>"Dog of an unbeliever! Get thee gone!"</p> + +<p>"Till to-morrow! The Sultan will give thee audience to-morrow," said +the Hakim Bashi imperturbably, and, making a mock respectful +salutation, he withdrew from the apartment.</p> + +<p>Melisselda had been dosing in an inner chamber after the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[175]</a></span>fatigue of +the journey, but the concluding thunders of the duologue had aroused +her, and she heard the physician's farewell words. She now parted the +hangings and looked through at Sabbataï, her loveliness half-framed, +half-hidden by the tapestry. Her face was wreathed in a heavenly +smile.</p> + +<p>"Sabbataï!" she breathed.</p> + +<p>He turned a frowning gaze upon her. "Thou art merry!" he said +bitterly.</p> + +<p>"Is not the hour come?" she cried joyously.</p> + +<p>"Yea, the hour is come," he murmured.</p> + +<p>"The hour of thy final trial and triumph! The longed-for hour of thy +appearance before the Sultan, when thou wilt take the crown from his +head and place it on—"</p> + +<p>Instead of completing the sentence, she ran to take his head to her +bosom. But he repulsed her embracing arms. She drew back in +consternation. It was the first time she had known him rough, not only +with her, but with any creature.</p> + +<p>"Leave me! Leave me!" he cried huskily.</p> + +<p>"Nay, thou needest me." And her forgiving arms spread towards him in +fresh tenderness.</p> + +<p>He looked at her without moving to meet them.</p> + +<p>"Ay, I need thee," he said pathetically. "Therefore," and his voice +rose firm again, "leave me to myself."</p> + +<p>"Thou hast become a stranger," she said tremulously. "I do not +understand thee."</p> + +<p>"Would thou hadst ever been a stranger, that I had never understood +thee."</p> + +<p>"Sabbataï, thou ravest."</p> + +<p>"I have come to my senses. O my God! my God!" and he fell a-weeping on +the divan.</p> + +<p>Melisselda's alarm grew greater.</p> + +<p>"Rouse thyself, they will hear thee."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[176]</a></span>"Let them hear. God hears me not."</p> + +<p>"Hears thee not? Thou art He!"</p> + +<p>"I God!" He laughed bitterly. "Thou believest that! Thou who knowest +me man!"</p> + +<p>"I know thee all divine. I have worshipped thee in joy. Art thou not +Messiah?"</p> + +<p>"Messiah! Who cannot save myself!"</p> + +<p>"Who can hurt thee? Who hath ever hurt thee from thy youth up? The +Angels watch over thy footsteps. Is not thy life one long miracle?"</p> + +<p>He shook his head hopelessly. "All this year I have waited the +miracle—all those weary months in the dungeon of Constantinople, in +the Castle of Abydos—but what sure voice hath spoken? To-morrow I +shall be disembowelled, lashed with fiery scourges—who knows what +these dogs may do?"</p> + +<p>"Hush! hush!"</p> + +<p>"Ah, thou fearest for me!" he cried, in perverse triumph. "Thou +knowest I am but mortal man!"</p> + +<p>The roses of her beautiful cheek had faded, but she spoke, +unflinching.</p> + +<p>"Nay, I believe on thee still. I followed thee to thy prison, +unwitting it would turn into a palace. I follow thee to thy torture +to-morrow, trusting it will be the crowning miracle and the fiery +scourges will turn into angels' feathers. It is the word of Zechariah +fulfilled. 'In that day will I make the governors of Judah like an +hearth of fire among the wood, and like a torch of fire in a sheaf.'"</p> + +<p>His eyes grew humid as he looked up at her. "Yea, Melisselda, thou +hast been true and of good courage. And now, when I am alone, when the +shouts of the faithful have died away, when the King of the World lies +here alone in darkness and ashes, thou hast faith still?"</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[177]</a></span>"Ay, I believe—'tis but a trial, the final trial of my faith."</p> + +<p>She smiled at him confidently; hope quickened within him. "If this +were but a trial, the final trial of <i>my</i> faith!" he murmured. "But +no—ere that white strip of moon rises again in the heavens I shall be +a mangled corpse, the feast of wolves, unless—I have prayed for a +sign—oh, how I have prayed, and now—ah, see! A star is falling. O my +God, that this should be the end of my long martyrdom! But the +punishment of my arrogance is greater than I can bear. God, God, why +didst Thou send me those divine-seeming whispers, those long, long +thoughts that thrilled my soul? Why didst Thou show me the sin of +Israel and his suffering, the sorrow and evil of the world, inspiring +me to redeem and regenerate?" His breast swelled with hysteric sobs.</p> + +<p>"My Sabbataï!" Melisselda's warm arms were round him. He threw her off +with violence. "Back, back!" he cried. "I understand the sign; I +understand at last. 'Tis through thee that I have forfeited the divine +grace."</p> + +<p>"Through me?" she faltered.</p> + +<p>"Yea; thy lips have wooed mine away from prayer, thine arms have drawn +me down from the steeps of righteousness. Thou hast made me unfaithful +to my bride, the Law. For nigh forty years I lived hard and lonely, +steeped my body in ice and snow, lashed myself—ay, lashed myself, I +who now fear the lash—till the blood ran from a dozen wounds, and +now, O God! O God! Woman, thou hast polluted me! I have lost the +divine spirit. It hath gone out from me; it will incarnate itself in +another, in a nobler. Once I was Messiah, now I am man."</p> + +<p>"I?—I took from thee the divine spirit!"</p> + +<p>She looked at him in all the flush of her beauty, grown insolent +again.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[178]</a></span>He sprang up, he fell upon her breast, he kissed her lips madly.</p> + +<p>"Nay, nay, thou hast shown it me! Love! Love! 'tis Love that breathes +through all things, that lifts the burden of life. But for thee I +should have passed away, unknowing the glory of manhood. I am a man—a +man rejoicing in his strength! O my starved youth! why did I not +behold thee earlier?" Tears of self-pity rolled down his ashen cheek. +"O my love! my love! my lost youth! Give me back my youth, O God! Who +am I, to save? A man; yea, a man, glorying in manhood. Ah! happy are +they who lead the common fate of men, happy in love, in home, in +children; woe for those who would climb, who would torture and deny +themselves, who would save humanity? From what? If they have Love, +have they not all? It is God, it is the Kingdom. It is the Kingdom. +Come, let us live—I a man, thou a woman!"</p> + +<p>"But a Mussulman!"</p> + +<p>"What imports? God is everywhere. Was not our Maimonides—he at whose +tomb we worship in Tiberias—himself once a Mussulman? Did he not say +that if it be to save our lives naught is forbidden?"</p> + +<p>He moved to take her in his arms, but this time it was she that drew +back. Her eyes flashed.</p> + +<p>"Nay, as a man, I love thee not. Thou art divine or naught; God or +Impostor!"</p> + +<p>"Melisselda!" She ignored his stricken cry.</p> + +<p>"Nay, this ordeal hath endured long enough," she replied sternly. +"Confess, I have been proof."</p> + +<p>"I am neither God nor Impostor," he said brokenly. "Ah! say not that +thou canst not love me as a man. When thou didst first come to bless +my life I had not yet declared myself Messiah."</p> + +<p>"Who knows what I thought then? A wild girl, crazed <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[179]</a></span>by the convent, +by the blood shed before my childish eyes, I came to thee full of +lawless passions and fantastic dreams. But as I lived with thee, as I +saw the beauty of thy thought, thy large compassion, the purity of thy +life amid temptations that made me jealous as a woman of Damascus, +then I knew thee a God indeed."</p> + +<p>"Nay, when I knew thee I knew myself man. But as our followers grew, +as faith and fortune trod in my footsteps, my blasphemous dream +revived; I believed in thy vision of the Kingdom. When I divided the +world I thought myself Messiah indeed. But as I sat on my throne at +Abydos, with worshippers from the world's end kissing my feet, a +hollow doubt came over me, a sense of dream, and hollow voices echoed +ever in my ear, asking, 'Art thou Messiah? Art thou Messiah? Art thou +Messiah?' I strove to drown them in the festive song; but in the +stillness of the night, when thou wast sleeping at my side, the voices +came back, and they cried mockingly, 'Man! Man! Man!' And when +Nehemiah came—"</p> + +<p>"Man!" interrupted Melisselda impatiently. "Cease to cozen me. Have I +not known men? Ay, who more? Their weaknesses, their vanities, their +lewdnesses—enough! To-morrow thou shalt assert the God."</p> + +<p>He threw himself back on the divan and sighed wearily. "Leave me, +Melisselda. Go to thy rest; to-night I must keep vigil alone. +Perchance it is my last night on earth."</p> + +<p>Her countenance lit up. "Yea, to-morrow comes the Kingdom of Heaven." +And smiling ineffable trust, she stooped down and lightly kissed his +hair, then glided from the room.</p> + +<p>And in his sleepless brain and racked soul went on, through that +unending night, the terrible tragedy of doubt, tempered by spells of +spasmodic prayer. A God, or a Man? A Messiah undergoing his Father's +last <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[180]</a></span>temptation; or a martyr on the eve of horrible death? And if the +victim of a monstrous self-delusion, what mattered whether one lived +out one's years of shame as Jew or Mussulman? Nobler, perhaps, to die, +and live as an heroic memory—but then to leave Melisselda! To leave +her warm breast and the sunlight and the green earth, and all that +beauty of the world and of human life to which his eyes had only been +unsealed after a lifetime of self-torturing blindness?</p> + +<p>"O God! O God!" he cried, "wherefore hast Thou mocked and abandoned +me?"</p> + +<br /> +<h4>XXIV</h4> + +<p>Early in the forenoon the light touch of a loved hand upon his +shoulder roused him from deeps of reverie.</p> + +<p>He uplifted a white, haggard face. Melisselda stood before him in all +her dazzling freshness, like a radiant spirit come to chase the demons +of the night. The ancient Spanish song came into his mind, and the +sweet, sad melody vibrated in his soul.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">From her bath she arose,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Pure and white as the snows,<br /></span> +<span class="i8">Melisselda.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Coral only at lips<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And at sweet finger-tips,<br /></span> +<span class="i8">Melisselda.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>His eyes filled with tears—the divine dreams of youth stirred faintly +within him.</p> + +<p>"Is it Peace with thee?" she asked.</p> + +<p>His head drooped again on his breast.</p> + +<p>"From the casement I saw the sun rise over the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[181]</a></span>Maritza," he said, +"kindling the sullen waters, but my faith is still gray and dead. Nay, +rather there came into my mind the sublime poem of Moses Ibn Ezra of +Granada: 'Thy days are delusive dreams and thy life as yon cloud of +morning: whilst it tarries over thy tabernacle thou may'st remain +therein, but at its ascent thou art dissolved and removed unto a place +unknown to thee,' This is the end, Melisselda, the end of my great +delusion. What am I but a man, with a man's pains and errors and +self-deceptions, a man's life that blooms but once as a rose and fades +while the thorn endures?" The ineffable melancholy of his accents +subdued her to silence: for the moment the music of his voice, his sad +brooding eyes, the infinite despair of his attitude swayed her to a +mood akin to his own. "Verily it was for me," he went on, "that the +Sephardic poet sang—</p> + +<p>"'Reflect on the labor thou didst undergo under the sun, night and +day, without intermission; labor which thou knowest well to be without +profit; for, verily in these many years thou hast walked after vanity +and become vain. Thou wast a keeper of vineyards, but thine own +vineyard thou hast not kept; whilst the Eyes of the Eternal run to and +fro to see if the vine hath flourished, whether the tender grapes +appear, and, lo! all was grown over with thorns; nettles had covered +the face thereof. Thou hast grown old and gray, thou hast strayed but +not returned.' Yea, I have strayed, but is the gate closed for return? +To be a man—only a man—how great that is!" His voice died away, and +with it the sweet, soothing spell. Fire glowed in Melisselda's breast, +heaving her bosom, shooting sparks from her eyes.</p> + +<p>"Nay, if thou art only a man, thou art not even a man. My love is +dead."</p> + +<p>As he shrank beneath her contempt, another stanza of <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[182]</a></span>his ancient song +sang itself involuntarily in his brain. Never had he seen her thus.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">In the pride of her race,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As a sword shone her face,<br /></span> +<span class="i8">Melisselda.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And her lids were steel bows,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But her mouth was a rose,<br /></span> +<span class="i8">Melisselda.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p><i>But her mouth was a rose.</i> Ah, God, the pity of it, to leave the rose +for the crown of thorns!</p> + +<p>"Melisselda!" he cried, with a sob. "Have pity on me."</p> + +<p>The door opened; two of the Imperial Guards appeared.</p> + +<p>"Thou slayest me," he said in Hebrew.</p> + +<p>"I worship thee," she answered him, in the same sacred tongue. Her +face took on its old confident smile.</p> + +<p>"But I am a man."</p> + +<p>Once again her lids were steel bows.</p> + +<p>"Then die like a man! Thinkst thou I would share thy humiliation? If I +am to be a Moslem's bride, let me be the Sultan's. If I am not to +share the Messiah's throne, let me share an Emperor's. Thy Spanish +song made me an Emperor's daughter—I will be an Emperor's consort."</p> + +<p>And she laughed wantonly.</p> + +<p>The guards advanced timidly with visible awe. Melisselda's swiftly +flashing face changed suddenly. She drew him to her breast.</p> + +<p>"My King!" she murmured. "'Twas cruel to tempt my faith thus." Then +releasing him, she cried, "Go to thy Kingdom."</p> + +<p>He drew himself up; the fire in her eyes flashed into his own.</p> + +<p>"The Sultan summons thee," said one of the guards reverently.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[183]</a></span>"I am ready," he said, calmly adjusting the folds of his black mantle.</p> + +<p>Melisselda was left alone. The slow moments wore on, tense and +terrible. Little by little the radiant faith died out of her face. +Half an hour went by, and cold serpents of doubt began to coil about +her own heart.</p> + +<p>What if Sabbataï were only a man after all? With frenzied rapidity she +reviewed the past; now she glowed with effulgent assurances of his +divinity, the homage of his people, the awe of Turk and Christian, +Rabbis and sages at his feet, the rich and the great struggling to +kiss his fan, the treasures poured into his unwilling palms; now she +shivered with hideous suggestions and remembrances of frailty and +mortal ineptitude. And as her faith faltered, as the exaltation, with +which she had inspired him, ebbed away, alarm for his safety began to +creep into her soul, till at last it was as a flood sweeping her in +his traces. And the more her fears swelled the more she realized how +much she had grown to love him, with his sad, dark, smooth-skinned +beauty, the soft, almost magnetic touch of his hand. Messiah or man, +she loved him: he was right. What if she had sent him to his death! A +cold, sick horror crept about her limbs. Perhaps he had dared to put +his divinity to the test, and the ribald Turk was even now gloating +over the screams of the wretched self-deluded man. Oh, fool that she +had been to drive him to the stake and the fiery scourge. If divine, +then to turn Turk were part of the plan of Salvation; if human, he +would at least be spared an agonized death. The bloody visions of her +childhood came back to her, fire coursed in her fevered veins. She +snatched up a mantilla and threw it over her shoulders, then dashed +from the chamber. Her houri-like beauty in that palace of hidden +moon-faces, her breathless explanation that the Sultan had summoned +her to join her <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[184]</a></span>husband, carried her past breathless guards, through +door after door, past the black eunuchs of the seraglio and the white +eunuchs of the royal apartment, till through the interstices of purple +hangings she had a far-off glimpse of the despot in his great imperial +turban, sitting on his high, narrow throne, his officers around him. A +page stopped her rudely. Faintness overcame her.</p> + +<p>"Mehmed Effendi," called the page.</p> + +<p>Dizzy, her tongue scarcely under control, she tried to proffer to the +tall door-keeper who parted the hangings her request for admission. +But he held out his arms to catch her swaying form, and then, as in +some monstrous dream, something familiar seemed to her to waft from +the figure, despite the white turban and the green mantle, and the +next instant, as with the pain of a stab, she recognized Sabbataï.</p> + +<p>"What masquerade is this?" her white lips whispered in indignant +revulsion as she struggled from his hold.</p> + +<p>"My lord, the Sultan, hath made me his door-keeper—<i>Capigi Bashi +Otorak</i>," he replied deprecatingly. "He is merciful and forgiving. May +Allah exalt his dominion. The salary is large; he is a generous +paymaster. I testify that there is no God but God. I testify that +Mohammed is God's prophet." He caught the swooning Melisselda in his +arms and covered her face with kisses.</p> + +<br /> +<h4>XXV</h4> + +<p>News travelled slowly in those days. A week later, while Agi Mehmed +Effendi and his wife Fauma Kadin (born Sarah and still called +Melisselda by her adoring husband, the Sultan's door-keeper) were +receiving instruction in the Moslem religion from the exultant Mufti +Vanni, a great Synod of Jews, swept to Amsterdam by the mighty wave +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[185]</a></span>of faith and joy, Rabbis and scholars and presidents of colleges, were +drawing up a letter of homage to the Messiah. And while the Grand +Seignior was meditating the annihilation of all the Jews of the +Ottoman Empire for their rebellious projects, with the forced +conversion of the orphaned children to Islam, the Jews of the world +were celebrating—for what they thought the last time—the Day of +Atonement, and five times during that long fast-day did the weeping +worshippers, rocking to and fro in their grave-clothes, passionately +pronounce the blessing over Sabbataï Zevi, the Messiah of Israel.</p> + +<p>Nor did the fame and memory of him perish for generations; nor the +dreamers of the Jewry cease to cherish the faith in him, many +following him in adopting the white turban of Islam.</p> + +<p>But by what ingenious cabalistic sophistries, by what yearning +fantasies—fit to make the angels weep—his unhappy followers, +obstinate not to lose the great white hope that had come to illumine +the gloom of the Jewries, explained away his defection; what sects and +counter-sects his appostasy gave birth to, and what new prophets +arose—a guitar-playing gallant of Madrid, a tobacco dealer of +Pignerol, a blue-blooded Christian millionaire of Copenhagen—to +nourish that great pathetic hope (which still lives on) long after +Sabbataï himself, after who knows what new spasms of self-mystification +and hypocrisy, what renewed aspirations after his old greatness and his +early righteousness, what fresh torment of soul and body, died on the +Day of Atonement, a lonely white-haired exile in a little Albanian +town, where no brother Jew dwelt to close his eyelids or breathe +undying homage into his dying ears—is it not written in the chronicles +of the Ghetto?</p> + +<p class="cen">(<i>Here endeth the Third and Last Scroll.</i>)</p> + +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<a name="THE_MAKER_OF_LENSES" id="THE_MAKER_OF_LENSES"></a><hr /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[186]</a></span><br /> + +<h3>THE MAKER OF LENSES<span class="totoc"><a href="#toc">ToC</a></span></h3> +<br /> + +<p>As the lean, dark, somewhat stooping passenger, noticeable among the +blonde Hollanders by his noble Spanish face with its black eyebrows +and long curly locks, stepped off the <i>trekschuyt</i> on to the +canal-bank at s' Gravenhage, his abstracted gaze did not at first take +in the scowling visages of the idlers, sunning themselves as the +tow-boat came in. He was not a close observer of externals, and though +he had greatly enjoyed the journey home from Utrecht along the quaint +water-way between green walls of trees and hedges, with occasional +glimpses of flat landscapes and windmills through rifts, his sense of +the peace of Nature was wafted from the mass, from a pervasive +background of greenness and flowing water; he was not keenly aware of +specific trees, of linden, or elm, or willow, still less of the +aquatic plants and flowers that carpeted richly the surface of the +canal.</p> + +<p>Even when, pursuing broodingly his homeward path through the handsome +streets of the Hague, he became at last conscious of a certain +ill-will in the faces he met, he did not at first connect it with +himself, but with the general bellicose excitement of the populace. +Although the young Prince of Orange had rewarded their insurrectionary +election of him to the Stadtholdership by redeeming them from the +despair to which the French invasion and the English fleet <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[187]</a></span>had +reduced them, although since his famous "I will die in the last +ditch," Holland no longer strove to commit suicide by opening its own +sluices, yet the unloosed floods of popular passion were only +partially abated. A stone that grazed his cheek and plumped against +the little hand-bag that held his all of luggage, startled him to +semi-comprehension.</p> + +<p>They were for him, then, these sullen glances. Cries of "Traitor!" +"Godless gallows-bird!" "Down with the damned renegade!" dispelled +what doubt remained. A shade of melancholy deepened the expression of +the sweet, thoughtful mouth; then, as by volition, the habitual look +of pensive cheerfulness came back, and he walked on, unruffled.</p> + +<p>So it had leaked out, even in his own town—where an anonymous prophet +should be without dishonor—that <i>he</i> was the author of the infamous +<i>Tractatus Theologico-Politicus</i>, the "traitor to State and Church" of +refuting pamphleteers, the bogey of popular theology. In vain, then, +had his treatise been issued with "Hamburg" on the title-page. In vain +had he tried to combine personal peace with impersonal thought, to +confine his body to a garret and to diffuse his soul through the +world. The forger of such a thunderbolt could not remain hid from the +eyes of Europe. Perhaps the illustrious foreigners and the beautiful +bluestockings who climbed his stairs—to the detriment of his day's +work in grinding lenses—had set the Hague scenting sulphur. More +probably the hot-headed young disciples to whom he had given oral or +epistolary teaching had enthusiastically betrayed him into fame—or +infamy. It had always been thus, he mused, even in those early +half-forgotten days when he was emancipating himself from the Ghetto, +and half-shocked admirers no less than heresy-hunters bore to the ears +of the Beth-din his dreadful <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[188]</a></span>rejection of miracle and ceremony. Poor +Saul Morteira! How his ancient master must have been pained to +pronounce the Great Ban, though nothing should have surprised him in a +pupil so daring of question, even at fifteen. And now that he had +shaken off the Ghetto, or rather been shaken off by it, he had +scandalized no less shockingly that Christendom to which the Ghetto +had imagined him apostatizing: he had fearlessly contradicted every +system of the century, the ruling Cartesian philosophy no less than +the creed of the Church, and his plea for freedom of thought had +illustrated it to the full. True, the Low Countries, when freed from +the Spanish rack, had nobly declared for religious freedom, but at a +scientific treatment of the Bible as sacred literature even Dutch +toleration must draw the line, unbeguiled by the appeal to the State +to found itself on true religion and ignore the glossing theologians. +"What evil can be imagined greater for a State than that honorable +men, because they have thoughts of their own and cannot act a lie, are +sent as culprits into exile or led to the scaffold?" Already the +States-General had attached the work containing this question and +forbidden its circulation: now apparently persecution was to reach him +in person, Christendom supplementing what he had long since suffered +from the Jewry. He thought of the fanatical Jew whose attempt to stab +him had driven him to live on the outskirts of Amsterdam even before +the Jews had persuaded the civil magistrates to banish him from their +"new Jerusalem," and in a flash of bitterness the picturesque +Portuguese imprecations of the Rabbinic tribunal seemed to him to be +bearing fruit. "According to the decision of the angels and the +judgment of the saints, with the sanction of the Holy God and the +whole congregation, we excommunicate, expel, curse, and execrate +Baruch de Espinoza before the holy books.... Cursed be he by day, and +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[189]</a></span>cursed be he by night; cursed be he when he lieth down, and cursed be +he when he riseth up; cursed be he when he goeth out, and cursed be he +when he cometh in. May God never forgive him! His anger and His +passion shall be kindled against this man, on whom rest all the curses +and execrations which are written in the Holy Scriptures...." Had the +words been lurking at the back of his mind, when he was writing the +<i>Tractatus</i>? he asked himself, troubled to find them still in his +memory. Had resentment colored the Jewish sections? Had his hot +Spanish blood kept the memory of the dagger that had tried to spill +it? Had suffering biassed the impersonality of his intellect? "This +compels me to nothing which I should not otherwise have done," he had +said to his Mennonite friend when the sentence reached him in the +Oudekirk Road. But was it so? If he had not been cut off from his +father and his brothers and sisters, and the friends of childhood, +would he have treated the beauties of his ancestral faith with so +grudging a sympathy? The doubt disturbed him, revealing once more how +difficult was self-mastery, absolute surrender to absolute Truth. +Never had he wavered under persecution like Uriel Acosta—at whose +grave in unholy ground he had stood when a boy of eight,—but had it +not wrought insidiously upon his spirit?</p> + +<p>"Alas!" thought he, "the heaviest burden that men can lay upon us, is +not that they persecute us with their hatred and scorn, but that they +thus plant hatred and scorn in our souls. That is what does not let us +breathe freely or see clearly." Retrospect softened the odiousness of +his Jewish persecutors; they were but children of a persecuting age, +and it was indeed hard for a community of refugees from Spain and +Portugal to have that faith doubted for which they or their fathers +had given up wealth and country. Even at the hour of his Ban the +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[190]</a></span>pyres of the Inquisition were flaming with Jewish martyrs, and his +fellow-scholars were writing Latin verses to their sacred memories. +And should the religion which exacted and stimulated such sacrifices +be set aside by one providentially free to profess it? How should they +understand that a martyr's death proved faith, not truth? Well, well, +if he had not sufficiently repaid his brethren's hatred with love, it +was no good being sorry, for sorrow was an evil, a passing to lesser +perfection, diminished vitality. Let him rather rejoice that the real +work of his life—his <i>Ethica</i>, which he was working out on pure +geometrical principles—would have no taint of personality, would be +without his name, and would not even be published till death had +removed the last possibility of personal interest in its fortunes. +"For," as he was teaching in the book itself, "those who desire to aid +others by counsel or deed to the common enjoyment of the chief good +shall in no wise endeavor themselves that a doctrine be called after +them."</p> + +<p>Another stone and a hoot of derision from a gang of roughs reminded +him that death might not wait for the finishing of his work. +"Strange," he reflected, "that they who cannot even read should so run +to damn." And then his thoughts recurred to that horrible day not a +year ago when the brutal mob had torn to pieces the noblest men in the +realm—his friends, the brothers De Witt. He could scarcely retain his +tears even now at the memory of the martyred patriots, whose +ignominiously gibbeted bodies the police had only dared remove in the +secrecy of the small hours. It was hard even for the philosopher to +remember that the brutes did but express the essence of their being, +even as he expressed his. Nevertheless Reason did not demand that +theirs should destroy his: the reverse sooner, had he the power. So, +turning the corner of the street, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[191]</a></span>he slipped into his favorite +book-shop in the Spuistraat and sought at once safety and delectation +among the old folios and the new Latin publications and the beautiful +productions of the Elzevirs of Amsterdam.</p> + +<p>"Hast thou Stoupe's <i>Religion des Hollandois</i>?" he asked, with a +sudden thought.</p> + +<p>"Inquire elsewhere," snapped the bookseller surlily.</p> + +<p>"<i>Et tu, Brute!</i>" said Spinoza, smiling. "Dost thou also join the hue +and cry? Methinks heresy should nourish thy trade. A wilderness of +counterblasts, treatises, tractlets, pasquinades—the more the +merrier, eh?"</p> + +<p>The bookseller stared. "Thou to come in and ask for Stoupe's book? +'Tis—'tis—brazen!"</p> + +<p>Spinoza was perplexed. "Brazen? Is it because he talks of me in it?"</p> + +<p>"Heer Spinoza," said the bookseller solemnly, "thy Cartesian +commentary has brought me a many pence, and if thou thyself hast +browsed more than bought, thou wast welcome to take whatever thou +couldst carry away in that long head of thine. But to serve thee now +is more than I dare, with the populace so wrought up against thee. +What! Didst thou think thy doings in Utrecht would not penetrate +hither?"</p> + +<p>"My doings in Utrecht!"</p> + +<p>"Ay, in the enemy's headquarters—betraying us to the periwigs!"</p> + +<p>Spinoza was taken aback. This was even more serious than he had +thought. It was for supposed leaning to the French that the De Witts +had been massacred. Political odium was even more sinister than +theological. Perhaps he had been unwise to accept in war-time the +Prince of Condé's flattering invitation to talk philosophy. To get to +the French camp with the Marshal's safe-conduct had been easy enough: +to get back to his own headquarters bade fair <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[192]</a></span>to be another matter. +But then why had the Dutch authorities permitted him to go? Surely +such unique confidence was testimonial enough.</p> + +<p>"Oh, but this is absurd!" he said. "Every burgher in Den Haag knows +that I am a good republican, and have never had any aim but the honor +and welfare of the State. Besides, I did not even see Condé. He had +been called away, and I would not wait his return."</p> + +<p>"Ay, but thou didst see Luxemburg; thou wast entertained by Colonel +Stoupe, of the Swiss regiment."</p> + +<p>"True, but he is theologian as well as soldier."</p> + +<p>"He did not offer to bribe thee?"</p> + +<p>"Ay, he did," said Spinoza, smiling. "He offered me a pension—"</p> + +<p>The bookseller plugged his ears. "'Sh! I will not know. I'll have no +hand in thy murder."</p> + +<p>"Nay, but it will interest thee as a bookseller. The pension was to be +given me by his royal master if I would dedicate a book to his august +majesty."</p> + +<p>"And thou refusedst?"</p> + +<p>"Naturally. Louis Quatorze has flatterers enough."</p> + +<p>The bookseller seized his hands and wrung them with tears. "I told +them so, I told them so. What if they did see these French gentry +visiting thee? Political emissaries forsooth! As well fear for the +virtue of the ladies of quality who toil up his stairs, quoth I. They +do but seek further explications of their Descartes. Ah, France may +have begotten a philosopher, but it requires Holland to shelter him, a +Dutchman to understand him. That musked gallant a spy! Why, that was +D'Hénault, the poet. How do I know? Well, when a man inquires for +D'Hénault's poems and is half-pleased because I have the book, and +half-annoyed because he must needs buy it—! An epicurean rogue by his +lip, a true son of the Muses. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[193]</a></span>And suppose there <i>is</i> a letter from +England, quoth I, with the seal of the Royal Society!"</p> + +<p>"<i>Is</i> there a letter from England?"</p> + +<p>"Thou hast not been to thy lodging? That Royal Society, quoth I, is a +learned body—despite its name—and hath naught to do with King +Charles and the company he keeps. 'Tis they who egg him on to fight +us, the hussies!"</p> + +<p>Spinoza smiled. "It must be from my good friend Oldenburg, the +secretary."</p> + +<p>"'Tis what I told them. He was in my shop when he was here—"</p> + +<p>"Asking for his book?"</p> + +<p>"Nay, for thine." And the bookseller's smile answered Spinoza's. "He +bade me despatch copies of the <i>Principia Philosophiae Cartesianae</i> to +sundry persons of distinction. I would to Heaven thou wouldst write a +new book!"</p> + +<p>"Heaven may not share thy view," murmured Spinoza, who was just +turning over the pages of an attack on his "new book," and reading of +himself as "a man of bold countenance, fanatical, and estranged from +all religion."</p> + +<p>"A good book thou hast there," said the bookseller. "By Musæus, the +Jena Professor. The <i>Tractatus Theologico-Politicus ad Veritatis +Lancem Examinatus</i>—weighed in Truth's balance, indeed. A title that +draws. They say 'tis the best of all the refutations of the pernicious +and poisonous Tractate."</p> + +<p>"Of which I see sundry copies here masked in false titles."</p> + +<p>"'Sh! Forbidden fruit is always in demand. But so long as I supply the +antidote too—"</p> + +<p>"Needs fruit an antidote?"</p> + +<p>"Poisoned apples of Knowledge offered by the serpent."</p> + +<p>"A serpent indeed," said Spinoza, reading the Antidote aloud. "'He has +left no mental faculty, no cunning, no <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[194]</a></span>art untried in order to +conceal his fabrication beneath a brilliant veil, so that we may with +good reason doubt whether among the great number of those whom the +devil himself has hired for the destruction of all human and divine +right, there is one to be found who has been more zealous in the work +of corruption than this traitor who was born to the great injury of +the church and to the harm of the state.' How he bruises the serpent's +head, this theology professor!" he cried; "how he lays him dead on his +balance of Truth!" To himself he thought: "How the most ignorant are +usually the most impudent and the most ready to rush into print!" He +had a faint prevision of how his name—should it really leak out, +despite all his precautions—would come to stand for atheism and +immorality, a catchword of ill-omen for a century or two; but he +smiled on, relying upon the inherent reasonableness and rightness of +the universe.</p> + +<p>"Wilt take the book?" said the bookseller.</p> + +<p>"Nay, 'tis not by such tirades that Truth is advanced. But hast thou +the Refutation by Lambert Velthuysen?"</p> + +<p>The bookseller shook his head.</p> + +<p>"That is worth a hundred of this. Prithee get that and commend it to +thy clients, for Velthuysen wields a formidable dialectic by which +men's minds may be veritably stimulated."</p> + +<p>On his homeward way dark looks still met him, but he faced them with +cheerful, candid gaze. At the end of the narrow Spuistraat the affairs +of the broad market-place engrossed popular attention, and the +philosopher threaded his way unregarded among the stalls and the +canvas-covered Zeeland waggons, and it was not till he reached the +Paviljoensgracht—where he now sits securely in stone, pencilling a +thought as enduring—that he encountered fresh difficulty. There, at +his own street door, under the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[195]</a></span>trees lining the canal-bank, his +landlord, Van der Spijck, the painter—usually a phlegmatic figure +haloed in pipe-clouds—congratulated him excitedly on his safe return, +but refused him entry to the house. "Here thou canst lodge no more."</p> + +<p>"Here I lodge to-night," said Spinoza quietly, "if there be any law in +Holland."</p> + +<p>"Law! The folk will take the law into their own hands. My windows will +be broken, my doors battered in. And thou wilt be murdered and thrown +into the canal."</p> + +<p>His lodger laughed. "And wherefore? An honest optician murdered! Go +to, good friend!"</p> + +<p>"If thou hadst but sat at home, polishing thy spy-glasses instead of +faring to Utrecht! Customarily thou art so cloistered in that the +goodwife declares thou forgettest to eat for three days together—and +certes there is little thou canst eat when thou goest not abroad to +buy provision! What devil must drive thee on a long journey in this +hour of heat and ferment? Not that I believe a word of thy turning +traitor—I'd sooner believe my mahl-stick could turn serpent like +Aaron's rod—but in my house thou shalt not be murdered."</p> + +<p>"Reassure thyself. The whole town knows my business with Stoupe; at +least I told my bookseller, and 'tis only a matter of hours."</p> + +<p>"Truly he is a lively gossip."</p> + +<p>"Ay," said Spinoza drily. "He was even aware that a letter from the +Royal Society of England awaits me."</p> + +<p>Van der Spijck reddened. "I have not opened it," he cried hastily.</p> + +<p>"Naturally. But the door thou mayst open."</p> + +<p>The painter hesitated. "They will drag thee forth, as they dragged the +De Witts from the prison."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[196]</a></span>Spinoza smiled sadly. "And on that occasion thou wouldst not let me +out; now thou wilt not let me in."</p> + +<p>"Both proofs that I have more regard for thee than thou for thyself. +If I had let thee dash out to fix up on the public wall that +denunciation thou hadst written of the barbarian mob, there had been +no life of thine to risk to-day. Fly the town, I beseech thee, or find +thicker walls than mine. Thou knowest I would shelter thee had I the +power; do not our other lodgers turn to thee in sickness and sorrow to +be soothed by thy talk? Do not our own little ones love and obey thee +more than their mother and me? But if thou wert murdered in our house, +how dreadful a shock and a memory to us all!"</p> + +<p>"I know well your love for me," said Spinoza, touched. "But fear +nothing on my account: I can easily justify myself. There are people +enough, and of chief men in the country too, who well know the motives +of my journey. But whatever comes of it, so soon as the crowd make the +least noise at your door, I will go out and make straight for them, +though they should serve me as they have done the unhappy De Witts."</p> + +<p>Van der Spijck threw open the door. "Thy word is an oath!"</p> + +<p>On the stairs shone the speckless landlady, a cheerful creature in +black cap and white apron, her bodice laced with ornamental green and +red ribbons. She gave a cry of joy, and flew to meet him, broom in +hand. "Welcome home, Heer Spinoza! How glad the little ones will be +when they get back from school! There's a pack of knaves been +slandering thee right and left; some of them tried to pump Henri, but +we sent them away with fleas in their ears—eh, Henri?"</p> + +<p>Henri smiled sheepishly.</p> + +<p>"Most pertinacious of all was a party of three—an old <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[197]</a></span>man and his +daughter and a young man. They came twice, very vexed to find thee +away, and feigning to be old friends of thine from Amsterdam; at least +not the young man—his lament was to miss the celebrated scholar he +had been taken to see. A bushel of questions they asked, but not many +pecks did they get out of <i>me</i>."</p> + +<p>A flush had mantled upon Spinoza's olive cheek. "Did they give any +name?" he asked with unusual eagerness.</p> + +<p>"It ends in Ende—that stuck in my memory."</p> + +<p>"Van den Ende?"</p> + +<p>"Or suchlike."</p> + +<p>"The daughter was—beautiful?"</p> + +<p>"A goddess!" put in the painter.</p> + +<p>"Humph!" said the vrouw. "Give <i>me</i> the young man. A cold marble +creature is not my idea of a goddess."</p> + +<p>"'Tis a Greek goddess," said Spinoza with labored lightness. "They are +indeed old friends of mine—saving the young man, who is doubtless a +pupil of the old. He is a very learned philologist, this Dr. van den +Ende: he taught me Latin—"</p> + +<p>"And Greek goddesses," flashed the vrouw affectionately.</p> + +<p>Spinoza tried to say something, but fell a-coughing instead, and began +to ascend to his room. He was agitated: and it was his principle to +quit society whenever his emotions threatened to exceed philosophical +moderation.</p> + +<p>"Wait! I have thy key," cried the goodwife, pursuing him. "And oh! +what dust in thy room! No wonder thou art troubled with a phthisis!"</p> + +<p>"Thou didst not arrange anything?" he cried in alarm.</p> + +<p>"A flick with a feather-brush, as I took in thy letters—no more; my +hand itched to be at thy papers, but see! not one is in order!"</p> + +<p>She unlocked his door, revealing a little room in which <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[198]</a></span>books and +papers mingled oddly with the bedroom furniture and the tools and +bench of his craft. There were two windows with shabby red curtains. +On nails hung a few odd garments, one of which, the doublet anciently +pierced by the fanatic's dagger, merely served as a memento, though +not visibly older than the rest of his wardrobe. "Who puts a mediocre +article into a costly envelope?" was the philosopher's sartorial +standpoint. Over the mantel (on which among some old pipes lay two +silver buckles, his only jewellery) was pinned a charcoal sketch of +Masaniello in shirt-sleeves, with a net on his shoulder, done by +Spinoza himself, and obviously with his own features as model: perhaps +in some whimsical moment when he figured himself as an intellectual +revolutionary. A portfolio that leaned against a microscope contained +black and white studies of some of his illustrious visitors, which +caught happily their essential features without detail. The few other +wall-pictures were engravings by other hands. Spinoza sat down on his +truckle-bed with a great sigh of content.</p> + +<p>"<i>Desideratoque acquiescimus lecto</i>," he murmured. Then his eye roving +around: "My spiders' webs are gone!" he groaned.</p> + +<p>"I could not disarrange aught in sweeping <i>them</i> away!" deprecated the +goodwife.</p> + +<p>"Thou hast disarranged <i>me</i>! I have learnt all my wisdom from watching +spiders!" he said, smiling.</p> + +<p>"Nay, thou jestest."</p> + +<p>"In no wise. The spider and the fly—the whole of life is there. 'Tis +through leaving them out that the theologies are so empty. Besides, +who will now catch the flies for my microscope?"</p> + +<p>"I will not believe thou wouldst have the poor little flies caught by +the great big spiders. Never did I understand <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[199]</a></span>what Pastor Cordes +prated of turning the other cheek till I met thee."</p> + +<p>"Nay, 'tis not my doctrine. Mine is the worship of joy. I hold that +the effort to preserve our being is virtue."</p> + +<p>"But thou goest to church sometimes?"</p> + +<p>"To hear a preacher."</p> + +<p>"A strange motive." She added musingly: "Christianity is not then +true?"</p> + +<p>"Not true for me."</p> + +<p>"Then if thou canst not believe in it, I will not."</p> + +<p>Spinoza smiled tenderly. "Be guided by Dr. Cordes, not by me."</p> + +<p>The goodwife was puzzled. "Dost thou then think I can be saved in Dr. +Cordes' doctrine?" she asked anxiously.</p> + +<p>"Yes, 'tis a very good doctrine, the Lutheran; doubt not thou wilt be +saved in it, provided thou livest at peace with thy neighbors."</p> + +<p>Her face brightened. "Then I will be guided by thee."</p> + +<p>Spinoza smiled. Theology demanded perfect obedience, he thought, even +as philosophy demanded perfect knowledge, and both alike were saving; +for the believing mob, therefore, to which Religion meant subversion +of Reason, speculative opinions were to be accounted pious or impious, +not as they were true or false, but as they confirmed or shook the +believer's obedience.</p> + +<p>Refusing her solicitous offers of a warm meal, and merely begging her +to buy him a loaf, he began to read his arrears of letters, picking +them up one after another with no eagerness but with calm interest. +His correspondence was varied. Some of it was taken up with criticisms +of his thought—products of a leisurely age when the thinkers of +Europe were a brotherhood, calling to each other across the dim +populations; some represented the more deferential doubts of disciples +or the elegant misunderstandings of <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[200]</a></span>philosophic dilettanti, some his +friendly intercourse with empirical physicists like Boyle or like +Huyghens, whose telescope had enlarged the philosopher's universe and +the thinker's God; there was an acknowledgment of the last scholium +from the young men's society of Amsterdam—"<i>Nil volentibus +arduum</i>,"—to which he sent his <i>Ethica</i> in sections for discussion; +the metropolis which had banished him not being able to keep out his +thought. There was the usual demand for explanations of difficulties +from Blyenbergh, the Dort merchant and dignitary, accompanied this +time by a frightened yearning to fly back from Reason to Revelation. +And the letter with the seal of the Royal Society proved equally +faint-hearted, Oldenburg exhorting him not to say anything in his next +book to loosen the practice of virtue. "Dear Heinrich!" thought +Spinoza. "How curious are men! All these years since first we met at +Rijnburg he has been goading and spurring me on to give my deepest +thought to the world. 'Twas always, 'Cast out all fear of stirring up +against thee the pigmies of the time—Truth before all—let us spread +our sails to the wind of true Knowledge.' And now the tune is, 'O pray +be careful not to give sinners a handle!' Well, well, so I am not to +tell men that the highest law is self-imposed; that there is no virtue +even in virtues that do not express the essence of one's being. Oh, +and I am to beware particularly of telling them their wills are not +free, and that they only think so because they are conscious of their +desires, but not of the causes of them. I fear me even Oldenburg does +not understand that virtue follows as necessarily from adequate +knowledge as from the definition of a triangle follows that its angles +are equal to two right angles. I am, I suppose, also to let men +continue to think that the planetary system revolves round them, and +that thunders and lightnings wait upon their <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[201]</a></span>wrong-doing. Oldenburg +has doubtless been frighted by the extravagances of the restored +Court. But 'tis not my teachings will corrupt the gallants of +Whitehall. Those who live best by Revelation through Tradition must +cling to it, but Revelation through Reason is the living testament of +God's word, nor so liable as the dead letter to be corrupted by human +wickedness. Strange that it is thought no crime to speak unworthily of +the mind, the true divine light, no impiety to believe that God would +commit the treasure of the true record of Himself to any substance +less enduring than the human heart."</p> + +<p>A business letter made a diversion. It concerned the estate of the +deceased medical student, Simon De Vries, a devoted disciple, who +knowing himself doomed to die young, would have made the Master his +heir, had not Spinoza, by consenting to a small annual subsidy, +persuaded him to leave his property to his brother. The grateful heir +now proposed to increase Spinoza's allowance to five hundred florins.</p> + +<p>"How unreasonable people are!" mused the philosopher again. "I agreed +once for all to accept three hundred, and I will certainly not be +burdened with a <i>stuiver</i> more."</p> + +<p>His landlady here entered with the loaf, and Spinoza, having paid and +entered the sum in his household account-book, cut himself a slice, +adding thereto some fragments of Dutch cheese from a package in his +hand-bag.</p> + +<p>"Thou didst leave some wine in the bottle," she reminded him.</p> + +<p>"Let it grow older," he answered. "My book shows more than two pints +last month, and my journey was costly. To make both ends meet I shall +have to wriggle," he added jestingly, "like the snake that tries to +get its tail in its mouth." He cut open a packet, discovering that a +friend had sent him some conserve of red roses from <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[202]</a></span>Amsterdam. "Now +am I armed against fever," he said blithely. Then, with a remembrance, +"Pray take some up to our poor Signore. I had forgotten to inquire!"</p> + +<p>"Oh, he is out teaching again, thanks to thee. He hath set up a candle +for thee in his church."</p> + +<p>A tender smile twitched the philosopher's lip, as the door closed.</p> + +<p>A letter from Herr Leibnitz set him wondering uneasily what had taken +the young German Crichton from Frankfort, and what he was about in +Paris. They had had many a discussion in this little lodging, but he +was not yet sure of the young man's single-mindedness. The contents of +the letter were, however, unexpectedly pleasing. For it concerned not +the philosopher but the working-man. Even his intimates could not +quite sympathize with his obstinate insistence on earning his living +by handicraft—a manual activity by which the excommunicated Jew was +brother to the great Rabbis of the Talmud; they could not understand +the satisfaction of the craftsman, nor realize that to turn out his +little lenses as perfectly as possible was as essential a part of his +life as that philosophical activity which alone interested them. That +his prowess as an optician should be invoked by Herr Leibnitz gave him +a gratification which his fame as a philosopher could never evoke. The +only alloy was that he could not understand what Leibnitz wanted. +"That rays from points outside the optic axis may be united exactly in +the same way as those in the optic axis, so that the apertures of +glasses may be made of any size desired without impairing distinctness +of vision!" He wrinkled his brow and fell to making geometrical +diagrams on the envelope, but neither his theoretical mathematics nor +his practical craftsmanship could grapple with so obscure a request, +and he forgot to eat while he pondered. He consulted his own treatise +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[203]</a></span>on the Rainbow, but to no avail. At length in despair he took up the +last letter, to find a greater surprise awaiting him. A communication +from Professor Fabritius, it bore an offer from the Elector Palatine +of a chair at the University of Heidelberg. The fullest freedom in +philosophy was to be conceded him: the only condition that he should +not disturb the established religion.</p> + +<p>His surprise passed rapidly into mistrust. Was this an attempt on the +part of Christianity to bribe him? Was the Church repeating the +tactics of the Synagogue? It was not so many years since the +messengers of the congregation had offered him a pension of a thousand +florins not to disturb <i>its</i> "established religion." Fullest freedom +in philosophy, forsooth! How was that to be reconciled with impeccable +deference to the ruling religion? A courtier like Descartes might +start from the standpoint of absolute doubt and end in a pilgrimage to +Our Lady of Loretto; but for himself, who held miracles impossible, +and if possible irrelevant, there could be no such compromise with a +creed whose very basis was miracle. True, there was a sense in which +Christ might be considered <i>os Dei</i>—the mouth of God,—but it was not +the sense in which the world understood it, the world which +caricatured all great things, which regarded piety and religion, and +absolutely all things related to greatness of soul, as burdens to be +laid aside after death, toils to be repaid by a soporific beatitude; +which made blessedness the prize of virtue instead of the synonym of +virtue. Nay, nay, not even the unexpected patronage of the Most Serene +Carl Ludwig could reconcile his thoughts with popular theology.</p> + +<p>How curious these persistent attempts of friend and foe alike to +provide for his livelihood, and what mistaken reverence his persistent +rejections had brought him! People could not lift their hands high +enough in admiration <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[204]</a></span>because he followed the law of his nature, +because he preferred a simple living, simply earned, while for +criminals who followed equally the laws of their nature they had anger +rather than pity. As well praise the bee for yielding honey or the +rose for making fragrant the air. Certainly his character had more of +honey than of sting, of rose than of thorn; humility was an +unnecessary addition to the world's suffering; but that he did not +lack sting or thorn, his own sisters had discovered when they had +tried to keep their excommunicated brother out of his patrimony. How +puzzled Miriam and Rebekah had been by his forcing them at law to give +up the money and then presenting it to them. They could not see that +to prove the outcast Jew had yet his legal rights was a duty; the +money itself a burden. Yes, popular ethics was sadly to seek, and +involuntarily his hand stretched itself out and lovingly possessed +itself of the ever-growing manuscript of his <i>magnum opus</i>. His eye +caressed those serried concatenated propositions, resolving and +demonstrating the secret of the universe; the indirect outcome of his +yearning search for happiness, for some object of love that endured +amid the eternal flux, and in loving which he should find a perfect +and eternal joy. Riches, honor, the pleasures of sense—these held no +true and abiding bliss. The passion with which van den Ende's daughter +had agitated him had been wisely mastered, unavowed. But in the +Infinite Substance he had found the object of his search: the +necessary Eternal Being in and through whom all else existed, among +whose infinite attributes were thought and extension, that made up the +one poor universe known to man; whom man could love without desiring +to be loved in return, secure in the consciousness he was not outside +the Divine order. His book, he felt, would change theology to +theonomy, even as Copernicus and Kepler and Galileo had changed +astrology <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[205]</a></span>to astronomy. This chain of thoughts, forged link by link, +without rest, without hurry, as he sat grinding his glasses, day by +day, and year by year: these propositions, laboriously polished like +his telescope and microscope lenses, were no less designed for the +furtherance and clarification of human vision.</p> + +<p>And yet not primarily vision. The first Jew to create an original +philosophy, he yet remained a Jew in aiming not at abstract knowledge, +but at concrete conduct: and was most of all a Jew in his proclamation +of the Unity. He would teach a world distraught and divided by +religious strife the higher path of spiritual blessedness; bring it +the Jewish greeting—Peace. But that he was typical—even by his very +isolation—of the race that had cast him out, he did not himself +perceive, missing by his static philosophy the sense of historical +enchainment, and continuous racial inspiration.</p> + +<p>As, however, he glanced to-day over the pages of Part Three, "The +Origin and Nature of the Affects," he felt somehow out of tune with +this bloodless vivisection of human emotions, this chain of +quasi-mathematical propositions with their Euclidean array of data and +scholia, marshalling passions before the cold throne of intellect. The +exorcised image of Klaartje van den Ende—raised again by the +landlady's words—hovered amid the demonstrations. He caught gleams of +her between the steps. Her perfect Greek face flashed up and vanished +as in coquetry, her smile flickered. How learned she was, how wise, +how witty, how beautiful! And the instant he allowed himself to muse +thus, she appeared in full fascination, skating superbly on the frozen +canals, or smiling down at him from the ancient balustrade of the +window (surely young Gerard Dou must have caught an inspiration from +her as he passed by). What happy symposia at her father's house, when +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[206]</a></span>the classic world was opening for the first time to the gaze of the +clogged Talmud-student, and the brilliant cynicism of the old doctor +combined with the larger outlook of his Christian fellow-pupils to +complete his emancipation from his native environment. After the dead +controversies of Hillel and Shammai in old Jerusalem, how freshening +these live discussions as to whether Holland should have sheltered +Charles Stuart from the regicide Cromwell, or whether the +<i>doelen-stuk</i> of Rembrandt van Rijn were as well painted as Van +Ravosteyn's. In the Jewish quarter, though Rembrandt lived in it, +interest had been limited to the guldens earned by dirty old men in +sitting to him. What ardor, too, for the newest science, what worship +of Descartes and deprecation of the philosophers before him! And then +the flavor of romance—as of their own spices—wafted from the talk +about the new Colonies in the Indies! Good God! had it been so wise to +quench the glow of youth, to slip so silently to forty year? He had +allowed her to drop out of his life—this child so early grown to +winning womanhood—she was apparently dead for him, yet this sudden +idea of her proximity had revitalized her so triumphantly that the +philosopher wondered at the miracle, or at his own powers of +self-deception.</p> + +<p>And who was this young man?</p> + +<p>Had he analyzed love correctly? He turned to Proposition xxxiii. "If +we love a thing which is like ourselves we endeavor as much as +possible to make it love us in return." His eye ran over the proof +with its impressive summing-up. "Or in other words (Schol. Prop, +xiii., pt. 3), we try to make it love us in return." Unimpeachable +logic, but was it true? Had he tried to make Klaartje love him in +return? Not unless one counted the semi-conscious advances of +wit-combats and intellectual confidences as she grew up! But had he +succeeded? No, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[207]</a></span>impossible, and his spirits fell, and mounted again to +note how truly their falling corroborated—by converse reasoning—his +next Proposition. "The greater the affect with which we imagine that a +beloved object is affected towards us, the greater will be our +self-exaltation," No, she had never given him cause for +self-exaltation, though occasionally it seemed as if she preferred his +talk to that of even the high-born, foppish youths sent by their sires +to sit at her father's feet.</p> + +<p>In any case perhaps it was well he had given her maidenly modesty no +chance of confession. Marriage had never loomed as a possibility for +him—the life of the thinker must needs shrink from the complications +and prejudices engendered by domestic happiness: the intellectual love +of God more than replaced these terrestrial affections.</p> + +<p>But now a sudden conviction that nothing could replace them, that they +were of the essence of personality, wrapped him round as with flame. +Some subtle aroma of emotion like the waft of the orange-groves of +Burgos in which his ancestors had wandered thrilled the son of the +mists and marshes. Perhaps it was only the conserve of red roses. At +any rate that was useless in this fever.</p> + +<p>He took up his tools resolutely, but he could not work. He fell back +on his rough sketch for a lucid Algebra, but his lucid formulæ were a +blur. He went downstairs and played with the delighted children and +listened to the landlady's gossip, throwing her a word or two of +shrewd counsel on the everyday matters that came up. Presently he +asked her if the van den Endes had told her anything of their plans.</p> + +<p>"Oh, they were going to stay at Scheveningen for the bathing. The +second time they came up from there."</p> + +<p>His heart leapt. "Scheveningen! Then they are practically here."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[208]</a></span>"If they have not gone back to Amsterdam."</p> + +<p>"True," he said, chilled.</p> + +<p>"But why not go see? Henri tramped ten miles for me every Sunday."</p> + +<p>Spinoza turned away. "No, they are probably gone back. Besides, I know +not their address."</p> + +<p>"Address? At Scheveningen! A village where everybody's business can be +caught in one net."</p> + +<p>Spinoza was ascending the stairs. "Nay, it is too late."</p> + +<p>Too late in sad verity! What had a philosopher of forty year to do +with love?</p> + +<p>Back in his room he took up a lens, but soon found himself re-reading +his aphorism on Marriage. "It is plain that Marriage is in accordance +with Reason, if the desire is engendered not merely by external form, +but by a love of begetting children and wisely educating them; and if, +in addition, the love both of the husband and wife has for its cause +not external form merely, but chiefly liberty of mind." Assuredly, so +far as he was concerned, the desire of children, who might be more +rationally and happily nurtured than himself, had some part in his +rare day-dreams, and it was not merely the noble form but also the +noble soul he divined in Klaartje van den Ende that had stirred his +pulses and was now soliciting him to a joy which like all joys would +mark the passage to a greater perfection, a fuller reality. And in +sooth how holy was this love of woman he allowed himself to feel for a +moment, how easily passing over into the greater joy—the higher +perfection—the love of God!</p> + +<p>Why should he not marry? Means were easily to hand! He had only to +accept from his rich disciples what was really the wage of tuition, +though hitherto like the old Rabbis he had preferred to teach for +Truth's sole sake. After all Carl Ludwig offered him ample freedom in +philosophizing.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[209]</a></span>But he beat down the tempting images and sought relief in the problem +posited by Leibnitz. In vain: his manuscript still lay open, +Proposition xxxv. was under his eye.</p> + +<p>"If I imagine that an object beloved by me is united to another person +by the same, or by a closer bond of friendship than that by which I +myself alone held the object, I shall be affected with hatred towards +the beloved object itself and shall envy that other person."</p> + +<p>Who was the young man?</p> + +<p>He clenched his teeth: he had, then, not yet developed into the free +man, redeemed by Reason from the bondage of the affects whose mechanic +workings he had analyzed so exhaustively. He was, then, still as far +from liberty of mind as the peasant who has never taken to pieces the +passions that automatically possess him. If this fever did not leave +him, he must try blood-letting on himself, as though in a tertian. He +returned resolutely to his work. But when he had ground and polished +for half an hour, and felt soothed, "Why should I not go to +Scheveningen all the same?" he asked himself. Why should he miss the +smallest chance of seeing his old friends who had taken the trouble to +call on him twice?</p> + +<p>Yes, he would walk to the hamlet and ponder the optical problem, and +the terms in which to refuse the Elector Palatine's offer. He set out +at once, forgetting the dangers of the streets and in reality lulling +suspicion by his fearless demeanor. The afternoon was closing somewhat +mistily, and an occasional fit of coughing reminded him he should have +had more than a falling collar round his throat and a thicker doublet +than his velvet. He thought of going back for his camelot cloak, but +he was now outside the north-west gate, so, lighting his pipe, he +trudged along the pleasant new-paved road that led betwixt the +avenues <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[210]</a></span>of oak and lime to Scheveningen. He had little eye for the +beautiful play of color-shades among the glooming green perspectives +on either hand, scarcely noted the comely peasant-women with their +scarlet-lined cloaks and glittering "head-irons," who rattled by, +packed picturesquely in carts. Half-way to the hamlet the brooding +pedestrian was startled to find his hand in the cordial grip of the +very man he had gone out to see.</p> + +<p>"Salve, O Benedicte," joyously cried the fiery-eyed veteran. "I had +despaired of ever setting eyes again on thy black curls!" Van den +Ende's own hair tossed under his wide-brimmed tapering hat as wildly +as ever, though it was now as white as his ruff, his blood seemed to +beat as boisterously, and a few minutes' conversation sufficed to show +Spinoza that the old pedagogue's soul was even more unchanged than his +body. The same hilarious atheism, the same dogmatic disbelief, the +same conviction of human folly combined as illogically, as of yore, +with schemes of perfect states: time seemed to have mellowed no +opinion, toned down no crudity. He was coming, he said, to make a last +hopeless call on his famous pupil, the others were working. The +others—he explained—were his little Klaartje and his newest pupil, +Kerkkrinck, a rich and stupid youth, but honest and good-hearted +withal. He had practically turned him over to Klaartje, who was as +good a guide to the Humanities as himself—more especially for the +stupid. "She was too young in thy time, Benedict," concluded the old +man jocosely.</p> + +<p>Benedict thought that she was too young now to be left instructing +good-hearted young men, but he only said, "Yes, I daresay I was +stupid. One should cut one's teeth on Latin conjugations, and I was +already fourteen with a full Rabbinical diploma before I was even +aware there was such a person as Cicero in history."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[211]</a></span>"And now thou writest Ciceronian Latin. Shake not thy head—'tis a +compliment to myself, not to thee. What if thou art sometimes more +exact than elegant—fancy what a coil of Hebrew cobwebs I had to sweep +out of that brain-pan of thine ere I transformed thee from Baruch to +Benedict."</p> + +<p>"Nay, some of the webs were of silk. I see now how much Benedict owes +to Baruch. The Rabbinical gymnastic is no ill-training, though +unmethodic. Maimonides de-anthropomorphises God, the Cabalah grapples, +if confusedly, with the problem of philosophy."</p> + +<p>"Thou didst not always speak so leniently of thy ancient learning. +Methinks thou hast forgotten thy sufferings and the catalogue of +curses. I would shut thee up a week with Moses Zacut, and punish you +both with each other's society. The room should be four cubits square, +so that he should be forced to disobey the Ban and be within four +cubits of thee."</p> + +<p>"Thou forgettest to reckon with the mathematics," laughed Spinoza. "We +should fly to opposite ends of the diagonal and achieve five and two +third cubits of separation."</p> + +<p>"Ah, fuzzle me not with thy square roots. I was never a calculator."</p> + +<p>"But Moses Zacut was not so unbearable. I mind me he also learnt Latin +under thee."</p> + +<p>"Ay, and now spits out to see me. Fasted forty days for his sin in +learning the devil's language."</p> + +<p>"What converted him?"</p> + +<p>"That Turkish mountebank, I imagine."</p> + +<p>"Sabbata Zevi?"</p> + +<p>"Yes; he still clings to him though the Messiah has turned Mohammedan. +He has published <i>Five Evidences of the Faith</i>, expounding that his +Redeemer's design is to bring <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[212]</a></span>over the Mohammedans to Judaism. Ha! +ha! What a lesson in the genesis of religions! The elders who +excommunicated thee have all been bitten—a delicious revenge for +thee. Ho! ho! What fools these mortals be, as the English poet says. I +long to shake our Christians and cry, 'Nincompoops, Jack-puddings, +feather-heads, look in the eyes of these Jews and see your own silly +selves.'"</p> + +<p>"'Tis not the way to help or uplift mankind," said Spinoza mildly. +"Men should be imbued with a sense of their strength, not of their +weakness."</p> + +<p>"In other words," laughed the doctor, "the way to uplift men is to +appeal to the virtues they do not possess."</p> + +<p>"Even so," assented Spinoza, unmoved. "The virtues they may come to +possess. Men should be taught to look on noble patterns, not on mean."</p> + +<p>"And what good will that do? Moses Zacut had me and thee to look on," +chuckled the old man. "No, Benedict, I believe with Solomon, 'Answer a +fool according to his folly,' Thou art too half-hearted—thou deniest +God like a serving-man who says his master is out—thou leavest a hope +he may be there all the while. One should play bowls with the holy +idols."</p> + +<p>Spinoza perceived it was useless to make the old man understand how +little their ideas coincided. "I would rather uplift than overturn," +he said mildly.</p> + +<p>The old sceptic laughed: "A wonder thou art not subscribing to uplift +the Third Temple," he cried. "So they call this new synagogue they are +building in Amsterdam with such to-do."</p> + +<p>"Indeed? I had not heard of it. If I could hope it were indeed the +Third Temple," and a mystic light shone in his eyes, "I would +subscribe all I had."</p> + +<p>"Thou art the only Christian I have ever known!" said <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[213]</a></span>van den Ende, +half mockingly, half tenderly. "And thou art a Jew."</p> + +<p>"So was Christ."</p> + +<p>"True, one forgets that. But the rôles are becoming nicely reversed. +Thou forgivest thine enemies, and in Amsterdam 'tis the Jews who are +going to the Christians to borrow money for this synagogue of theirs!"</p> + +<p>"How is the young <i>juffrouw</i>?" asked Spinoza at last.</p> + +<p>"Klaartje! She blooms like a Jan de Heem flowerpiece. This rude air +has made a rose of my lily. Her cheeks might have convinced the +imbeciles who took away their practice from poor old Dr. Harvey. One +can <i>see</i> her blood circulating. By the way, thy old crony, Dr. Ludwig +Meyer, bade me give thee his love."</p> + +<p>"Dost think she will remember me?"</p> + +<p>"Remember thee, Benedict? Did she not send me to thee to-day? Thy name +is ever on those rosy lips of hers—to lash dull pupils withal. How +thou didst acquire half the tongues of Europe in less time that they +master <span class="Greek" title="tuptô">τύπτω</span>." Spinoza allowed his standing desire to cough +to find satisfaction. He turned his head aside and held his hand +before his mouth. "We quarrel about thy <i>Tractatus</i>—she and I—for of +course she recognized thine olden argumentations just as I recognized +my tricks of style."</p> + +<p>"She reads me then?"</p> + +<p>"As a Lutheran his Bible. 'Twas partially her hope of threshing out +certain difficulties with thee that decided us on Scheveningen. I do +not say that the forest which poor Paul Potter painted was not a rival +attraction."</p> + +<p>A joy beyond the bounds of Reason was swelling the philosopher's +breast. Unconsciously his step quickened. He encouraged his companion +to chatter more about his daughter, how van Ter Borch had made of her +one of his masterpieces in white satin, how she herself dabbled +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[214]</a></span>daintily in all the fine arts, but the old man diverged irrevocably +into politics, breathed fire and fury against the French, spoke of his +near visit to Paris on a diplomatic errand, and, growing more +confidential, hinted of a great scheme, an insurrection in Normandy, +Admiral Tromp to swoop down on Quillebœuf, a Platonic republic to +be reared on the ruins of the French monarchy. Had Spinoza seen the +shadow of a shameful death hovering over the spirited veteran, had he +foreknown that the poor old gentleman—tool of two desperate <i>roués</i> +and a <i>femme galante</i>,—was to be executed in Paris for this very +conspiracy, the words that sounded so tediously in his ear would have +taken on a tragic dignity.</p> + +<p>They approached the village, whose huts loomed solemnly between the +woods and the dunes in the softening twilight. The van den Endes were +lodged with the captain of a fishing-smack in a long, narrow wooden +house with sloping mossy tiles and small-paned windows. The old man +threw open the door of the little shell-decorated parlor and peered +in. "Klaartje!" his voice rang out. A parrot from the Brazils +screamed, but Spinoza only heard the soft "Yes, father," that came +sweetly from some upper region.</p> + +<p>"Guess whom I've brought thee?"</p> + +<p>"Benedict!" She flew down, a vision of loveliness and shimmering silk +and white pearls. Spinoza's hand trembled in hers that gleamed snowily +from the ruffled half-sleeve; the soft warmth burnt away philosophy. +They exchanged the commonplaces of the situation.</p> + +<p>"But where is Kerkkrinck?" said the doctor.</p> + +<p>"At his toilette." She exchanged a half-smile with Spinoza, who +thrilled deliciously.</p> + +<p>"Then I'll go make mine," cried her father. "We sup in half an hour, +Benedict. Thou'lt stay, we go to-morrow. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[215]</a></span>'Tis the last supper." And, +laughing as if he had achieved a blasphemy, and unconscious of the +shadow of doom, the gay old freethinker disappeared.</p> + +<p>As Klaartje spoke of his book with sparkling eyes, and discussed +points in a low, musical voice, something crude and elemental flamed +in the philosopher, something called to him to fuse himself with the +universal life more tangibly than through the intellect. His doubts +and vacillations fled: he must speak now, or the hour and the mood +would never recur. If he could only drag the conversation from the +philosophical. By a side door it escaped of itself into the personal; +her father did not care to take her with him to Paris, spoke of +possible dangers, and hinted it was time she was off his hands. There +seemed a confession trembling in her laughing eye. It gave him courage +to seize her fingers, to falter a request that she would come to +<i>him</i>—to Heidelberg! The brightness died suddenly out of her face: it +looked drawn and white.</p> + +<p>After a palpitating silence she said, "But thou art a Jew!"</p> + +<p>He was taken aback, he let her fingers drop. From his parched throat +came the words, "But thou art—no Christian."</p> + +<p>"I know—but nevertheless—oh, I never dreamed of anything of this +with thee—'twas all of the brain, the soul."</p> + +<p>"Soul and body are but one fact."</p> + +<p>"Women are not philosophers. I—" She stopped. Her fingers played +nervously with the pearl necklace that rose and fell on her bosom. He +found himself noting its details, wondering that she had developed +such extravagant tastes. Then, awaking to her distress, he said +quietly, "Then there is no hope for me?"</p> + +<p>Her face retained its look of pain.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[216]</a></span>"Not ever? You could never—?" His cough shook him.</p> + +<p>"If there had been no other," she murmured, and her eyes drooped +half-apologetically towards the necklace.</p> + +<p>The bitterness of death was in his soul. He had a sudden ironic sense +of a gap in his mathematical philosophy. He had fathomed the secret of +Being, had analyzed and unified all things from everlasting to +everlasting, yet here was an isolated force—a woman's will—that +stood obstinately between him and happiness. He seemed to visualize +it, behind her serious face, perversely mocking.</p> + +<p>The handle of the door turned, and a young man came in. He was in the +pink of fashion—a mantle of Venetian silk disposed in graceful folds +about his handsome person, his neckcloth of Flanders lace, his +knee-breeches of satin, his shoes gold-buckled, his dagger jewelled. +Energy flashed from his eye, vigor radiated from his every movement.</p> + +<p>"Ah, Diedrich!" she cried, as her face lit up with more than relief. +"Here is Heer Spinoza at last. This is Heer Kerkkrinck!"</p> + +<p>"Spinoza!" A thrill of awe was in the young man's voice, the reverence +of the consciously stupid for the great brains of the earth. He did +not take Spinoza's outstretched hand in his but put it to his lips.</p> + +<p>The lonely thinker and the happy lover stood thus for an instant, +envying and admiring each other. Then Spinoza said cordially, "And now +that I have had the pleasure of meeting Heer Kerkkrinck I must hurry +back to town ere the road grows too dark."</p> + +<p>"But father expects thee to sup with us," murmured Klaartje.</p> + +<p>"'Tis a moonless night, and footpads may mistake me for a Jew." He +smiled. "Make my apologies to the doctor."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[217]</a></span>It was indeed a moonless night, but he did not make for the highroad. +Instinctively he turned seawards.</p> + +<p>A slight mist brooded over the face of all things, adding to the +night, blurring the village to a few gleams of fire. On the broad +sandy beach he could just see the outlines of the boats and the +fishing-nets. He leaned against the gunwale of a <i>pink</i>, inhaling the +scents of tar and brine, and watching the apparent movement seawards +of some dark sailing-vessel which, despite the great red anchor at his +feet, seemed to sail outwards as each wave came in.</p> + +<p>The sea stretched away, soundless, moveless, and dark, save where it +broke in white foam at his feet; near the horizon a pitch-black wall +of cloud seemed to rise sheer from the water and join the gray sky +that arched over the great flat spaces. And in the absence of stars, +the earth itself seemed to gain in vastness and mystery, its own +awfulness, as it sped round, unlessened by those endless perspectives +of vaster planets. And from the soundless night and sea and sky, and +from those austere and solemn stretches of sand and forest, wherein +forms and colors were lost in a brooding unity, there came to Spinoza +a fresh uplifting sense of the infinite, timeless Substance, to love +and worship which was exaltation and ecstasy. The lonely thinker +communed with the lonely Being.</p> + +<p>"Though He slay me," his heart whispered, "yet will I trust in Him."</p> + +<p>Yea, though the wheels of things had passed over his body, it was +still his to rejoice in the eternal movement that brought happiness to +others.</p> + +<p>Others! How full the world was of existences, each perfect after its +kind, the laws of God's nature freely producing every conception of +His infinite intellect. In man alone how many genera, species, +individuals—from saints to criminals, from old philosophers to +gallant young livers, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[218]</a></span>all to be understood, none to be hated. And man +but a fraction of the life of one little globe, that turned not on +man's axis, nor moved wholly to man's ends. This sea that stretched +away unheaving was not sublimely dead—even to the vulgar +apprehension—but penetrated with quivering sensibility, the exquisite +fresh feeling of fishes darting and gliding, tingling with life in fin +and tail, chasing and chased, zestfully eating or swiftly eaten: in +the air the ecstasy of flight, on the earth the happy movements of +animals, the very dust palpitating pleasurably with crawling and +creeping populations, the soil riddled with the sluggish +voluptuousness of worms; each tiniest creature a perfect expression of +the idea of its essence, individualized by its conatus, its effort to +persist in existence on its own lines, though in man alone the +potentiality of entering through selfless Reason into the intellectual +ecstasy of the love with which God loves Himself—to be glad of the +strength of the lion and the grace of the gazelle and the beauty of +the woman who belongs to another. Blessings on the happy lovers, +blessings on all the wonderful creation, praise, praise to the Eternal +Being whose modes body forth the everlasting pageant.</p> + +<p>Beginningless æons before his birth It had been—the great pageant to +whose essence Being belonged—endless æons after his ephemeral passing +It would still throb and glow, still offer to the surrendered human +soul the supreme uplift. He had but a moment to contemplate It, yet to +understand Its essence, to know the great laws of Its workings, to see +It <i>sub specie aeternitatis</i>, was to partake of Its eternity. There +was no need to journey either in space or time to discover Its +movement, everywhere the same, as perfect in the remotest past as in +the farthest future, by no means working—as the vulgar imagined—to a +prospective perfection; everywhere educed from the same <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[219]</a></span>enduring +necessities of the divine freedom. Progress! As illusory as the +movement of yon little vessel that, anchored stably, seemed always +sailing out towards the horizon.</p> + +<p>And so in that trance of adoration, in that sacred Glory, in that +rapturous consciousness that he had fought his last fight with the +enslaving affects, there formed themselves in his soul—white heat at +one with white light—the last sentences of his great work:—</p> + +<p>"We see, then, what is the strength of the wise man, and by how much +he surpasses the ignorant who is driven forward by lust alone. For the +ignorant man is not only agitated by eternal causes in many ways, and +never enjoys true peace of soul, but lives also ignorant, as it were, +both of God and of things, and as soon as he ceases to suffer, ceases +also to be. On the other hand, the wise man is scarcely ever moved in +his mind, but being conscious by a certain eternal necessity of +himself, of God, and of things, never ceases to be, and always enjoys +true peace of soul. If the way which leads hither seem very difficult, +it can nevertheless be found. It must indeed be difficult since it is +so seldom discovered: for if salvation lay ready to hand and could be +discovered without great labor, how could it be possible that it +should be neglected almost by everybody? But all noble things are as +difficult as they are rare."</p> + +<p>So ran the words that were not to die.</p> + +<p>Suddenly a halo on the upper edge of the black cloud heralded the +struggling through of the moon: she shot out a crescent, reddish in +the mist, then labored into her full orb, wellnigh golden as the sun.</p> + +<p>Spinoza started from his reverie: his doublet was wet with dew, he +felt the mist in his throat. He coughed: then it was as if the salt of +the air had got into his mouth, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[220]</a></span>and as he spat out the blood, he knew +he would not remain long sundered from the Eternal Unity.</p> + +<p>But there is nothing on which a free man will meditate less than on +death. Desirous to write down what was in his mind, Spinoza turned +from the sea and pursued his peaceful path homewards.</p> + +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<a name="THE_MASTER_OF_THE_NAME" id="THE_MASTER_OF_THE_NAME"></a><hr /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[221]</a></span><br /> + +<h3>THE MASTER OF THE NAME<span class="totoc"><a href="#toc">ToC</a></span></h3> + +<br /> +<h4>I</h4> + +<p>Now that I have come to the close of my earthly days, and that the +higher circles will soon open to me, whereof I have learned the +secrets from my revered Master—where there is neither eating nor +drinking, but the pious sit crowned and delight themselves with the +vision of the Godhead—I would fain leave some chronicle, in these +confused and evil days, of him whom I have loved best on earth, for he +came to teach man the true life and the true worship. To him, the ever +glorious and luminous Israel Baal Shem, the one true Master of the +Name, I owe my redemption from a living death. For he found me buried +alive under a mountain of ashes, and he drew me out and kindled the +ashes to fire, so that I cheered myself thereat. And since now the +flame is like to go out again, and the Master's teaching to be choked +and concealed beneath that same ash-mountain, I pray God that He +inspire my unready quill to set down a true picture of the Man and his +doctrine.</p> + +<p>Of my own history I do not know that it is needful to tell very much. +My grandfather came to Poland from Vienna, whence he had been expelled +with all the Jews of the Arch-Duchy, to please the Jesuit-ridden +Empress Margaret, who thus testified her gratitude to Heaven for her +recovery from an accident that had befallen her at a court <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[222]</a></span>ball. I +have heard the old man tell how trumpeters proclaimed in the streets +the Emperor's edict, and how every petition proved as futile as the +great gold cup and the silver jug and basin presented by the Jews to +the Imperial couple as they came out of church, after the thanksgiving +ceremony.</p> + +<p>It was an ill star that guided my grandfather's feet towards Poland. +The Jews of Poland had indeed once been paramount in Europe, but the +Cossack massacres and the disruption of the kingdom had laid them low, +and they spawned beggars who wandered through Europe, preaching and +wheedling with equal hyper-subtlety. My father at any rate escaped +mendicancy, for he managed to obtain a tiny farm in the north-east of +Lithuania, though what with the exactions of the Prince of the estate, +and the brutalities of the Russian regiments quartered in the +neighborhood, his life was bitter as the waters of Marah. The room in +which I was born constituted our whole hut, which was black as a +charred log within and without, and never saw the sunlight save +through rents in the paper which covered the crossed stripes of pine +that formed the windows. In winter, when the stove heated the hovel to +suffocation, and the wind and rain drove back the smoke through the +hole in the roof that served for chimney, the air was almost as +noxious to its human inhabitants as the smoke to the vermin in the +half-washed garments that hung across poles. We sat at such times on +the floor, not daring to sit higher, for fear of suffocation in the +denser atmosphere hovering over us; and I can still feel the drip, +drip, on my head, of the fat from the sausages that hung a-drying. In +a corner of this living and sleeping room stood the bucket of clean +water, and alongside it the slop-pail and the pail into which my +father milked the cow. Poor old cow! She was quite like one of the +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[223]</a></span>family, and often lingered on in the room after being milked.</p> + +<p>My mother kneaded bread with the best, and was as pious as she was +deft, never omitting to throw the Sabbath dough in the fire. Not that +her prowess as a cook had much opportunity, for our principal fare was +corn-bread, mixed with bran and sour cabbage and red beets, which lay +stored on the floor in tubs. Here we all lived together—my +grandfather, my parents, my brother and sister; not so unhappy, +especially on Sabbaths and festivals, when we ate fish cooked with +butter in the evening, and meat at dinnertime, washed down with mead +or spirits. We children—and indeed our elders—were not seldom kicked +and cudgelled by the Russian soldiers, when they were in liquor, but +we could be merry enough romping about ragged and unwashed, and our +real life was lived in the Holy Land, with patriarchs, kings, and +prophets, and we knew that we should return thither some day, and +inherit Paradise.</p> + +<p>Once, I remember, the Princess, the daughter of our Prince, being +fatigued while out hunting, came to rest herself in our mean hut, with +her ladies and her lackeys, all so beautiful and splendid, and +glittering with gold and silver lace. I stared at the Princess with +her lovely face and rich dress, as if my eyes would burst from their +sockets. "O how beautiful!" I ejaculated at last, with a sob.</p> + +<p>"Little fool!" whispered my father soothingly. "In the world to come +the Princess will kindle the stove for us."</p> + +<p>I was struck dumb with a medley of feelings. What! such happiness in +store for us—for us, who were now buffeted about by drunken Cossacks! +But then—the poor Princess! How she would soil her splendid dress, +lighting our fire! My eyes filled with tears at the sight of her +beautiful face, that seemed so unconscious of the shame waiting for +it. I felt I would get up early, and do her task for her <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[224]</a></span>secretly. +Now I have learnt from my Master the mysteries of the World-To-Come, +and I thank the Name that there is a sphere in heaven for princesses +who do no wrong.</p> + +<p>My brother and I did not get nearer heaven by our transference to +school, for the Cheder was a hut little larger than and certainly as +smoky as our own, where a crowd of youngsters of all ages sat on hard +benches or on the bare earth, according to the state of the upper +atmosphere. The master, attired in a dirty blouse, sat unflinchingly +on the table, so as to dominate the whole school-room, and between his +knees he held a bowl, in which, with a gigantic pestle, he brayed +tobacco into snuff. The only work he did many a day was to beat some +child black and blue, and sometimes in a savage fit of rage he would +half wring off a boy's ear, or almost gouge out an eye. The rest of +the teaching was done by the ushers—each in his corner—who were no +less vindictive, and would often confiscate to their own consumption +the breakfasts and lunches we brought with us. What wonder if our only +heaven was when the long day finished, or when Sabbath brought us a +whole holiday, and new moon a half.</p> + +<p>Of the teaching I acquired here, and later in the Beth-Hamidrash—for +I was destined by my grandfather for a Rabbi—my heart is too heavy to +speak. Who does not know the arid wilderness of ceremonial law, the +barren hyper-subtleties of Talmudic debate, which in my country had +then reached the extreme of human sharpness in dividing hairs; the +dead sea fruit of learning, unquickened by living waters? And who will +wonder if my soul turned in silent longing in search of green +pastures, and panted for the water-brooks, and if my childish spirit +found solace in the tales my grandfather told me in secret of Sabbataï +Zevi, the Son of God? For my grandfather was at heart a <i>Shab</i> +(Sabbatian). Though Sabbataï Zevi had turned <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[225]</a></span>Turk, the honest veteran +was one of those invincibles who refused to abandon their belief in +this once celebrated Messiah, and who afterwards transferred their +allegiance to the successive Messiahs who reincarnated him, even as he +had reincarnated King David. For the new Sabbatian doctrine of the +Godhead, according to which the central figure of its Trinity found +successive reincarnation in a divine man, had left the door open for a +series of prophets who sprang up, now in Tripoli, now in Turkey, now +in Hungary. I must do my grandfather the justice to say that his +motives were purer than those of many of the sect, whose chief +allurement was probably the mystical doctrine of free love, and the +Adamite life: for the poor old man became more a debauchee of pain +than of pleasure, inflicting upon himself all sorts of penances, to +hasten the advent of the kingdom of God on earth. He denied himself +food and sleep, rolled himself in snow, practised fumigations and +conjurations and self-flagellations, so as to overthrow the legion of +demons who, he said, barred the Messiah's advent. Sometimes he +terrified me by addressing these evil spirits by their names, and +attacking them in a frenzy of courage, smashing windows and stoves in +his onslaught till he fell down in a torpor of exhaustion. And, though +he was so advanced in years, my father could not deter him from +joining in the great pilgrimage that, under Judah the Saint, set out +for Palestine, to await the speedy redemption of Israel. Of this Judah +the Saint, who boldly fanned the embers of the Sabbatian heresy into +fierce flame, I have a vivid recollection, because, against all +precedent, he mounted the gallery of the village synagogue to preach +to the women. I remember that he was clad in white satin, and held +under his arm a scroll of the law, whose bells jingled as he walked; +but what will never fade from my recollection is the passion of his +words, his wailing over our sins, his <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[226]</a></span>profuse tears. Lad as I was, I +was wrought up to wish to join this pilgrimage, and it was with bitter +tears of twofold regret that I saw my grandfather set out on that +disastrous expedition, the leader of which died on the very day of its +arrival in Jerusalem.</p> + +<p>My own Sabbatian fervor did not grow cold for a long time, and it was +nourished by my study of the Cabalah. But, although ere I lay down my +pen I shall have to say something of the extraordinary resurgence of +this heresy in my old age, and of the great suffering which it caused +my beloved Master, the Baal Shem, yet Sabbatianism did not really play +much part in my early life, because such severe measures were taken +against it by the orthodox Rabbis that it seemed to be stamped out, +and I myself, as I began to reflect upon it, found it inconceivable +that a Jewish God should turn Turk: as well expect him to turn +Christian. But indirectly this redoubtable movement entered largely +into my life by way of the great Eibeschütz-Emden controversy. For it +will not be stale in the memory of my readers that this lamentable +controversy, which divided and embittered the Jews of all Europe, +which stirred up Kings and Courts, originated in the accusation +against the Chief Rabbi of the Three Communities that the amulets +which he—the head of the orthodox tradition—wrote for women in +childbirth, were tainted with the Sabbatian heresy. So bitter and +widespread were the charges and counter-charges, that at one moment +every Jewish community in Europe stood excommunicated by the Chief +Rabbis of one side or the other—a ludicrous position, whereof the +sole advantage was that it brought the Ban into contempt and disuse. +It was not likely that a controversy so long-standing and so +impassioned would fail to permeate Poland; and, indeed, among us the +quarrel, introduced as it was by Baruch Yavan, who was agent to +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[227]</a></span>Bruhl, the Saxon Minister, raged in its most violent form. Every fair +and place of gathering became a battle-field for the rival partisans. +Bribery, paid spies, treachery, and violence—all the poisonous fruits +of warfare—flourished, and the cloud of controversy seems to overhang +all my early life.</p> + +<p>Although I penetrated deeply into the Cabalah, I could never become a +practical adept in the Mysteries. I thought at the time it was because +I had not the stamina to carry out the severer penances, and was no +true scion of my grandsire. I have still before me the gaunt, +emaciated figure of the Saint, whom I found prostrate in our outhouse. +I brought him to by unbuttoning his garment at the throat (thus +discovering his hair shirt), but in vain did I hasten to bring him all +sorts of refreshments. He let nothing pass his lips. I knew this man +by repute. He had already performed the penance of <i>Kana</i>, which +consisted in fasting daily for six years, and avoiding in his nightly +breakfast whatever comes from a living being, be it flesh, fish, milk, +or honey. He had likewise practised the penance of Wandering, never +staying two days in the same place. I ran to fetch my father to force +the poor man to eat, but when I returned the obstinate ascetic was +gone. We followed his track, and found him lying dead on the road. We +afterwards learnt that even his past penances had not pacified his +conscience, and he wished to observe the penance of Weighing, which +proportions specific punishments to particular sins. But, finding by +careful calculation that his sins were too numerous to be thus atoned +for, he had decided to starve himself to death. Although, as I say, I +had not the strength for such asceticism, I admired it from afar. I +pored over the <i>Zohar</i> and the <i>Gates of Light</i> and the <i>Tree of Life</i> +(a work considered too holy to be printed), and I puzzled myself with +the mysteries of <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[228]</a></span>the Ten Attributes, and the mystic symbolism of +God's Beard, whereof every hair is a separate channel of Divine grace; +and once I came to comical humiliation from my conceit that I had +succeeded by force of incantations in becoming invisible. As this was +in connection with my wife, who calmly continued looking at me and +talking to me long after I thought I had disappeared, I am reminded to +say something of this companion of my boyish years. For, alas! it was +she that presently disappeared from my vision, being removed by God in +her fifteenth year; so that I, who—being a first-born son, and +allowed by the State to found a family—had been married to her by our +fathers when I was nine and she was eight, had not much chance of +offspring by her; and, indeed, it was in the bearing of our first +child—a still-born boy—that she died, despite the old family amulet +originally imported from Metz and made by Rabbi Eibeschütz. When, +after her death, it was opened by a suspicious partisan of Emden, sure +enough it contained a heretical inscription: "In the name of the God +of Israel, who dwelleth in the adornment of His might, and in the name +of His anointed Sabbataï Zevi, through whose wounds healing is come to +us, I adjure all spirits and demons not to injure this woman." I need +not say how this contributed to the heat of the controversy in our own +little village; and I think, indeed, it destroyed my last tincture of +Sabbatianism. Looking back now from the brink of the grave, I see how +all is written in the book of fate: for had not my Peninah been taken +from me, or had I accepted one of the many daughters that were offered +me in her stead, I should not have been so free to set out on the +pilgrimage to my dear Master, by whom my life has been enriched and +sanctified beyond its utmost deserving.</p> + +<p>At first, indeed, the loss of Peninah, to whom I had become quite +attached—for she honored my studies and <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[229]</a></span>earned our bread, and was +pious even to my mother's liking—threw me into a fit of gloomy +brooding. My longing for the living waters and the green +pastures—partially appeased by Peninah's love as she grew up—revived +and became more passionate. I sought relief in my old Cabalistic +studies, and essayed again to perform incantations, thinking in some +vague way that now that I had a dear friend among the dead, she would +help me to master the divine mysteries. Often I summoned up her form, +but when I strove to clasp it, it faded away, so that I was left +dubious whether I had succeeded. I had wild fits of weeping both by +day and night, not of grief for Peninah, but because I seemed somehow +to live in a great desert of sand. But even had I known what I +desired, I could not have opened my heart to my father-in-law (in +whose house, many versts from my native village, I continued to +reside), for he was a good, plain man, who expected me to do +posthumous honor to his daughter by my Rabbinical renown. I was indeed +long since qualified as a Rabbi, and only waited for some reputable +post.</p> + +<p>But a Rabbi I was never to be. For it was then that the luminous +shadow of the Baal Shem fell upon my life.</p> + +<br /> +<h4>II</h4> + +<p>There came to our village one winter day a stranger who had neither +the air of a <i>Schnorrer</i> (beggar) nor of an itinerant preacher; nor, +from the brief time he spent at the Beth-Hamidrash, where I sat +pursuing droningly my sterile studies, did he appear to be a scholar. +He was a lean, emaciated, sickly young man, but his eyes had the fire +of a lion's, and his glance was as a god's. When he spoke his voice +pierced you, and when he was silent his <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[230]</a></span>presence filled the room. +From Eliphaz the Pedlar (who knew everything but the Law) I learnt at +last that he was an emissary of Rabbi Baer, the celebrated chief of +the Chassidim (the pious ones).</p> + +<p>"The Chassidim!" I cried. "They died out with Judah the Saint."</p> + +<p>"Nay, this is a new order. Have you not heard of the Baal Shem?"</p> + +<p>Now, from time to time I had heard vague rumors of a new +wonder-working saint who had apparently succeeded far better with +Cabalah than I, and had even gathered a following, but the new and +obscure movement had not touched our out-of-the-way village, which was +wholly given over to the old Sabbatian controversy, and so my +knowledge of it was but shadowy. I thought it better to feign absolute +ignorance, and thus draw out the Pedlar.</p> + +<p>"Why, the Baal Shem by much penance has found out the Name of God," +said he; "and by it he works his will on earth and in heaven, so that +there is at times confusion in the other world."</p> + +<p>"And is his name Rabbi Baer?"</p> + +<p>"No; Rabbi Baer is a very learned man who has joined him, and whom, +with the other superiors of the Order, he has initiated, so that they, +too, work wonders. I chanced with this young man on the road, and he +told me that his sect therefore explains the verse in the Psalms, 'Sing +unto God a new song; His praise is in the congregation of Saints,' in +the following wise: Since God surpasses every finite being, His praise +must surpass the praise of every such being. Hitherto the praise of Him +consisted in ascribing miracles to Him, and the knowledge of the hidden +and the future. But since all this is now within the capacity of the +saints of the Order, the Almighty has no longer any pre-eminence over +them in respect of the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[231]</a></span>supernatural—'His praise is in the +congregation of the saints,'—and therefore it is necessary to find for +Him some new praise—'Sing unto God a new song'—suitable to Him +alone."</p> + +<p>The almost blasphemous boldness of this conception, which went in a +manner further even than the Cabalah or the Sabbatians, startled me, +as much as the novelty of the exegesis fascinated me.</p> + +<p>"And this young man here—can he rule the upper and lower worlds?" I +asked eagerly, mindful of my own miserable failures.</p> + +<p>"Assuredly he can rule the lower worlds," replied Eliphaz, with a +smile. "For to that I can bear witness, seeing that I have stayed with +him in a town where there is a congregation of Chassidim, which was in +his hands as putty in the glazier's. For, you see, he travels from +place to place to instruct his inferiors in the society. The elders of +the congregations, venerable and learned men, trembled like spaniels +before him. A great scholar who would not accept his infallibility, +was thrown into such terror by his menacing look that he fell into a +violent fever and died. And this I witnessed myself."</p> + +<p>"But there are no Chassidim in our place," said I, trembling myself, +half with excitement, half with sympathetic terror. "What comes he to +do here?"</p> + +<p>"Why, but there <i>are</i> Chassidim, and there will be more—" He stopped +suddenly. "Nay, I spoke at random."</p> + +<p>"You spoke truly," said I sternly. "But speak on—do not fear me."</p> + +<p>"You are a Rabbi designate," he said, shaking his head.</p> + +<p>"What of it?"</p> + +<p>"Know you not that everywhere the Rabbis fight desperately against the +new Order, that they curse and excommunicate its members."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[232]</a></span>"Wherefore?"</p> + +<p>"I do not know. These things are too high for me. Unless it be that +this Rabbi Baer has cut out of the liturgy the <i>Piutim</i> (Penitential +Poems), and likewise prays after the fashion of the Portuguese Jews."</p> + +<p>"Nay," I said, laughing. "If you were not such a man-of-the-earth, you +would know that to cut out one line of one prayer is enough to set all +the Rabbis excommunicating."</p> + +<p>"Ay," said he; "but I know also that in some towns where the Chassidim +are in the ascendant, they depose their Rabbis and appoint a minion of +Baer instead."</p> + +<p>"Ha! so that is what the young man is after," said I.</p> + +<p>"I didn't say so," said the Pedlar nervously. "I merely tell +you—though I should not have said anything—what the young man told +me to beguile the way."</p> + +<p>"And to gain you over," I put in.</p> + +<p>"Nay," laughed Eliphaz; "I feel no desire for Perfection, which is the +catchword of these gentry."</p> + +<p>Thus put upon the alert, I was easily able to detect a secret meeting +of Chassidim (consisting of that minimum of ten which the sect, in +this following the orthodox practice, considers sufficient nucleus for +a new community), and to note the members of the conventicle as they +went in and out again.</p> + +<p>With some of these I spake privily, but though I allayed their qualms +and assured them I was no spy but an anxious inquirer after Truth, +desiring nothing more vehemently than Perfection, yet either they +would not impart to me the true secrets of the Order, or they lacked +intelligence to make clear to me its special doctrine. Nevertheless, +of the personality of the Founder they were willing to speak, and I +shall here set down the story of his life as I learnt it at the first +from these simple enthusiasts. It may be <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[233]</a></span>that, as I write, my pen +unwittingly adds episodes or colors that sank into my mind afterwards, +but to the best of my power I will set down here the story as it was +told me, and as it passed current then—nay, what say I?—as it passes +current now in the Chassidic communities.</p> + +<br /> +<h4>III</h4> + +<p>Rabbi Eliezer, the Baal Shem's father, lived in Moldavia, and in his +youth he was captured by the Tartars, but his wife escaped. He was +taken to a far country where no Jew lived, and was sold to a Prince. +He soon found favor with his master by dint of faithful service, and +was made steward of his estates. But mindful of the God of Israel, he +begged the Prince to excuse him from work on Saturdays, which the +Prince, without understanding, granted. Still the Rabbi was not happy. +He prepared to take flight, but a vision appeared to him, bidding him +tarry a while longer with the Tartars. Now it happened that the Prince +desired some favor from the Viceroy's counsellor, so he gave the Rabbi +to the counsellor as a bribe.</p> + +<p>Rabbi Eliezer soon found favor with his new master. He was given a +separate chamber to live in, and was exempt from manual labor, save +that when the counsellor came home he had to go to meet him with a +vessel of water to wash his feet, according to the custom of the +nobility. Hence Rabbi Eliezer had time to serve his God.</p> + +<p>It came to pass that the King had to go to war, so he sent for the +counsellor, but the counsellor was unable to give any advice to the +point, and the King dismissed him in a rage. When the Rabbi went out +to meet him with the vessel of water, he kicked it over wrathfully. +Whereupon the Rabbi asked him why he was in such poor spirits. The +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[234]</a></span>counsellor remained dumb, but the Rabbi pressed him, and then he +unbosomed himself.</p> + +<p>"I will pray to God," said Rabbi Eliezer, "that the right plan of +campaign may be revealed to me."</p> + +<p>When his prayer was answered he communicated the heavenly counsel to +his master, who hastened joyfully to the King. The King was equally +rejoiced at the plan.</p> + +<p>"Such counsel cannot come from a human being," he said. "It must be +from the lips of a magician."</p> + +<p>"Nay," said the counsellor; "it is my slave who has conceived the +plan."</p> + +<p>The King forthwith made the slave an officer in his personal retinue. +One day the monarch wished to capture a fort with his ships, but night +was drawing in, and he said—</p> + +<p>"It is too late. We shall remain here over night, and to-morrow we +shall make our attack."</p> + +<p>But the Rabbi was told from Heaven that the fort was almost +impregnable in the daytime. "Send against it at once," he advised the +King, "a ship full of prisoners condemned to death, and promise them +their lives if they capture the fort, for they, having nothing to +lose, are the only men for a forlorn hope."</p> + +<p>His advice was taken, and the desperadoes destroyed the fort. Then the +King saw that the Rabbi was a godly man, and on the death of his +Viceroy he appointed him in his stead, and married him to the late +Viceroy's daughter.</p> + +<p>But the Rabbi, remembering his marriage vows and his duty to the house +of Israel, made her his wife only in name. One day when they were +sitting at table together, she asked him, "Why art thou so distant +towards me?"</p> + +<p>"Swear," he answered, "that thou wilt never tell a soul, and thou +shalt hear the truth."</p> + +<p>On her promising, he told her that he was a Jew. Thereupon she sent +him away secretly, and gave him gold <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[235]</a></span>and jewels, of which, however, +he was robbed on his journey home.</p> + +<p>After he had returned to his joyful wife, who, though she had given +him up for dead, had never ceased to mourn for him, an angel appeared +unto him and said, "By reason of thy good deeds, and thy unshaken +fidelity to the God of Israel throughout all thy sufferings and +temptations, thou shalt have a son who will be a light to enlighten +the eyes of all Israel. Therefore shall his name be Israel, for in him +shall the words of scripture be fulfilled! 'Thou art my servant +Israel, in whom I will be glorified.'"</p> + +<p>But the Rabbi and his wife grew older and older, and there was no son +born unto them. But when they were a hundred years old, the woman +conceived and bore a son, who was called Israel, and afterwards known +of men as the Master of the Name—the Baal Shem. And this was in the +mystic year 5459, whereof the properties of the figures are most +wonderful, inasmuch as the five which is the symbol of the Pentagon is +the Key of the whole, and comes also from subtracting the first two +from the last two, and whereas the first multiplied by the third is +the square of five, so is the second multiplied by the fourth the +square of six, and likewise the first added to the third is ten, which +is the number of the Commandments, and the second added to the fourth +is thirteen, which is the number of the Creeds. And even according to +the Christians who count this year as 1700, it is the beginning of a +new era.</p> + +<p>The child's mother died soon after he was weaned, and Rabbi Eliezer +was not long in following her to the grave. On his death-bed he took +the child in his arms, and blessed him, saying, "Though I am denied +the blessing of bringing thee up, always think of God and fear not, +for he will ever be with thee." So saying, he gave up the ghost.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[236]</a></span>Now the people of Ukop in Bukowina, where the Master was born, though +they knew nothing of his glorious destiny, yet carefully tended him +for the sake of his honored father. They engaged for him a teacher of +the Holy Law, but though in the beginnings he seemed to learn with +rare ease, he often slipped away into the forest that bordered the +village, and there his teacher would find him after a long search, +sitting fearlessly in some leafy glade. His dislike for the customary +indoor studies became so marked that at last he was set down as +stupid, and allowed to follow his own vagrant courses. No one +understood that the spirits of Heaven were his teachers.</p> + +<p>As he grew older, he was given a post as assistant to the +school-master, but his office was not to teach—how could such an +ignorant lad teach?—but to escort the children from their homes to +the synagogue and thence to the school. On the way he taught them +solemn hymns, which he had composed and which he sang with them, and +the sweet voices of the children reached Heaven. And God was as +pleased with them as with the singing of the Levites in the Temple, +and it was a pleasing time in Heaven. But Satan, fearing lest his +power on earth would thereby be lessened, disguised himself as a +werwolf, which used to appear before the childish procession and put +it to flight. The parents thereupon kept their children at home, and +the services of song were silenced. But Israel, recalling his father's +dying counsel, persuaded the parents to entrust the children to him +once more. Again the werwolf bounded upon the singing children, but +Israel routed him with his club.</p> + +<p>In his fourteenth year the supposed unlettered Israel was appointed +caretaker in the Beth-Hamidrash, where the scholars considered him the +proverbial ignoramus who "spells Noah with seven mistakes." He dozed +about the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[237]</a></span>building all day and got a new reputation for laziness, but +at night when the school-room was empty and the students asleep, +Israel took down the Holy Books; and all the long night he pored over +the sacred words. Now it came to pass that, in a far-off city, a +certain holy man, Rabbi Adam, who had in his possession celestial +manuscripts (which had only before him been revealed to Abraham our +Father, and to Joshua, the son of Nun) told his son on his death-bed +that he was unworthy to inherit them. But he was to go to the town of +Ukop and deliver them to a certain man named Israel whom he would find +there, and who would instruct him, if he proved himself fit. After his +father's death the son duly journeyed to Ukop and lodged with the +treasurer of the synagogue, who one day asked him the purpose of his +visit.</p> + +<p>"I am in search of a wife," said he.</p> + +<p>At once many were the suitors for his hand, and finally he agreed with +a rich man to bestow it on his daughter. After the wedding he pursued +his search for the heir to the manuscripts, and, on seeing the +caretaker of the Beth-Hamidrash, concluded he must be the man. He +induced his father-in-law to have a compartment partitioned off in the +school, wherein he could study by himself, and to monopolize the +services of the caretaker to attend upon him.</p> + +<p>But when the student fell asleep, Israel began to study according to +his wont; and when <i>he</i> fell asleep, his employer took one page of the +mystic manuscript and placed it near him. When Israel woke up and saw +the page he was greatly moved, and hid it. Next day the man again +placed a page near the sleeping Israel, who again hid it on awaking. +Then was the man convinced that he had found the inheritor of the +spiritual secrets, and he told him the whole story and offered all the +manuscripts on condition <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[238]</a></span>Israel should become his teacher. Israel +assented, on condition that he should outwardly remain his attendant +as before, and that his celestial knowledge should not be bruited +abroad. The man now asked his father-in-law to give him a room outside +the town, as his studies demanded still more solitude. He needed none +but Israel to attend him. His father-in-law gave him all he asked for, +rejoicing to have found so studious a son-in-law. As their secret +studies grew deeper, the pupil begged his master to call down the +Archangel of the Law for him to study withal. But Rabbi Israel +dissuaded him, saying the incantation was a very dangerous one, the +slightest mistake might be fatal. After a time the man returned to the +request, and his master yielded. Both fasted from one week's end to +the other and purified themselves, and then went through all the +ceremony of summoning the Archangel of the Law, but at the crucial +moment of the invocation Rabbi Israel cried out, "We have made a slip. +The Angel of Fire is coming instead. He will burn up the town. Run and +tell the people to quit their dwellings and snatch up their most +precious things."</p> + +<p>Thus did Rabbi Israel's pupil leap to consideration in the town, being +by many considered a man of miracles, and the saviour of their lives +and treasures. But he still hankered after the Archangel of the Law, +and again induced Rabbi Israel to invoke him. Again they purified and +prepared themselves, but Rabbi Israel cried out—</p> + +<p>"Alas! death has been decreed us, unless we remain awake all this +night."</p> + +<p>They sat, mutually vigilant against sleep, but at last towards dawn +the fated man's eyelids closed, and he fell into that sleep from which +there could be no waking.</p> + +<p>So the Baal Shem departed thence, and settled in a little town near +Brody, and became a teacher of children, in his <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[239]</a></span>love for the little +ones. Small was his wage and scanty his fare, and the room in which he +lodged he could only afford because it was haunted. When the Baal Shem +entered to take possession, the landlord peeping timidly from the +threshold saw a giant Cossack leaning against the mantelpiece. But as +the new tenant advanced, the figure of the Cossack dwindled and +dwindled, till at last the dwarf disappeared.</p> + +<p>Though Israel did not yet reveal himself, being engaged in wrestling +with the divine mysteries, and having made oath in the upper spheres +not to use the power of the Name till he was forty years old save +four, and though outwardly he was clad in coarse garments and broken +boots, yet all his fellow-townsmen felt the purity and probity that +seemed to emanate from him. He was seen to perform ablutions far +oftener than of custom; and in disputes men came to him as umpire, nor +was even the losing party ever dissatisfied with his decision. When +there was no rain and the heathen population had gone in a sacred +procession, with the priests carrying their gods, all in vain, Israel +told the Rabbi to assemble the Jewish congregation in the synagogue +for a day of fasting and prayer. The heathen asked them why the +service lasted so long that day, and, being told, they laughed +mockingly. "What! shall your God avail when we have carried ours in +vain?" But the rain fell that day.</p> + +<p>And so the fame of Israel grew and reached some people even in Brody.</p> + +<p>One day in that great centre of learning the learned Rabbi Abraham, +having a difference with a man, was persuaded by the latter to make a +journey to Rabbi Israel for arbitration. When they appeared before +him, the Baal Shem knew by divine light that Rabbi Abraham's daughter +would be his wife. However, he said nothing but <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[240]</a></span>delivered adequate +judgment, according to Maimonides. So delighted was the old Rabbi with +this stranger's learning that he said:</p> + +<p>"I have a daughter who has been divorced. I should love to marry thee +to her."</p> + +<p>"I desire naught better," said the Baal Shem, "for I know her soul is +noble. But I must make it a condition that in the betrothal contract +no learned titles are appended to my name. Let it be simply Israel the +son of Eliezer."</p> + +<p>While returning to Brody, Rabbi Abraham died. Now his son, Rabbi +Gershon, was the chief of the Judgment Counsel, and a scholar of great +renown; and when he found among the papers of his dead father a deed +of his sister's betrothal to a man devoid of all titles of learning he +was astonished and shocked.</p> + +<p>He called his sister to him: "Art thou aware thou art betrothed +again?" said he.</p> + +<p>"Nay," she replied; "how so?"</p> + +<p>"Our father—peace be upon him—hath betrothed thee to one Israel the +son of Eliezer."</p> + +<p>"Is it so? Then I must needs marry him."</p> + +<p>"Marry him! But who is this Israel?"</p> + +<p>"How should I know?"</p> + +<p>"But he is a man of the earth. He hath not one single title of honor."</p> + +<p>"What our father did was right."</p> + +<p>"What?" persisted the outraged brother; "thou, my sister, of so +renowned a family, who couldst choose from the most learned young men, +thou wouldst marry so far beneath thee."</p> + +<p>"So my father hath arranged."</p> + +<p>"Well, thank Heaven, thou wilt never discover who and where this +ignoramus of an Israel is."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[241]</a></span>"There is a date on the contract," said his sister calmly; "at the +stipulated time my husband will come and claim me."</p> + +<p>When the appointed wedding-day drew nigh, the Baal Shem intimated to +the people of his town that he was going to leave them. They begged +him to remain with their children, and offered him a higher wage. But +he refused and left the place. And when he came near to Brody, he +disguised himself as a peasant in a short jacket and white girdle. And +he appeared at the door of the House of Judgment while Rabbi Gershon +was deciding a high matter. When the Judge caught sight of him, he +imagined it was a poor man asking alms. But the peasant said he had a +secret to reveal to him. The Judge took him into another room, where +Israel showed him his copy of the betrothal contract. Rabbi Gershon +went home in alarm and told his sister that the claimant was come. +"Whatever our father—peace be upon him—did was right," she replied; +"perchance pious children will be the offspring of this union." Rabbi +Gershon, still smarting under this dishonor to the family, reluctantly +fixed the wedding-day. Before the ceremony Israel sought a secret +interview with his bride, and revealed himself and his mission to her.</p> + +<p>"Many hardships shall we endure together, humble shall be our +dwelling, and by the sweat of our brow shall we earn our bread. Thou +who art the daughter of a great Rabbi, and reared in every luxury, +hast thou courage to face this future with me?"</p> + +<p>"I ask no better," she replied. "I had faith in my father's judgment, +and now am I rewarded."</p> + +<p>The Baal Shem's voice trembled with tenderness. "God bless thee," he +said. "Our sufferings shall be but for a time."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[242]</a></span>After the wedding Rabbi Gershon wished to instruct his new +brother-in-law, who had, of course, taken up his abode in his house. +But the Baal Shem feigned to be difficult of understanding, and at +length, in despair, the Judge went stormily to his sister and cried +out: "See how we are shamed and disgraced through thy husband, who +argues ignorantly against our most renowned teachers. I cannot endure +the dishonor any longer. Look thou, sister mine, I give thee the +alternative—either divorce this ignoramus or let me buy thee a horse +and cart and send you both packing from the place."</p> + +<p>"We will go," she said simply.</p> + +<p>They jogged along in their cart till they came far from Jews and +remote even from men. And there in a lonely spot, on one of the spurs +of the Carpathian Mountains, honeycombed by caves and thick with +trees, the couple made their home. Here Israel gave himself up to +prayer and contemplation. For his livelihood he dug lime in the +ravines, and his wife took it in the horse and cart, and sold it in +the nearest town, bringing back flour. When the Baal Shem was not +fasting, which was rarely, he mixed this flour with water and earth, +and baked it in the sun. That was his only fare. What else needed +he—he, whose greatest joy was to make holy ablutions in the mountain +waters, or to climb the summits of the mountains and to wander about +wrapt in the thought of God? Once the robbers who lurked in the caves +saw him approaching a precipice, his ecstatic gaze heavenwards. They +halloed to him, but his ears were lent to the celestial harmonies. +Then they held their breath, waiting for him to be dashed to pieces. +But the opposite mountain came to him. And then the two mountains +separated, re-uniting again for his return. After this the robbers +revered him as a holy man, and they, too, brought him their disputes. +And the Baal <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[243]</a></span>Shem did not refuse the office,—"For," said he, "even +amid the unjust, justice must rule." But one of the gang whom he had +decided against sought to slay him as he slept. An invisible hand held +back the axe as it was raised to strike the fatal blow, and belabored +the rogue soundly, till he fell prone, covered with blood.</p> + +<p>Thus passed seven years of labor and spiritual vision. And the Baal +Shem learned the language of birds and beasts and trees, and the +healing properties of herbs and simples; and he redeemed souls that +had been placed for their sins in frogs and toads and loathsome +creatures of the mountains.</p> + +<p>But at length Rabbi Gershon was sorry for his sister, and repented him +of his harshness. He sought out the indomitable twain, and brought +them back to Brody, and installed them in an apartment near him, and +made the Baal Shem his coachman. But his brother-in-law soon disgusted +him again, for, one day, when they were driving together, and Rabbi +Gershon had fallen asleep, the Baal Shem, whose pure thoughts had +ascended on high, let the vehicle tumble into a ditch. "This fellow is +good neither for heaven nor earth," cried Rabbi Gershon.</p> + +<p>He again begged his sister to get a divorce, but she remained +steadfast and silent. In desperation Rabbi Gershon asked a friend of +his, Rabbi Mekatier, to take Israel to a mad woman, who told people +their good and bad qualities, and whose stigmatization, he thought, +might have an effect upon his graceless brother-in-law. The +audience-chamber of the possessed creature was crowded, and, as each +visitor entered, a voice issued from her lips greeting them according +to their qualities. As Rabbi Mekatier came in: "Welcome, holy and pure +one," she cried, and so to many others. The Baal Shem entered last. +"Welcome, Rabbi Israel," cried the voice; "thou deemest I fear thee, +but I fear thee <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">[244]</a></span>not. For I know of a surety that thou hast been sworn +in Heaven not to make use of the Name, not till thy thirty-sixth +year."</p> + +<p>"Of what speakest thou?" asked the people in bewilderment.</p> + +<p>Then the woman repeated what she had said, but the people understood +her not. And she went on repeating the words. At length Rabbi Israel +rebuked her sharply.</p> + +<p>"Silence, or I will appoint a Council of Judgment who will empower me +to drive thee out of this woman. I ask thee, therefore, to depart from +this woman of thine own accord, and we will pray for thee."</p> + +<p>So the spirit promised to depart.</p> + +<p>Then the Baal Shem said: "Who art thou?"</p> + +<p>"I cannot tell thee now," replied the spirit. "It will disgrace my +children who are in the room. If they depart, I will tell thee."</p> + +<p>Thereupon all the people departed in haste and spread the news that +Israel could cast out devils. The respect for him grew, but Rabbi +Gershon was incredulous, saying such things could only be done by a +scholar; and, becoming again out of patience with this ignorant +incubus upon his honorable house, he bought his sister a small inn in +a village far away on the border of a forest. While his wife managed +the inn, the Baal Shem built himself a hut in the forest and retired +there to study the Law day and night; only on the Sabbath did he go +out, dressed in white, and many ablutions did he make, as becomes the +pure and the holy.</p> + +<p>It was here that he reached his thirty-sixth year, but still he did +not reveal himself, for he had not meditated sufficiently nor found +out his first apostles. But in his forty-second year he began freely +to speak and to gather disciples, wandering about Podolia and +Wallachia, and <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[245]</a></span>teaching by discourse and parable, crossing streams by +spreading his mantle upon the waters, and saving his disciples from +freezing in the wintry frosts by touching the trees with his +finger-tips, so that they burnt without being consumed.</p> + +<p>And now he was become the chief of a mighty sect, that ramified +everywhere, and the head of a school of prophets and wonder-workers to +whom he had unveiled the secret of the Name.</p> + +<br /> +<h4>IV</h4> + +<p>So strange and marvellous a story, so full of minute detail, and for +the possible truth of which my Cabalistic studies had prepared me, +roused in me again the ever-smouldering hope of becoming expert in +these traditional practices of our nation. Why should not I, like +other Rabbis, have the key of the worlds? Why should not I, too, +fashion a fine fat calf on the Friday and eat it for my Sabbath meal? +or create a soulless monster to wait upon me hand and foot? The +Talmudical subtleties had kept me long enough wandering in a blind +maze. I would go forth in search of light. I would gird up my loins +and take my staff in my hand and seek the fountain-head of wisdom, the +great Master of the Name himself; I would fall at his feet and beseech +him to receive me among his pupils.</p> + +<p>Travelling was easy enough:—in every town a Beth-Hamidrash into which +the wanderer would first make his way; in every town hospitable +entertainers who would board and lodge a man of learning like myself, +rejoicing at the honor. Even in the poorest villages I might count +upon black bread and sheep's cheese and a bed of fir branches. But +when I came to make inquiries I found <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[246]</a></span>that the village in Volhynia, +which Rabbi Baer had made his centre, was far nearer than the forest +where the Master, remote and inaccessible, retired to meditate after +his missionary wanderings; nay, that my footsteps must needs pass +through this Mizricz, the political stronghold of Chassidism. This +discovery did not displease me, for I felt that thus I should reach +the Master better prepared. In my impatience I could scarcely wait for +the roads to become passable, and it was still the skirt of winter +when, with a light heart and a wild hope, I set my face for the wild +ravines of Severia and the dreary steppes of the Ukraine. Very soon I +came into parts where the question of the Chassidim was alive and +burning, and indeed into towns where it had a greater living interest +than the quarrel of the amulets. And in these regions the rumor of the +Baal Shem began to thicken. There was not a village of log-houses but +buzzed with its own miracle. Everywhere did I hear of healings of the +sick and driving out of demons and summoning of spirits, and the face +of the Master shining.</p> + +<p>Of these strange stories I will set down but two. The Master and his +retinue were riding on a journey, and came to a strange road. His +disciples did not know the way, and the party went astray and wandered +about till Wednesday night, when they put up at an inn. In the morning +the host asked who they were.</p> + +<p>"I am a wandering preacher," replied the Baal Shem. "And I wish to get +to the capital before the Sabbath, for I have heard that the richest +man in the town is marrying there on the Friday, and perchance I may +preach at the wedding."</p> + +<p>"That thou wilt never do," said the innkeeper, "for the capital is a +week's journey."</p> + +<p>The Master smiled. "Our horses are good," he said.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[247]</a></span>The innkeeper shook his head: "Impossible, unless you fly through the +air," he said. But, presently remembering that he himself had to go +some leagues on the road to the capital, he begged permission to join +the party, which was cheerfully given.</p> + +<p>The Master then retired to say his morning prayers, and gave orders +for breakfast and dinner.</p> + +<p>"But why art thou delaying?" inquired the innkeeper. "How can you +arrive for Sabbath?"</p> + +<p>The Baal Shem did not, however, abate one jot of his prayers, and it +was not till eve that they set out. All through the night they +travelled, and in the morning the innkeeper found himself, to his +confusion, not where he had reckoned to part with the others, but in +the environs of the capital. The Baal Shem took up his quarters in a +humble district, while the dazed innkeeper wandered about the streets +of the great city, undecided what to do. All at once he heard screams +and saw a commotion, and people began to run to and fro; and then he +saw men carrying a beautiful dead girl in bridal costume, and in the +midst of them one, who by his Sabbath garments and his white shoes was +evidently the bridegroom, mazed and ghastly pale. He heard people +telling one another that death had seized her as she stood under the +canopy, before the word could be said or the glass broken that should +have made her the wife of the richest man in the capital. The +innkeeper ran towards them and he said—</p> + +<p>"Do not despair. Last night I was hundreds of miles from here. I came +here with a great wonder-worker. Mayhap he will be able to help you." +The bridegroom went with him to seek out the Baal Shem at the far end +of the town, and offered a vast sum for the restoration of his +beloved.</p> + +<p>"Nay, keep thy money," said the Master. And he fared <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">[248]</a></span>back with the +twain to see the corpse, which had been laid in an apartment.</p> + +<p>As soon as he had looked upon the face of the bride he said: "Let a +grave be dug; and let the washers prepare her for the tomb. And then +let her be reclad in her marriage vestments. I will go to the +graveyard and await her coming."</p> + +<p>When her body was brought, he told the bearers to lay her in the +grave, earth to earth. The onlookers wept to see how, for once, that +shroud which every bride wore over her fur robe was become a fitting +ornament, and how the marvellous fairness of the dead face, crowned +with its myrtle garlands, gleamed through the bridal veil. The Master +placed two stalwart men with their faces towards the grave, and bade +them, the instant they noted any change in her face, take her out. +Then he leaned upon his staff and gazed at the dead face. And those +who were near said his face shone with a heavenly light of pity; but +his brow was wrinkled as though in grave deliberation. The moments +passed, but the Master remained as motionless as she in the grave. And +all the people stood around in awed suspense, scarce daring to +whisper. Suddenly a slight flush appeared in the dead face. The Baal +Shem gave a signal, the two men lifted out the bride from the raw +earth, and he cried: "Get on with the wedding," and walked away.</p> + +<p>"Nay, come with us," besought the weeping bridegroom, falling at his +feet and kissing the hem of his garment. "Who but thou should perform +the ceremony?"</p> + +<p>So the throng swept back towards the synagogue with many rejoicings +and songs, and the extinguished torches were relighted, and the music +struck up again, and the bride walked, escorted by her friends, +seemingly unconscious that this was not the same joyous procession +which <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">[249]</a></span>had set out in the morning, or that she had already stood under +the canopy. But, when they were arrived in the synagogue courtyard, +and the Baal Shem began the ceremony, then as she heard his voice, a +strange light of recollection leapt into her face. She tore off her +veil and cried, "This is the man that drew me out of the cold grave."</p> + +<p>"Be silent," reprimanded the Master sternly, and proceeded with the +wedding formulæ. At the wedding feast, the bride's friends asked her +what she had seen and heard in the tomb. Whereupon she gave them the +explanation of the whole matter. The former wife of her rich +bridegroom was the bride's aunt, and when she fell ill and knew she +would die, she felt that he would assuredly marry this young girl—his +ward,—who was brought up in his house. She became madly jealous, and, +calling her husband to her death-bed, she made him take an oath not to +marry the girl. Nor would she trust him till he had sworn with his +right hand in hers and his left hand in the girl's. After the wife's +death neither of the parties to this oath kept faith, but wished to +marry the other. Wherefore as they stood under the canopy at the +marriage celebration the dead wife, seen only of the bride, killed +her. While she was lying in the grave, the Baal Shem was occupied in +weighing the matter, both she and the jealous woman having to state +their case; and he decided that the living were in the right, and had +only given their promise to the dead wife by force and out of +compassion. And so he exclaimed, "Get on with the wedding!" The memory +of this trial in the world of spirits had clean passed from her till +she heard the Master's voice beginning to read the marriage service, +when she cried out, and tore off her veil to see him plainly.</p> + +<p>The Baal Shem spent the Sabbath in the capital; and on <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">[250]</a></span>Sunday he was +escorted out of the town with a great multitude doing him honor. And +afterwards it was found that all the sick people, whose names happened +to be scribbled by their relatives on the grave-stone which his robe +had brushed, recovered. Nor could this be entirely owing to the merits +of him who lay below, pious man though he was.</p> + +<p>On the Tuesday night the Baal Shem and his disciples came to an inn, +where he found the host sitting sadly in a room ablaze festally with +countless candles and crowded with little boys, rocking themselves to +and fro with prayer.</p> + +<p>"Can we lodge here for the night?" asked the Baal Shem.</p> + +<p>"Nay," answered the host dejectedly.</p> + +<p>"Why art thou sad? Perchance I can help thee," said the Baal Shem.</p> + +<p>"To-night, as thou seest, is watch-night," said the man; "for +to-morrow my latest-born is to be circumcised. This is my fifth child, +and all the others have died suddenly at midnight, although up to then +there has been no sign of sickness. I know not why Lilith should have +such a grudge against my progeny. But so it is, the devil's mother, +she kills them every one, despite the many charms and talismans hung +round my wife's bed. Every day since the birth, these children have +come to say the <i>Shemang</i> and the ninety-first psalm. And to-night the +elders are coming to watch and study all night. But I fear they will +not cheat Lilith of her prey. Therefore am I not in the humor to lodge +strangers."</p> + +<p>"Let the little ones go home; they are falling asleep," said the +Master. "And let them tell their fathers to stay at home in their +beds. My pupils and I will watch and pray."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">[251]</a></span>So said, so done. The Baal Shem told off two of his men to hold a sack +open at the cradle of the child, and he instructed the rest of his +pupils to study holy law ceaselessly, and on no account to let their +eyelids close, though he himself designed to sleep. Should anything +fall into the sack the two men were to close it forthwith and then +awaken him. With a final caution to his disciples not to fall asleep, +the Master withdrew to his chamber. The hours drew on. Naught was +heard save the droning of the students and the sough of the wind in +the forest. At midnight the flames of the candles wavered violently, +though no breath of wind was felt within the hot room. But the +watchers shielding the flames with their hands strove to prevent them +being extinguished. Nevertheless they all went out, and a weird gloom +fell upon the room, the firelight throwing the students' shadows +horribly on the walls and ceiling. Their blood ran cold. But one, +bolder than the rest, snatching a brand from the hearth, relit the +candles. As the last wick flamed again, a great black cat fell into +the sack. The two men immediately tied up the mouth of it and went to +rouse the Baal Shem.</p> + +<p>"Take two cudgels," said he, "and thrash the sack as hard as you can."</p> + +<p>After they had given it a sound drubbing, he bade them unbind the sack +and throw it into the street. And so the day dawned, and all was well +with the child. That day they performed the ceremony of Initiation +with great rejoicing, and the Baal Shem was made godfather or +<i>Sandek</i>. But before the feasting began, the father of the child +begged the Baal Shem to tarry, "for," said he, "I must needs go first +to the lord of the soil and take him a gift of wine. For he is a cruel +tyrant, and will visit it upon me if I fail to pay him honor on this +joyous occasion."</p> + +<p>"Go in peace," said the Baal Shem.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">[252]</a></span>When the man arrived at the seigneur's house, the lackeys informed him +that their master was ill, but had left instructions that he was to be +told when the gift was brought. The man waited, and the seigneur +ordered him to be admitted, and received him very affably, asking him +how business was, and if he had guests at his inn.</p> + +<p>"Ay, indeed," answered the innkeeper; "there is staying with me a very +holy man who is from Poland, and he delivered my child from death."</p> + +<p>"Indeed!" said the seigneur, with interest, and the man thereupon told +him the whole story.</p> + +<p>"Bring me this stranger," commanded the seigneur; "I would speak with +him."</p> + +<p>The innkeeper went home very much perturbed.</p> + +<p>"Why so frightened an air?" the Baal Shem asked him.</p> + +<p>"The seigneur desires thee to go to him. I fear he will do thee a +mischief. I beseech thee, depart at once, and I will tell him thou +hadst already gone."</p> + +<p>"I will go to him," said the Baal Shem.</p> + +<p>He was ushered into the sick-room. As soon as the seigneur had +dismissed his lackeys he sat up in bed, thus revealing black-and-blue +marks in his flesh, and sneered vengefully—</p> + +<p>"Doubtless thou thinkest thyself very cunning to have caught me +unawares."</p> + +<p>"Would I had come before thou hadst killed the other four," replied +the Baal Shem.</p> + +<p>"Ho! ho!" hissed the magician; "so thou feelest sure thou art a +greater wizard than I. Well, I challenge thee to the test."</p> + +<p>"I have no desire to contend with thee," replied the Baal Shem calmly; +"I am no wizard. I have only the power of the Holy Name."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">[253]</a></span>"Bah! My witchcraft against thy Holy Name," sneered the wizard.</p> + +<p>"The Name must be vindicated," said the Baal Shem. "I accept thy +challenge. This day a month I will assemble my pupils. Do thou and thy +brethren gather together your attendant spirits. And thou shalt learn +that there is a God."</p> + +<p>In a month's time the Baal Shem with all his pupils met the wizard +with his fellows in an open field; and there, under the blue circle of +Heaven, the Baal Shem made two circles around himself and one in +another place around his pupils, enjoining them to keep their eyes +fixed on his face, and, if they noticed any change in it, immediately +to begin crying the Penitential Prayer. The arch-wizard also made a +circle for himself and his fellow-wizards at the other end of the +field, and commenced his attack forthwith. He sent against the Baal +Shem swarms of animals, which swept towards the circle with clamorous +fury. But when they came to the first circle, they vanished. Then +another swarm took their place—and another—and then another—lions, +tigers, leopards, wolves, griffins, unicorns, and unnameable +creatures, all dashing themselves into nothingness against the holy +circle. Thus it went on all the long day, every instant seeing some +new bristling horde vomited and swallowed up again.</p> + +<p>Towards twilight the arch-magician launched upon the Baal Shem a herd +of wild boars, spitting flames; and these at last passed beyond the +first circle. Then the pupils saw a change come over the Baal Shem's +face, and they began to wail the Penitential Prayer.</p> + +<p>Still the boars sped on till they reached the second circle. Then they +vanished. Three times the wizard launched his boars, the flames of +their jaws lighting up the gathering dusk, but going out like blown +candles at the second <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">[254]</a></span>circle. Then said the wizard, "I have done my +all." He bowed his head. "Well, I know one glance of thine eyes will +kill me. I bid life farewell."</p> + +<p>"Nay, look up," said the Baal Shem; "had I wished to kill thee, thou +wouldst long ago have been but a handful of ashes spread over this +field. But I wish to show thee that there is a God above us. Come, +lift up thine eyes to Heaven."</p> + +<p>The wizard raised his eyes towards the celestial circle, in which the +first stars were beginning to twinkle. Then two thorns came and took +out his eyes. Till his death was he blind; but he saw that there was a +God in Heaven.</p> + +<br /> +<h4>V</h4> + +<p>Of Rabbi Baer I heard on my way nothing but eulogies, and his miracles +were second only to those of his Master. He was a great man in Israel, +a scholar profound as few. Even the enemies of the Chassidim—and they +were many and envenomed—admitted his learning, and complained that +his defection to the sect had greatly strengthened and drawn grave +disciples to this ignorant movement. For, according to them, the Baal +Shem was as unlettered as he gave himself out to be, nor did they +credit the story of his followers that all his apparent ignorance was +due to his celestial oath not to reveal himself till his thirty-sixth +year. As for the followers, they were esteemed simply a set of lewd, +dancing fanatics; and, of a truth, a prayer-service I succeeded in +witnessing in one town considerably chilled my hopes. For the +worshippers shouted, beat their breasts, struck their heads against +the wall, tugged at their ear-curls, leaped aloft with wild yells and +even foamed at the mouth, nor could I see any sublime idea behind +these <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255">[255]</a></span>maniacal manifestations. They had their own special Zaddik +(Saint) here, whom they vaunted as even greater than Baer.</p> + +<p>"He talks with angels," one told me.</p> + +<p>"How know you that?" I said sceptically.</p> + +<p>"He himself admits it."</p> + +<p>"But suppose he lies!"</p> + +<p>"What! A man who talks with angels be capable of a lie!"</p> + +<p>I did not pause to point out to him that this reasoning violated even +Talmudical logic, for I feared if I received the doctrine from such +mouths I should lose all my enthusiasm ere reaching the fountain-head, +and hereafter in my journeyings I avoided hunting out the members of +the sect, even as I strove to dismiss from my mind the malicious +inuendoes and denunciations of their opponents, who said it was not +without reason this sect had arisen in a country where only the eldest +son in a Jewish family was allowed by the State to marry. I would keep +my mind clear and free from prepossessions on either side. And thus at +last, after many weary days and adventures which it boots not to +recall here, such as the proposals of marriage made to me by some of +my hosts—and they householders in Israel, albeit unillumined—I +arrived at the goal of the first stage of my journey, the village of +Mizricz.</p> + +<p>I scarcely stayed to refresh myself after my journey, but hastened +immediately to Rabbi Baer's house, which rose regal and lofty on a +wooded eminence overlooking the river as it foamed through the +mountain gullies on its way to the Dnieper. I crossed the broad +pine-bridge without a second glance at the rushing water, but to my +acute disappointment when I reached the great house I was not +admitted. I was told that the Saint could not be seen of mortal eye +till the Sabbath, being, I gathered, in a mystic transport. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256">[256]</a></span>It was +then Wednesday. Mine was not the only disappointment, for the door was +besieged by a curious rabble of pilgrims of both sexes, some come from +very far, some on foot and in rags, some in well-appointed equipages. +One of the latter—a beautiful, richly dressed woman—by no means took +her exclusion with good grace, bidding her coachman knock again and +again at the door, and endeavoring to bribe the door-keeper with +grocery, wine, and finally gold; but all in vain. I entered into +conversation with members of the crowd, and discovered that some came +for cures, and some for charms, and some for divine interpositions in +their worldly affairs. One man, I found, desired that the price of +wheat might go up, and another that it might fall. Another desired a +husband for his elderly daughter, already nineteen. And an old couple +were in great distress at the robbery of their jewels, and were sure +the Saint would discover the thief and recover the booty. I found but +one, who, like me, came from a consuming desire to hear new doctrine +for the soul. And so I was to have the advantage of them, I learnt, +not without chuckling; for whereas I should receive my wish on the +Sabbath, being invited to attend "the Supper of the Holy Queen," these +worldly matters could not be attended to till the Sunday. I whiled +away the intervening days as patiently as I could, exploring the +beautiful environs beyond the Saint's house, further than which nobody +ever seemed to penetrate; and, indeed, it was but seldom that I had +heard of a Jew's making the blessing over lofty mountains or beautiful +trees. Perhaps because our country was for the most part only a great +swamp. But often had I occasion in these walks to say, "Blessed art +thou, O Lord our God, who hast such things in Thy world." I scarcely +ever saw a human creature, which somehow comforted and uplifted me. +Only once were my meditations interrupted, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257">[257]</a></span>and that by a shout which +startled me, and just enabled me to get out of the way of an elegant, +glittering carriage drawn by two white horses, in which a +stout-looking man lolled luxuriously, smoking a hookah. My prayerful +mood was broken, and I fell upon worldly thoughts of riches and ease.</p> + +<p>On Friday night I ate with an elder of the Chassidim, who heard of my +interest in his order, but whom I could not get to understand that I +was come to examine, not to accept unquestioningly. I plied him with +questions as to the ideas of his sect, but he for his part could make +nothing clear to me except the doctrine of self-annihilation in +prayer, by which the devout worshipper was absorbed into the Godhead; +a doctrine from which flowed naturally the abrogation of stated hours +of prayer, since the mood of absorption could not be had at command. +Sometimes, indeed, silence was the better prayer, and this was the +true explanation of the Talmudical saying: "If speech is worth one +piece of silver, silence is worth two." And this, likewise, was the +meaning of the verse in 2 Kings ch. iii. v. 15: "When the minstrel +played, the spirit of God came upon him." That is to say, when the +minstrel became an instrument and uttered music, it was because the +spirit of God played upon him. So long as a man is self-active, he +cannot receive the Holy Ghost.</p> + +<p>The text in Kings seemed to me rather wrenched from its context in the +fashion already nauseous to me in the orthodox schools, but as I had +never in my life had such moments of grace as in my mountain-walks, I +expressed so hearty an acquiescence in the doctrine itself—shocking +to the orthodox mind trained in elaborate codification of the +time-limits of the dawn-prayer or the westering-service—that mine +host was more persuaded than ever I meant to become a Chassid.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258">[258]</a></span>"There is no rite," said he reassuringly. "That you desire Perfection +suffices to ensure your reception into our order. At the Supper of the +Holy Queen you will not be asked as to your past life, or your sins, +because your heart is to the Saint as an open scroll, as you will +discover when you have the bliss to see him face to face, for though +he will address all the pilgrims in a body, yet you will find +particular references designed only for you."</p> + +<p>"But he has never heard of me before!"</p> + +<p>"These things would be hard for one who preaches to his own glory. But +he who lets the spirit play upon him is wiser than all the preachers."</p> + +<p>With beating heart I entered the Saint's house on the long-expected +Sabbath. I was ushered, with many other men, into a dining-room, +richly carpeted and tapestried, with a large oak table, laid for about +a score. A liveried attendant, treading with hushed footsteps, +imparted to us his own awe, and, scarcely daring to whisper, we +awaited the great man. At last he appeared, tall and majestic, in a +flowing caftan of white satin, cut so as to reveal his bare breast. +His shoes were white, and even the snuff-box he toyed with was equally +of the color of grace. As I caught my first glimpse of his face, I +felt it was strangely familiar, but where or when I had seen it I +could not recall, and the thought of this haunted the back of my mind +throughout.</p> + +<p>"Peace be to you," he said to each in turn. We breathed back +respectful response, and took our seats at the table. The same solemn +silence reigned during the meal, which was wound up by <i>Kuggol</i> +(Sabbath-pudding). By this time the room was full of new-comers, who +had gradually dropped in for the levée, and who swarmed about the +table, anxious for the merest crumb of the pudding. And great was the +bliss on the faces of those who succeeded in snatching a morsel, as +though it secured them Paradise.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259">[259]</a></span>When this unseemly scramble was over, the Saint—who, leaning his brow +on his hands, had appeared not to notice these proceedings—struck up +a solemn hymn-tune. Then he put his hands over his eyes, as if lost in +an ecstasy; after which he suddenly began to call out our names, +coupled with the places we came from, astonishing us all in turn. Each +guest, when thus cried, responded with a verse from the Scriptures. +When it came to my turn, I was so taken aback by the Saint's knowledge +of me that I could not think of a verse. But at last, blushing and +confused, I fell back upon my name-verse, which began with my initial +to help me to remember my name (for so I had been taught) when the +angel should demand it of me in my tomb. To my astonishment the Saint +then began to deliver a discourse upon all these texts, so ingeniously +dovetailed that one would have sworn no better texts could have been +selected. "Verily have they spoken the truth of this man's learning," +I thought, with a glow. Nor did this marvellous oration fail to evince +that surprising knowledge of my past—even down to my dead wife—which +mine host had predicted. I left this wonder-worker's house exalted and +edified, though all I remember now of the discourse was the novel +interpretation of the passage in the Mishna: "Let the honor of thy +neighbor be as dear to thee as thine own."</p> + +<p>"Thine own," said Baer, "means the honor thou doest to thyself; to +take pleasure in the which were ridiculous. As little pleasure should +the wise man take in his neighbor's honor—that is, in the honor which +his neighbor doeth him." This seemed rather inconsistent with his own +pomp, and I only appreciated the sentiment months later.</p> + +<p>After this discourse was quite over, a member of the sect arrived. +"Why so late?" he was asked.</p> + +<p>"My wife was confined," he said shamefacedly. Facetiously uproarious +congratulations greeted him.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260">[260]</a></span>"Boy or girl?" cried many voices.</p> + +<p>"Girl," he said more shamefacedly.</p> + +<p>"A girl!" cried the Saint, in indignant accents. "You ought to be +whipped."</p> + +<p>Immediately the company with great glee set upon the unfortunate man, +tumbled him over, and gave him an hilarious but hearty drubbing. I +looked at the Saint in astonishment. His muscles were relaxed in a +grin, and I had another flash of elusive recollection of his face. But +ere I could fix it, he stopped the horse-play.</p> + +<p>"Come, brethren," he said, "let us serve the Lord with gladness," and +he trolled forth a jocund hymn.</p> + +<p>On the next day, with mingled feelings, I again sought the Zaddik's +doorway, through which was pouring the stream of those who had waited +so long; but access to the holy man was still not easy. In the spacious +antechamber sat the Saint's scribe, at a table round which the crowd +clustered, each explaining his or her want, which the scribe scribbled +upon a scrap of paper for them to take in to the Saint. I listened to +the instructions of the clamorous applicants. "I, Rachel, daughter of +Hannah, wish to have children," ran the request of the beautiful rich +woman whose coachman had knocked so persistently; and her gratuity to +the scribe seemed to be of gold. I myself paid only a few kreutzer, and +simply desired—and was alone in desiring—"Perfection." There was +another money-receiving man at the Rabbi's door; but I followed in the +golden wake of the rich lady, and was just in time to witness the +parting gratitude of the vociferous old couple to whom the Rabbi had +restored their jewels. The Saint, with no signs of satisfaction at his +miraculous success, gravely dismissed the garrulous couple, and took +the folded paper which the beautiful woman handed him, and which he did +not even open, placing it to his forehead and turning his eyes +heavenwards.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261">[261]</a></span>"You wish to have a child," he said.</p> + +<p>The woman started. "O thou man of God!" she cried, falling at his +feet.</p> + +<p>The Saint placed his hand reassuringly upon her hair. And at this +moment something in his expression at length unsealed my eyes, and I +recognized, with a pang of pain, the man who had driven past me in that +elegant equipage, lolling luxuriously and smoking his hookah. I was so +perturbed that I fled unceremoniously from the audience-chamber. +Perfection, indeed! Here was a teacher of humility who sat throned amid +tapestries, a preacher of righteousness who, when he feigned to be +absorbed in God, was wallowing in his carriage! Yea, these Rabbis of +the Chassidim were whitewashed sepulchres; and, as the orthodox +communities did not fail of such, it seemed a waste of energy to go out +of the fold in search of more. All that I had heard against the sect on +my route swept back into my mind, and I divided its members into rogues +and dupes. And in this bitter mood a dozen little threads flew together +and knitted themselves into a web of wickedness. I told myself that the +hamlet must be full of Baer's spies, and that my host himself had +cunningly extracted from me the facts of my history; and as for the +restored jewels, I felt sure his own men had stolen them. I slung my +knapsack across my shoulder and started for home.</p> + +<p>But I had not made many hundred yards when my mood softened. I +remembered the wonderful sermon, with its manipulation of texts Rabbi +Baer could not have foreseen, and bethought myself that he was indeed +a Prince in Israel, and that King David and Solomon the Wise had not +failed to live in due magnificence. "And after all," mused I, "'tis +innocent enough to drive by the river-side. Who knows but even thus is +his absorption in God accomplished? <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262">[262]</a></span>Do not they who smoke this +tobacco aver that it soothes and purifies the soul?"</p> + +<p>Besides, who but a fool, I reflected further, would slink back to his +starting-point, his goal unvisited? I had seen the glory of the +disciple, let me gaze upon the glory of the Master, and upon the +purple splendors of his court.</p> + +<p>And so I struck out again for Miedziboz, though by a side-path, so as +to avoid the village of Baer.</p> + +<br /> +<h4>VI</h4> + +<p>It was April ere I began to draw near my destination. The roads were +still muddy and marshy; but in that happy interval between the winter +gray and the summer haze the breath of spring made the world +beautiful. The Stri river sparkled, even the ruined castles looked +gay, while the pleasure-grounds of the lords of the soil filled the +air with sweet scents. One day, as I was approaching a village up a +somewhat steep road, a little gray-haired man driving a wagon holding +some sacks of flour passed me, whistling cheerfully. We gave each +other the "Peace" salutation, knowing ourselves brother Jews, if only +by our furred caps and ear-curls. Presently, in pity of his beast, I +saw him jump down and put his shoulder to the wheel; but he had not +made fifty paces when his horse slipped and fell. I hastened up to +help him extricate the animal; and before we had succeeded in setting +the horse on his four feet again, the driver's cheeriness under +difficulties had made me feel quite friendly towards him.</p> + +<p>"Satan is evidently bent upon disturbing my Passover," Said he, "for +this is the second time that I have tried to get my Passover flour +home. My good wife told me that we had nothing to eat for the +festival, so I felt I must give <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263">[263]</a></span>myself a counsel. Out I went with my +slaughtering-knife into the villages on the north—no, don't be +alarmed, not to kill the inhabitants, but to slaughter their Passover +poultry."</p> + +<p>"You are a <i>Shochet</i> (licensed killer)," said I.</p> + +<p>"Yes," said he; "among other things. It would be an intolerable +profession," he added reflectively, "were it not for the thought that +since the poor birds have to be killed, they are better off in my +hands. However, as I was saying, I killed enough poultry to buy +Passover flour; but before I got it home the devil sent such a deluge +that it was all spoilt. I took my knife again and went out into the +southern villages, and now, here am I in another quandary. I only hope +I sha'nt have to kill my horse too."</p> + +<p>"No, I don't think he is damaged," said I, as the event proved.</p> + +<p>When I had helped this good-natured little man and his horse to the +top of the hill, he invited me to jump into the cart if my way lay in +his direction.</p> + +<p>"I am in search of the Baal Shem," I explained.</p> + +<p>"Indeed," said he; "he is easily to be found."</p> + +<p>"What, do you know the Baal Shem?" I cried excitedly.</p> + +<p>He seemed amused at my agitation. His black eyes twinkled. "Why, +everybody in these parts knows the Baal Shem," said he.</p> + +<p>"How shall I find him, then?" I asked.</p> + +<p>He shrugged his shoulders. "You have but to step up into my cart."</p> + +<p>"May your strength increase!" I cried gratefully; "you are going in +his direction?"</p> + +<p>He nodded his head.</p> + +<p>I climbed up the wheel and plumped myself down between two +flour-sacks. "Is it far?" I asked.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264">[264]</a></span>He smiled. "Nay, if it was far I should scarcely have asked you up."</p> + +<p>Then we both fell silent. For my part, despite the jolting of the +vehicle, the lift was grateful to my spent limbs, and the blue sky and +the rustling leaves and the near prospect of at last seeing the Baal +Shem contributed to lull me into a pleasant languor. But my torpor was +not so deep as that into which my new friend appeared to fall, for +though as we approached a village another vehicle dashed towards us, +my shouts and the other driver's cries only roused him in time to +escape losing a wheel.</p> + +<p>"You must have been thinking of a knotty point of Torah (Holy Law)," +said I.</p> + +<p>"Knotty point," said he, shuddering; "it is Satan who ties those +knots."</p> + +<p>"Oho," said I, "though a <i>Shochet</i>, you do not seem fond of rabbinical +learning."</p> + +<p>"Where there is much study," he replied tersely, "there is little +piety."</p> + +<p>At this moment, appositely enough, we passed by the village +Beth-Hamidrash, whence loud sounds of "pilpulistic" (wire-drawn) +argument issued. The driver clapped his palms over his ears.</p> + +<p>"It is such disputants," he cried with a grimace, "who delay the +redemption of Israel from exile."</p> + +<p>"How so?" said I.</p> + +<p>"Satan induces these Rabbis," said he, "to study only those portions +of our holy literature on which they can whet their ingenuity. But +from all writings which would promote piety and fear of God he keeps +them away."</p> + +<p>I was delighted and astonished to hear the <i>Shochet</i> thus deliver +himself, but before I could express my acquiescence, his attention was +diverted by a pretty maiden who came along driving a cow.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265">[265]</a></span>"What a glorious creature!" said he, while his eyes shone.</p> + +<p>"Which?" said I laughingly. "The cow?"</p> + +<p>"Both," he retorted, looking back lingeringly.</p> + +<p>"I understand now what you mean by pious literature," I said +mischievously: "the Song of Solomon."</p> + +<p>He turned on me with strange earnestness, as if not perceiving my +irony. "Ay, indeed," he cried; "but when the Rabbis do read it, they +turn it into a bloodless allegory, Jewish demons as they are! What is +the beauty of yonder maiden but an emanation from the divine? The more +beautiful the body, the more shiningly it leads us to the thought of +God."</p> + +<p>I was much impressed with this odd fellow, whom I perceived to be an +original.</p> + +<p>"But that's very dangerous doctrine," said I; "by parity of reasoning +you would make the lust of the flesh divine."</p> + +<p>"Everything is divine," said he.</p> + +<p>"Then feasting would be as good for the soul as fasting."</p> + +<p>"Better," said the driver curtly.</p> + +<p>I was disconcerted to find such Epicurean doctrines in a district +where, but for my experience of Baer, I should have expected to see +the ascetic influence of the Baal Shem predominant. "Then you're not a +follower of the Baal Shem?" said I tentatively.</p> + +<p>"No, indeed," said he, laughing.</p> + +<p>He had got me into such sympathy with him—for there was a curious +attraction about the man—that I felt somehow that, even if the Baal +Shem <i>were</i> an ascetic, I should still gain nothing from him, and that +my long journey would have been made in vain, the green pastures and +the living waters being still as far off as ever from my droughty +soul.</p> + +<p>We had now passed out of the village and into a thick <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_266" id="Page_266">[266]</a></span>pine-wood with +a path scarcely broad enough for the cart. Of a sudden the silence +into which we again fell was broken by piercing screams for "Help" +coming from a copse on the right. Instantly the driver checked the +horse, jumped to the ground, and drew a long knife from his girdle.</p> + +<p>"'Tis useful to be a <i>Shochet</i>." he said grimly, as he darted among +the bushes.</p> + +<p>I followed in his footsteps and a strange sight burst upon us. A +beautiful woman was struggling with two saturnine-visaged men dressed +as Rabbis in silken hose and mantles. One held her arms pinned to her +sides, while the other was about to plunge a dagger into her heart.</p> + +<p>"Hold!" cried the <i>Shochet</i>.</p> + +<p>The would-be assassin fell back, a startled look on his narrow +fanatical face.</p> + +<p>"Let the woman go!" said the driver sternly.</p> + +<p>In evident consternation the other obeyed. The woman fell forward, +half-fainting, and the driver caught her.</p> + +<p>"Be not afraid," he said. "And you, murderers, down at my feet and +thank me that I have saved you your portion in the World-To-Come."</p> + +<p>"Nay, you have lost it to us," said the one with the dagger. "For it +was the vengeance of Heaven we were about to execute. Know that this +is our sister, whom we have discovered to be a wanton creature, that +must bring shame upon our learned house and into our God-fearing town. +Whereupon we and her husband held a secret Beth-Din, and resolved, +according to the spirit of our ancient Law, that this plague-spot must +be cleansed out from Israel for the glory of the Name."</p> + +<p>"The glory of the Name!" repeated the driver, and his eyes flamed. +"What know you of the glory of the Name?"</p> + +<p>Both brothers winced before the passion of his words. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267">[267]</a></span>They looked at +each other strangely and uneasily, but answered nothing.</p> + +<p>"How dare you call any Jewess a plague-spot?" went on the driver. "Is +any sin great enough to separate us irredeemably from God, who is in +all things? Pray for your sister if you will, but do not dare to sit +in judgment upon a fellow-creature!"</p> + +<p>The woman burst into loud sobs and fell at his feet.</p> + +<p>"They are right! they are right!" she cried. "I am a wicked creature. +It were better to let me perish."</p> + +<p>The driver raised her tenderly. "Nay, in that instant you repented," +he said, "and one instant's repentance wins back God. Henceforward you +shall live without sin."</p> + +<p>"What! you would restore her to Brody?" cried the elder brother—"to +bring the wrath of Heaven upon so godly a town. Be you who you may, +saint or devil, that is beyond your power. Her husband assuredly will +not take her back. With her family she cannot live."</p> + +<p>"Then she shall live with mine," said the <i>Shochet</i>. "My daughter +dwells in Brody. I will take her to her. Go your ways."</p> + +<p>They stood disconcerted. Presently the younger said: "How know we +are not leaving her to greater shame?"</p> + +<p>The old man's face grew terrible.</p> + +<p>"Go your ways," he repeated.</p> + +<p>They slunk off, and I watched them get into a two-horsed carriage, +which I now perceived on the other side of the copse. I ran forward to +give an arm to the woman, who was again half-fainting.</p> + +<p>"Said I not," said the old man musingly, "that even the worst sinners +are better than these Rabbis? So blind are they in the arrogance of +their self-conceit, so darkened by their pride, that their very +devotion to the Law becomes a vehicle for their sin."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_268" id="Page_268">[268]</a></span>We helped the woman gently into the cart. I climbed in, but the old +man began to walk with the horse, holding its bridle, and reversing +its direction.</p> + +<p>"Aren't you jumping up?" I asked.</p> + +<p>"We are going up now, instead of down," he said, smiling. "Brody sits +high, in the seat of the scornful."</p> + +<p>A pang of shame traversed my breast. What! I was riding and this fine +old fellow was walking! But ere I could offer to get down, a new +thought increased my confusion. I, who was bent on finding the Baal +Shem, was now off on a side-adventure to Brody. And yet I was loath to +part so soon with my new friend. And besides, I told myself, Brody was +well worth a visit. The reputation of its Talmudical schools was +spread over the kingdom, and although I shared the old man's +repugnance to them my curiosity was alert. And even on the Baal Shem's +account I ought to go there. For I remembered now that his early life +had had many associations with the town, and that it was his wife's +birthplace. So I said, "How far is Brody?"</p> + +<p>"Ten miles," he said.</p> + +<p>"Ten miles!" I repeated in horror.</p> + +<p>"Ten miles," he said musingly, "and ten years since I set foot in +Brody."</p> + +<p>I jumped down. "'Tis I must walk, not you," I said.</p> + +<p>"Nay," said he good-humoredly. "I perceive neither of us can walk. +Those sacks must play Jonah. Out with them."</p> + +<p>"No," I said.</p> + +<p>"Yes," he insisted, laughing. "Did I not say Satan was determined to +spoil my Passover? The third time I shall have better luck perhaps."</p> + +<p>I protested against thus causing him so much loss, and offered to go +and find the Baal Shem alone, but he rolled <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_269" id="Page_269">[269]</a></span>out the flour-bags, +laughing, leaving one for the woman to lie against.</p> + +<p>"But your wife will be expecting them," I remarked, as the cart +proceeded with both of us in our seats.</p> + +<p>"She will be expecting me, too," he said, smiling ruefully. "However, +she has faith in God. Never yet have we lacked food. Surely He who +feedeth the ravens—" He broke off with a sudden thought, leapt down, +and ran back.</p> + +<p>"What is it?" I said.</p> + +<p>I saw him draw out his knife again and slit open the sacks. "The birds +shall keep Passover," he called out merrily.</p> + +<p>The woman was still sobbing as he climbed to his place, but he +comforted her with his genial and heterodox philosophy.</p> + +<p>"'Tis a device of Satan," he said, "to drive us to despondency, so as +to choke out the God-spark in us. Your sin is great, but your Father +in Heaven awaits you, and will rejoice as a King rejoices over a +princess redeemed from captivity. Every soul is a whole Bible in +itself. Yours contains Sarah and Ruth as well as Jezebel and Michal. +Hitherto you have developed the Jezebel in you; strive now to develop +the Sarah." With such bold consolations he soothed her, till the +monotonous movement of the cart sent her into a blessed sleep. Then he +took out a pipe and, begging permission of me, lighted it. As the +smoke curled up his face became ecstatic.</p> + +<p>"I think," he observed musingly, "that God is more pleased with this +incense of mine than with all the prayers of all the Rabbis."</p> + +<p>This shocked even me, fascinated though I was. Never had I met such a +man in all Israel. I shook my head in half-serious reproof. "You are a +sinner," I said.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_270" id="Page_270">[270]</a></span>"Nay, is not smoking pleasurable? To enjoy aright aught in God's +creation is to praise God. Even so, is not to pray the greatest of all +pleasures?"</p> + +<p>"To pray?" I repeated wonderingly. "Nay, methinks it is a heavy burden +to get through our volumes of prayer."</p> + +<p>"A burden!" cried the old man. "A burden to enter into relation with +God, to be reabsorbed into the divine unity. Nay, 'tis a bliss as of +bridegroom with bride. Whoso does not feel this joy of union—this +divine kiss—has not prayed."</p> + +<p>"Then have I never prayed," I said.</p> + +<p>"Then 'tis you that are the sinner," he retorted, laughing.</p> + +<p>His words struck me into a meditative silence. It was towards twilight +when our oddly-encountered trio approached the great Talmudical +centre. To my surprise a vast crowd seemed to be waiting at the gates.</p> + +<p>"It is for me," said the woman hysterically, for she had now awakened. +"My brothers have told the elders. They will kill you. O save +yourself."</p> + +<p>"Peace, peace," said the old man, puffing his pipe.</p> + +<p>As we came near we heard the people shouting, and nearer still made +out the sounds. Was it? Yes, I could not be mistaken. "The Baal Shem! +The Baal Shem!"</p> + +<p>My heart beat violently. What a stroke of luck was this! "The Baal +Shem is there!" I cried exultantly.</p> + +<p>The woman grew worse. "The Baal Shem!" she shrieked. "He is a holy +man. He will slay us with a glance."</p> + +<p>"Peace, my beautiful creature," said the driver. "You are more likely +to slay him with a glance."</p> + +<p>This time his levity grated on me. I peered eagerly towards the gates, +striving to make out the figure of the mighty Saint!</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_271" id="Page_271">[271]</a></span>The dense mob swayed tumultuously. Some of the people ran towards our +cart. Our horse had to come to a stand-still. In a trice a dozen hands +had unharnessed him, there was an instant of terrible confusion in +which I felt that violence was indeed meditated, then I found our cart +being drawn forward as in triumph by contesting hands, while in my +ears thundered from a thousand throats, "The Baal Shem! The Baal +Shem!" Suddenly I looked with an incredible suspicion at the old man, +smoking imperturbably at my side.</p> + +<p>"'Tis indeed a change for Brody," he said, with a laugh that was half +a sob.</p> + +<p>A faintness blotted out the whole strange scene—the town-gates, the +eager faces, the gesticulating figures, the houses, the frightened +woman at my side.</p> + +<p>It was the greatest surprise of my life.</p> + +<br /> +<h4>VII</h4> + +<p>A chaos of images clashed in my mind. I saw the mystic figure of the +mighty Master of the Name standing in the cemetery judging betwixt the +souls of the dead; I saw him in the upper world amid the angels; I saw +him serene in the centre of his magic circle, annihilating with his +glance the flaming hordes of demon boars; and even as the creatures +shattered themselves into nothingness against the circle, so must +these sublime visions vanish before this genial old man. And yet my +disillusion was not all empty. There were still the cheers to exalt +me, there was still my strange companion, to whose ideas I had already +vibrated, and whose face was now transfigured to my imagination, +gaining much of what the visionary figure had lost. And, amid all the +tumult of the moment, there <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_272" id="Page_272">[272]</a></span>sang in my breast the divine assurance +that here at last were the living waters, here the green pastures. +"Master," I cried frantically, as I seized his hand and kissed it.</p> + +<p>"My son," he said tenderly. "Those murderers have evidently informed +the townspeople of my coming."</p> + +<p>"It is well," said I, "I rejoice to witness your triumph over a town +so rabbi-ridden."</p> + +<p>"Nay, speak not of <i>my</i> triumph," reproved the Master. "Thank God for +the change in <i>them</i>, if change there be. It should be indifferent to +man whether he be praised or blamed, loved or hated, reputed to be the +wisest of mankind or the greatest of fools."</p> + +<p>"They wish you to address them, Master," I cried, as the cheers +continued. He smiled.</p> + +<p>"Doubtless—a sermon full of hair-splitting exegesis and devil's webs. +I pray you descend and see that my horse be not stolen."</p> + +<p>I sprang down with alacrity to obey this his first wish, and, +scrambling on the animal, had again a view of the sea of faces, all +turned towards the Baal Shem. From the excited talk of the crowd, I +gathered that the Baal Shem had just performed one of his greatest +miracles. Two brothers had been journeying with their sister in the +woods, and had been attacked by robbers. They had been on the point of +death when the Baal Shem miraculously appeared, and by merely +mentioning the Name, had caused the robbers to sink into the earth +like Korah. The sister being too terrified to return with her +brothers, the Baal Shem undertook to bring her to Brody himself in his +own celestial chariot, which, to those not initiated into the higher +mysteries, appeared like an ordinary cart.</p> + +<p>Meantime the Master had refilled his pipe. "Is that my old friend +David," he cried, addressing one with a cobbler's apron; "and how is +business?"</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_273" id="Page_273">[273]</a></span>The cobbler, abashed by this unexpected honor, flushed and stammered: +"God is good."</p> + +<p>"A sorry answer, David; God would be as good if he sent you a-begging. +Ha, ha!" he went on cheerily, "I see Joseph the innkeeper has waxed +more like a barrel than ever. Peace be to you, Joseph! Have you learnt +to read yet? No! Then you are still the wisest man in the town."</p> + +<p>By this time some of the Rabbis and magnates in the forefront of the +crowd had begun to look sullen at being ignored, but even more +pointedly than he ignored these pillars of the commonweal, did the +Baal Shem ignore his public reception, continuing to exchange +greetings with humble old acquaintances, and finally begging the men +between the shafts either to give place again to his horse or to draw +him to his daughter's house, whither he had undertaken to convey the +woman they saw (who all this time had sat as one in a dream). But on +the cries for a sermon persisting, he said:</p> + +<p>"Friends, I cannot preach to you, more than my horse yonder. +Everything preaches. Call nothing common or profane; by God's presence +all things are holy. See there are the first stars. Is it not a +glorious world? Enjoy it; only fools and Rabbis speak of the world as +vanity or emptiness. But just as a lover sees even in the jewels of +his beloved only her own beauty, so in stars and waters must we see +only God." He fell a-puffing again at his pipe, but the expectant +crowd would not yet divide for his passage. "Ye fools," he said +roughly, "you would make me as you have made the Law and the world, a +place for stopping at, when all things are but on the way to God. +There was once a King," he went on, "who built himself a glorious +palace. The King was throned in the centre of what seemed a maze of +winding corridors. In the entrance—halls was <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_274" id="Page_274">[274]</a></span>heaped much gold and +silver, and here the folk were content to stay, taking their fill of +pleasure. At last the vizier had compassion upon them and called out +to them: 'All these treasures and all these walls and corridors do not +in truth exist at all. They are magical illusions. Push forward +bravely and you shall find the King.'"</p> + +<p>But as the crowd still raged about disappointed, pleading for a +miracle, the Baal Shem whistled, and his horse flew towards him so +suddenly that I nearly fell off, and the crowd had to separate in +haste. A paralytic cripple dropped his crutch in a flurry and fell +a-running, quite cured.</p> + +<p>"A miracle! a miracle!" cried a hundred voices. "God be praised!"</p> + +<p>The shout was taken up all down the street, and eager spectators +surrounded the joyous cripple, interrogating him and feeling his +limbs.</p> + +<p>"You see, you see!" I heard them say to each other. "There is +witchcraft even in his horse!"</p> + +<p>As the animal came towards the shafts the human drawers scattered +hastily. I hitched the wagon to and we drove through the throng that +begged the Baal Shem's blessing. But he only waved them off smilingly.</p> + +<p>"Bless one another by your deeds," he cried from time to time. "Then +Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob will bless you." And so we came to the +Ring-Place, and through it, into the structure we sought—a tall +two-storied stone building.</p> + +<p>When we arrived at his daughter's house we found that she rented only +an apartment, so that none of us but the woman could be lodged, though +we were entertained with food and wine. After supper, when the iron +shutters were closed, the Baal Shem's daughter—a beautiful black-eyed +girl—danced with such fire and fervor that her crimson head-cloth +nearly dropped off, and I, being now in a <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_275" id="Page_275">[275]</a></span>cheerful mood, fell to +envying her husband, who for his part conversed blithely with the +rescued woman. In the middle of the gaiety the Baal Sham retired to a +corner, observing he wished to say his <i>Mincha</i> prayer, and bidding us +continue our merriment and not regard him.</p> + +<p>"<i>Mincha!</i>" I ejaculated unthinkingly, "why, it is too late."</p> + +<p>"Would you give a child regulations when he may speak to his Father?" +rebuked the Baal Shem.</p> + +<p>So I went on talking with his daughter, but of a sudden a smile curved +my lips at the thought of how the foolish makers of legends had +feigned his praying to be so fraught with occult operations that he +who looked at him might die. I turned and stole a glance at him.</p> + +<p>Then to my amaze, as I caught sight of his face, I realized for the +first time that he was, indeed, as men called him, the Master of +Divine Secrets. There were on his brow great spots of perspiration, +and, as if from agony, tears trickled down his cheeks, but his eyes +were upturned and glazed, and his face was as that of a dead man +without soul, only it seemed to me that the nimbus of which men spoke +was verily round his head. His form, too, which was grown rigid, +appeared strangely taller. One hand grasped the corner of the dresser. +I turned away my eyes quickly, fearing lest they should be smitten +with blindness. I know not how many minutes passed before I heard a +great sigh, and, turning, saw the Baal Shem's figure stirring and +quivering, and in another moment he was facing me with a beaming +smile. "Well, my son, do you feel inclined for bed?"</p> + +<p>His question recalled to me how much I had gone through that day, and +though I was in no hurry to leave this pleasant circle, yet I replied +his wish was law to me. Whereupon he said, to my content, that he +would tarry yet <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_276" id="Page_276">[276]</a></span>another quarter of an hour. When we set out for the +inn of Joseph where our horse and cart had preceded us, it was ten +o'clock, but there was still a crowd outside the house, many of the +great iron doors adown the street were still open, and men and women +pressed forward to kiss the hem of the Master's garment.</p> + +<p>On our walk I begged him to tell me what he had seen during his +prayers.</p> + +<p>"I made a soul-ascension," said he simply, "and saw more wonderful +things than I have seen since I came to divine knowledge. Praise to +the Unity!"</p> + +<p>"Can <i>I</i> see such things?" said I breathlessly, as all I had learnt of +Cabalah and all my futile attempts to work miracles came rushing back +to me.</p> + +<p>"No—not you."</p> + +<p>I felt chilled, but he went on: "Not you—the <i>you</i> must be +obliterated. You must be reabsorbed in the Unity."</p> + +<p>"But how?"</p> + +<p>"Concentrate your thought on God. Forget yourself."</p> + +<p>"I will try, dear Master," said I. "But tell me what you saw."</p> + +<p>"What I saw and learnt up there it is impossible to communicate by +word of mouth."</p> + +<p>But I entreated him sore, and ere we had parted for the night he +delivered himself as follows, speaking of these divine things in +Hebrew:—</p> + +<p>"I may only relate what I witnessed when I descended to the lower +Paradise. I saw there ever so many souls both of living and of dead +people, known and unknown to me, without measure and number, coming +and going from one world to the other, by means of the Pillar which is +known to those who know Grace. Great was the joy which the bodily +breath can neither narrate nor the bodily ear hear. Many very wicked +people came back in repentance, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_277" id="Page_277">[277]</a></span>and all their sins were forgiven +them, because this was a season of great Grace in Heaven. I wondered +indeed that so many were received. They all begged and entreated me to +come up with them to the higher regions, and on account of the great +rejoicing I saw amongst them I consented. Then I asked for my heavenly +teacher to go with me because the danger of ascending such upper +worlds is great, where I have never been since I exist. I thus +ascended from grade to grade till I came into the Temple of the +Messiah, in which the Messiah teaches Torah with all the Tanaim and +the Zaddikim and the Seven Shepherds; and there I saw a great +rejoicing. I did not know what this rejoicing meant. I thought at +first that this rejoicing might perhaps be on account of my speedy +death. But they made known to me that I shall not die yet, because +there is great rejoicing in Heaven when I make celestial unions below +by their holy teaching. But what the rejoicing meant, I still did not +know. I asked, 'When will the Master come?' I was answered: 'When thy +teaching shall be known and revealed to the world, and thy springs +shall spread abroad that which I have taught thee, and that which thou +hast received here, and when all men will be able to make unions and +ascensions like thee. Then all the husks of worldly evil will +disappear, and it will be a time of Grace and Salvation.' I wondered +very much, and I felt great sorrow because the time was to be so long +delayed. Because when can this be? But in this my last ascent three +words that be mighty charms and three heavenly names I learnt. They +are easy to learn and to explain. This cooled my mind. I believe that +through them people of my genius will reach soon my degree, but I have +no permission to reveal them. I have been praying at least for +permission to teach them to you, but I must keep to my oath. But this +I make known to you, and God will <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_278" id="Page_278">[278]</a></span>help you. Let your ways be directed +towards God, let them not turn away from Him. When you pray and study, +in every word and utterance of your lips direct your mind to +unification, because in every letter there are worlds and souls and +Deity. The letters unify and become a word, and afterwards unify in +the Deity, wherefore try to have your soul absorbed in them, so that +all universes become unified, which causes an infinite joy and +exaltation. If you understand the joy of bride and bridegroom a little +and in a material way, how much more ecstatic is the unification of +this celestial sort! O the wondrous day when Evil shall at last be +worked out of the universe, and God be at one with His creation. May +He be your help!"</p> + +<p>I sat a while in dazed wonder.</p> + +<p>"Dear Master," said I at last, "you to whom are unveiled the secrets +of all the universes, cannot you read <i>my</i> future?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," he said. I looked at him breathlessly. "You will always be +faithful to me," he said slowly.</p> + +<p>My eyes filled with tears. I kissed his hand.</p> + +<p>"And you will marry my daughter."</p> + +<p>My heart beat: "Which?"</p> + +<p>"She whom you have just seen."</p> + +<p>"But she is married," I said, as the blood swirled deliciously in my +veins.</p> + +<p>"Her husband will give her a bill of divorcement."</p> + +<p>"And what will become of him?"</p> + +<p>"He will marry the woman we have saved. And she, too, will win many +souls."</p> + +<p>"But how know you?" I whispered, half incredulous.</p> + +<p>"So it is borne in upon me," said the Baal Shem, smiling.</p> + +<p>And so indeed after many days it came to pass. And so ended this first +strange day with the beloved Master, whose light shines through the +worlds.</p> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_279" id="Page_279">[279]</a></span><br /> +<h4>VIII</h4> + +<p>It is now many years since I first saw the Baal Shem, and as many +since I laid him in his grave, yet every word he spake to me is +treasured up in my heart as gold, yea, as fine gold. But the hand of +age is heavy upon me, and lest I may not live to complete even this +briefer story, I shall set down here but the rough impression of his +doctrine left in my mind, hoping to devote a separate volume to these +conversations with my divine Master. And this is the more necessary, +as I said, since every day the delusions and impostures of those who +use his name multiply and grow ranker. Even in his own day, the +Master's doctrine was already, as you will have seen, sufficiently +distorted by souls smaller than his own, and by the refraction of +distance—for how should a true image of him pass from town to town, +by forest and mountain, throughout all that vast empire? The Master's +life alone made clear to me what I had failed to gather from his +followers. Just as their delirious dancings and shrieks and spasms +were abortive attempts to produce his prayer-ecstasy, so in all things +did they but caricature him. But now that he is dead, and these +extravagances are no longer to be checked by his living example, so +monstrous are the deeds wrought and the things taught in his name, +that though the Chassidim he founded are become—despite every +persecution by the orthodox Jews, despite the scourging of their +bodies and the setting of them in the stocks, despite the +excommunication of our order and the closing of our synagogues, and +the burning of our books—a mighty sect throughout the length and the +breadth of Central Europe, yet have I little pleasure in them, little +joy in the spread of the teaching to which I devoted my life. And +sometimes—now that my <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_280" id="Page_280">[280]</a></span>Master's face no longer shines consolingly +upon me, save in dream and memory—I dare to wonder if the world is +better for his having lived. And indeed at times I find myself +sympathizing with our chief persecutor, the saintly and learned Wilna +Gaon.</p> + +<p>And first, since there are now, alas! followers of his who in their +perverted straining after simplicity of existence wander about naked +in the streets, and even attend to the wants of nature in public, let +me testify that though the Master considered the body and all its +functions holy, yet did he give no countenance to such exaggerations; +and though in his love for the sun and the water and bodily purity—to +him a celestial symbol—he often bathed in retired streams, yet was he +ever clad becomingly in public; and though he regarded not money, yet +did he, when necessary, strive to earn it by work, not lolling about +smoking and vaunting his Perfection, pretending to be meditating upon +God, while others span and toiled for him.</p> + +<p>For in his work too, my Master lived in the hourly presence of God; +and of the patriarchs and the prophets, the great men of Israel, the +Tanaim and the Amoraim, and all who had sought to bring God's Kingdom +upon earth, that God and Creation, Heaven and Earth, might be at one, +and the Messiah might come and the divine peace fall upon all the +world. And when he prayed and wept for the sins of his people, his +spirit ascended to the celestial spheres and held converse with the +holy ones, but this did not puff him up with vanity as it doth those +who profess to-day to make soul-ascensions, an experience of which I +for my own part, alas! have never yet been deemed worthy. For when he +returned to earth the Baal Shem conducted himself always like a simple +man who had never left his native hamlet, whereas these heavenly +travellers feign to despise this lower world, nay, some in their +conceit and arrogance lose their <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_281" id="Page_281">[281]</a></span>wits and give out that they have +already been translated and are no longer mortal. My Master did, +indeed, hope to be translated in his lifetime like Elijah, for he once +said to me, weeping—'twas after we returned from his wife's +funeral—"Now that my wife is dead I shall die too. Such a saint might +have carried me with her to Heaven. She followed me unquestioningly +into the woods, lived without society, summer and winter, endured pain +and labor for me, and but for her faith in me I should have achieved +naught." No man reverenced womankind more than the Master; in this, as +in so much, his life became a model to mine, and his dear daughter +profited by the lesson her father had taught me. We err grievously in +disesteeming our women: they should be our comrades not our slaves, +and our soul-ascensions—to speak figuratively—should be made in +their loving companionship.</p> + +<p>My Master believed that the breath of God vivified the universe, +renewing daily the work of creation, and that hence the world of +everyday was as inspired as the Torah, the one throwing light on the +other. The written Law must be interpreted in every age in accordance +with the ruling attribute of God—for God governs in every age by a +different attribute, sometimes by His Love, sometimes by His Power, +sometimes by His Beauty. "It is not the number of ordinances that we +obey that brings us into union with God," said the Master; "one +commandment fulfilled in and through love of Him is as effective as +all." But this did not mean that the other commandments were to be +disregarded, as some have deduced; nor that one commandment should be +made the centre of life, as has been done by others. For, though the +Zaddik, who gave his life to helping his neighbor's or his enemy's ass +lying under its burden, as enjoined in Exodus xxiii. 5, was not +unworthy of admiration—indeed he was my own disciple, and desired +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_282" id="Page_282">[282]</a></span>thus to commemorate the circumstances of my first meeting with the +Baal Shem,—yet he who made it his speciality never to tell the +smallest falsehood was led into greater sin. For when his fame was so +bruited that it reached even the Government officers, they, suspecting +the Jews of the town of smuggling, said they would withdraw the charge +if the Saint would declare his brethren innocent. Whereupon he prayed +to God to save him from his dilemma by sending him death, and lo! when +the men came to fetch him to the law-court, they found him dead. But a +true follower of the Master should have been willing to testify for +truth's sake even against his brethren, and in my humble judgment his +death was not a deliverance, but a punishment from on high.</p> + +<p>Had, moreover, the Saint practised the Humility—which my Master put as +the first of the three cardinal virtues—he would not have deemed it so +fatal to tell a lie once; for who can doubt there was in him more +spiritual pride in his own record than pure love of truth? And had he +practised the second of the three cardinal virtues—Cheerfulness—he +would have known that God can redeem a man even from the sin of lying. +And had he practised the third—Enkindlement—he would never have +narrowed himself to one commandment, and that a negative one—not to +lie. For where there is a living flame in the heart, it spreads to all +the members.</p> + +<p>"Service is its own reward, its own joy," said the Baal Shem. "No man +should bend his mind on <i>not</i> doing sin: his day should be too full of +joyous service." The Messianic Age would be, my Master taught, when +every man did what was right and just of mere natural impulse, not +even remembering that he was doing right, still less being uplifted on +that account, for no man is proud because he walks or sleeps. Then +would Righteousness be incarnate <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_283" id="Page_283">[283]</a></span>in the world, and the devil finally +defeated, and every man would be able to make celestial unions and +soul-ascensions.</p> + +<p>Many sufferings did the Baal Shem endure in the years that I was with +him. Penury and persecution were often his portion, and how his wife's +death wounded him I have already intimated. But it was the revival of +the Sabbatian heresy by Jacob Frank that caused him the severest +perturbation. This Frank, who was by turns a Turk, a Jew, and a +Catholic, played the rôle of successor of Zevi, as Messiah, ordered +his followers to address him as the Holy Lord, and, later, paraded his +beautiful daughter, Eve, as the female Godhead. Much of what my +grandfather had told me of the first Pretender was repeated, save that +as the first had made alliance with the Mohammedans, so the second +coquetted with the Christians. Hence those public disputations, +fostered by the Christians, in which the Frankists did battle with the +Talmudists, and being accredited the victors, exulted in seeing the +sacred books of the Rabbis confiscated. When a thousand copies of the +Talmud were thrown into a great pit at Kammieniec, and burned by the +hangman, the Baal Shem shed tears, and joined in the fast-day for the +burning of the Torah. For despite his detestation of the devil's +knots, he held that the Talmud represented the oral law which +expressed the continuous inspiration of the leaders of Israel, and +that to rely on the Bible alone was to worship the mummy of religion. +Nor did he grieve less over the verbal tournament of the Talmudists +and Frankists in the Cathedral of Lemberg, when the Polish nobility +and burghers bought entrance tickets at high prices. "The devil, not +God, is served by religious disputations," said the Master. And when +at last the Frankists were baptized in their thousands, and their +Messiah in pompous Turkish robes paraded the town in a chariot drawn +by six horses, and surrounded by Turkish <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_284" id="Page_284">[284]</a></span>guards, the Baal Shem was +more pleased than grieved at this ending. When these Jewish Catholics, +however, came to grief, and, on the incarceration of Frank by the +Polish Inquisition, were reduced to asking alms at church-doors, the +Baal Shem was alone in refusing to taunt them for still gazing +longingly towards "the gate of Rome," as they mystically called the +convent of Czenstochow, in which Frank lay imprisoned. And when their +enemies said they had met with their desert, the Baal Shem said: +"There is no sphere in Heaven where the soul remains a shorter time +than in the sphere of merit, there is none where it abides longer than +in the sphere of love." Much also in these troublous times did the +Baal Shem suffer from his sympathy with the sufferings of Poland, in +its fratricidal war, when the Cossacks hung up together a nobleman, a +Jew, a monk, and a dog, with the inscription: "All are equal." +Although these Cossacks, and later on the Turks, who, in the guise of +friends of Poland, turned the Southern provinces into deserts, rather +helped than hindered the cause of his followers by diverting their +persecutors, the Baal Shem palpitated with pity for all—dogs, monks, +noblemen, and Jews. But, howsoever he suffered, the serene cheerful +faith on which these were but dark shadows, never ceased altogether to +shine in his face. Even on his death-bed his three cardinal virtues +were not absent. For no man could face the Angel of Death more +cheerfully, or anticipate more glowingly the absorption into the +Divine, and as for Humility, "O Vanity! vanity!" were his dying words; +"even in this hour of death thou darest approach me with thy +temptations. 'Bethink thee, Israel, what a grand funeral procession +will be thine because thou hast been so wise and good,' O Vanity, +vanity, beshrew thee."</p> + +<p>Now although I was his son-in-law, and was with him in <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_285" id="Page_285">[285]</a></span>this last +hour, it is known of all men that not I, but Rabbi Baer, was appointed +by him to be his successor. For although my acquaintance with the Baal +Shem did not tend to increase my admiration for his chief disciple, I +never expressed my full mind on the subject to the Master, for he had +early enjoined on me that the obverse side of the virtue of Humility +is to think highly of one's fellow-man. "He who loves the Father, God, +will also love the children."</p> + +<p>But, inasmuch as he abhorred profitless learning, and all study for +study's sake that does not lead to the infinite light, I did venture +to ask him why he had allowed Baer, the Scholar, to go about as his +lieutenant and found communities in his name.</p> + +<p>"Because," he said with beautiful simplicity, "I saw that I had sinned +in making ignorance synonymous with virtue. There are good men even +among the learned—men whose hearts are uncorrupted by their brains. +Baer was such a one, and since he had great repute among the learned I +saw that the learned who would not listen to a simple man would listen +to him."</p> + +<p>Now, before I say aught else on this point, let this saying of the +Master serve to rebuke his graceless followers who despise the learned +while they themselves have not even holiness, and who boast of their +ignorance as though it guaranteed illumination; but as to Rabbi Baer I +will boldly say that it would have been better for the world and the +Baal Shem's teachings had I been appointed to hand them down. For Baer +made of the Master's living impulse a code and a creed which grew +rigid and dead. And he organized his followers by external +signs—noisy praying, ablutions, white Sabbath robes, and so forth—so +that the spirit died and the symbols remained, and now of the tens of +thousands who call themselves Chassidim and pray the prayers and +perform the ceremonies and wear the robes, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_286" id="Page_286">[286]</a></span>there are not ten that +have the faintest notion of the Master's teaching. For spirit is +volatile and flies away, but symbol is solid and is handed down +religiously from generation to generation. But the greatest abuse has +come from the doctrine of the Zaddik. Perhaps the logic of Baer is +sound, that if God, as the Master taught, is in all things, then is +there so much of Him in certain chosen men that they are themselves +divine. I do not doubt that the Master himself was akin to divinity, +for though he did not profess to perform miracles, pretending that +such healing as he wrought was by virtue of his knowledge of herbs and +simples, and saying jestingly that the Angel of Healing goes with the +good physician, nor ever admitting to me that he had done battle with +demons and magicians save figuratively; yet was there in him a strange +power, which is not given to men, of soothing and redeeming by his +mere touch, so that, laid upon the brow—as I can personally +testify—his hands would cure headache and drive out ill-humors. And I +will even believe that there was of this divinity in Rabbi Baer. But +whereas the Baal Shem veiled his divinity in his manhood, Baer strove +to veil his manhood in his divinity, and to eke out his power by arts +and policies, the better to influence men and govern them, and gain of +their gold for his further operations. Yet the lesson of his history +to me is, that if Truth is not great enough to prevail alone, she +shall not prevail by aid of cunning. For finally there will come men +who will manifest the cunning without the Truth. So at least it has +been here. First the Baal Shem, the pure Zaddik, then Rabbi Baer, the +worldly Zaddik, and then a host of Zaddikim, many of them having only +the outward show of Sainthood. For since our otherwise great sect is +split up into a thousand little sects, each boasting its own +Zaddik—superior to all the others, the only true Intermediary +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_287" id="Page_287">[287]</a></span>between God and Man, the sole source of blessing and fount of +Grace—and each lodging him in a palace (to which they make +pilgrimages at the Festivals as of yore to the Temple) and paying him +tribute of gold and treasure; it is palpable that these sorry Saints +have themselves brought about these divisions for their greater glory +and profit. And I weep the more over this spoliation of my Chassidim, +because there is so much perverted goodness among them, so much +self-sacrifice for one another in distress, and such faithful +obedience to the Zaddik, who everywhere monopolizes the service and +the worship which should be given to God. Alas! that a movement which +began with such pure aspiration, which was to the souls of me and so +many other young students as the shadow of a great rock in a weary +land, that a doctrine which opened out to young Israel such spiritual +vistas and transcendent splendors of the Godhead, should end in such +delusions and distortions.</p> + +<p>Woe is me! Is it always to be thus with Israel? Are we to struggle out +of one slough only to sink into another? But these doubts dishonor the +Master. Let me be humbler in judging others, cheerfuller in looking +out upon the future, more enkindling towards the young men who are +growing up around me, and who may yet pass on the torch of the Master. +For them let me recall the many souls he touched to purer flame; let +me tell them of those who gave up posts and dignities to spread his +gospel and endured hunger and scorn. And let me not forget to mention +Rabbi Lemuel, the lover of justice, who once when his wife set out for +the Judgment House in a cause against her maidservant set out with her +too.</p> + +<p>"I need you not to speak for me," she said, in ill-humor; "I can plead +my own cause."</p> + +<p>"Nay, it is not for thee I go to speak," he answered mildly; "it is +the cause of thy servant I go to plead—she <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_288" id="Page_288">[288]</a></span>who hath none to defend +her." And, bursting into tears, he repeated the verse of Job: "If I +did despise the cause of my manservant or of my maidservant, when they +contended with me, what shall I do when God riseth up?"</p> + +<p>These and many such things, both of learned men and of simple, I hope +yet to chronicle for the youths of Israel. But above all let the +memory of the Master himself be to them a melody and a blessing: he +whose life taught me to understand that the greatest man is not he who +dwells in the purple, amid palaces and courtiers, hedged and guarded, +and magnified by illusive pomp, but he who, talking cheerfully with +his fellows in the market-place, humble as though he were +unworshipped, and poor as though he were unregarded, is divinely +enkindled, so that a light shines from him whereby men recognize the +visible presence of God.</p> + +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<a name="MAIMON_THE_FOOL_AND_NATHAN_THE_WISE" id="MAIMON_THE_FOOL_AND_NATHAN_THE_WISE"></a><hr /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_289" id="Page_289">[289]</a></span><br /> + +<h3>MAIMON THE FOOL AND NATHAN THE WISE<span class="totoc"><a href="#toc">ToC</a></span></h3> + +<br /> +<h4>I</h4> + +<p>Happy burghers of Berlin in their Sunday best trooped through the +Rosenthaler gate in the cool of the August evening for their customary +stroll in the environs: few escaped noticing the recumbent ragged +figure of a young man, with a long dirty beard, wailing and writhing +uncouthly just outside the gate: fewer inquired what ailed him.</p> + +<p>He answered in a strange mixture of jargons, blurring his meaning +hopelessly with scraps of Hebrew, of Jewish-German, of Polish, of +Russian and mis-punctuating it with choking sobs and gasps. One good +soul after another turned away helpless. The stout roll of Hebrew +manuscript the swarthy, unkempt creature clutched in his hand grew +grimier with tears. The soldiers on guard surveyed him with +professional callousness.</p> + +<p>Only the heart of the writhing wretch knew its own bitterness, only +those tear-blinded eyes saw the pitiful panorama of a penurious Jew's +struggle for Culture. For, nursed in a narrow creed, he had dreamt the +dream of Knowledge. To know—to know—was the passion that consumed +him: to understand the meaning of life and the causes of things.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_290" id="Page_290">[290]</a></span>He saw himself a child again in Poland, in days of comparative +affluence, clad in his little damask suit, shocking his father with a +question at the very first verse of the Bible, which they began to +read together when he was six years old, and which held many a box on +the ear in store for his ingenuous intellect. He remembered his early +efforts to imitate with chalk or charcoal the woodcuts of birds or +foliage happily discovered on the title-pages of dry-as-dust Hebrew +books; how he used to steal into the unoccupied, unfurnished +manor-house and copy the figures on the tapestries, standing in +midwinter, half-frozen, the paper in one hand, the pencil in the +other; and how, when these artistic enthusiasms were sternly if +admiringly checked by a father intent on siring a Rabbi, he relieved +the dreary dialectics of the Talmud—so tedious to a child +uninterested in divorce laws or the number of white hairs permissible +in a red cow—by surreptitious nocturnal perusal of a precious store +of Hebrew scientific and historical works discovered in an old +cupboard in his father's study. To this chamber, which had also served +as the bedroom in which the child slept with his grandmother, the +young man's thoughts returned with wistful bitterness, and at the +image of the innocent little figure poring over the musty volumes by +the flickering firelight in the silence of the night, the mass of rags +heaved yet more convulsively. How he had enjoyed putting on fresh wood +after his grandmother had gone to bed, and grappling with the +astronomical treatise, ignoring the grumblings of the poor old lady +who lay a-cold for want of him. Ah, the lonely little boy was, indeed, +in Heaven, treading the celestial circles—and by stealth, which made +it all the sweeter. But that armillary sphere he had so ably made for +himself out of twisted rods had undone him: his grandmother, terrified +by the child's interest in these mystic convolutions, had betrayed +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_291" id="Page_291">[291]</a></span>the magical instrument to his father. Other episodes of the long +pursuit of Knowledge—not to be impeded even by flogging pedagogues, +diverted but slightly by marriage at the age of eleven,—crossed his +mind. What ineffable rapture the first reading of Maimonides had +excited, <i>The Guide of the Perplexed</i> supplying the truly perplexed +youth with reasons for the Jewish fervor which informed him. How he +had reverenced the great mediæval thinker, regarding him as the ideal +of men, the most inspired of teachers. Had he not changed his own name +to Maimon to pattern himself after his Master, was not even now his +oath under temptation: "I swear by the reverence which I owe my great +teacher, Rabbi Moses ben Maimon, not to do this act?"</p> + +<p>But even Maimonides had not been able to allay his thirst. Maimonides +was an Aristotelian, and the youth would fain drink at the +fountain-head. He tramped a hundred and fifty miles to see an old +Hebrew book on the Peripatetic philosophy. But Hebrew was not enough; +the vast realm of Knowledge, which he divined dimly, must lie in other +languages. But to learn any other language was pollution to a Jew, to +teach a Jew any other was pollution to a Christian.</p> + +<p>In his facile comprehension of German and Latin books, he had long +since forgotten his first painful steps: now in his agony they +recurred to mock him. He had learnt these alien alphabets by observing +in some bulky Hebrew books that when the printers had used up the +letters of the Hebrew alphabet to mark their sheets, they started +other and foreign alphabets. How he had rejoiced to find that by help +of his Jewish jargon he could worry out the meaning of some torn +leaves of an old German book picked up by chance.</p> + +<p>The picture of the innkeeper's hut, in which he had once <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_292" id="Page_292">[292]</a></span>been +family-tutor, flew up irrelevantly into his mind—he saw himself +expounding a tattered Pentateuch to a half-naked brood behind the +stove, in a smoky room full of peasants sitting on the floor guzzling +whisky, or pervaded by drunken Russian soldiery hacking the bedsteads +or throwing the glasses in the faces of the innkeeper and his wife. +Poor Polish Jews, cursed by poverty and tyranny! Who could be blamed +for consoling himself with liquor in such a home? Besides, when one +was paid only five thalers, one owed it to oneself not to refuse a +dram or so. And then there came up another one-room home in which a +youth with his eyes and hair had sat all night poring over Cabalistic +books, much to the inconvenience of the newly married Rabbi, who had +consented to teach him this secret doctrine. For this had been his +Cabalistic phase, when he dreamed of conjurations and spells and the +Mastership of the Name. A sardonic smile twitched the corners of his +lips, as he remembered how the poor Rabbi and his pretty wife, after +fruitless hints, had lent him the precious tomes to be rid of his +persistent all-night sittings, and the smile lingered an instant +longer as he recalled his own futile attempts to coerce the +supernatural, either by the incantations of the Cabalists or the +prayer-ecstasy he had learnt later from the Chassidim.</p> + +<p>Yes, he had early discovered that all this Cabalistic mysticism was +only an attempt at a scientific explanation of existence, veiled in +fable and allegory. But the more reasonable he pronounced the Cabalah +to be, the more he had irritated the local Cabalists who refused to +have their "divine science" reduced to "reason." And so, +disillusioned, he had rebounded to "human study," setting off on a +pilgrimage in the depth of winter to borrow out-of-date books on +optics and physics, and making more enemies by his obtrusive knowledge +of how dew came and how <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_293" id="Page_293">[293]</a></span>lightning. It was not till—on the strength +of a volume of Anatomical tables and a Medical dictionary—he +undertook cures, that he had discovered the depths of his own +ignorance, achieving only the cure of his own conceit. And it was then +that Germany had begun to loom before his vision—a great, wonderful +country where Truth dwelt, and Judaism was freer, grander. Yes, he +would go to Germany and study medicine and escape this asphyxiating +atmosphere.</p> + +<p>His sobs, which had gradually subsided, revived at the thought of that +terrible journey. First, the passage to Königsberg, accorded him by a +pious merchant: then the voyage to Stettin, paid for by those young +Jewish students who, beginning by laughing at his ludicrous accent in +reading Herr Mendelssohn's <i>Phœdon</i>—the literary sensation of the +hour that had dumfoundered the Voltaireans—had been thunderstruck by +his instantaneous translation of it into elegant Hebrew, and had +unanimously advised him to make his way to Berlin. Ah, but what a +voyage! Contrary winds that protracted the journey to five weeks +instead of two, the only other passenger an old woman who comforted +herself by singing hymns, his own dialect and the Pomeranian German of +the crew mutually unintelligible, his bed some hard stuffed bags, +never anything warm to eat, and sea-sickness most of the time. And +then, when set down safely on shore, without a pfennig or even a sound +pocket to hold one, he had started to walk to Frankfort, oh, the +wretched feeling of hopelessness that had made him cast himself down +under a lime-tree in a passion of tears! Why had he resumed hope, why +had he struggled on his way to Berlin, since this fate awaited him, +this reception was to be meted him? To be refused admission as a rogue +and a vagabond, to be rejected of his fellow-Jews, to be hustled out +of his dream-city by the overseer of the Jewish gate-house!</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_294" id="Page_294">[294]</a></span>Woe! Woe! Was this to be the end of his long aspiration? A week ago he +had been so happy. After parting with his last possession, an iron +spoon, for a glass of sour beer, he had come to a town where his +Rabbinical diploma—to achieve that had been child's play to +him—procured him the full honors of the position, despite his rags. +The first seat in the synagogue had been given the tramp, and the +wealthy president had invited him to his Sabbath dinner and placed him +between himself and his daughter, a pretty virgin of twelve, +beautifully dressed. Through his wine-glass the future had looked +rosy, and his learned eloquence glowed responsively, but he had not +been too drunk to miss the wry faces the girl began to make, nor to be +suddenly struck dumb with shame as he realised the cause. Lying on the +straw of inn-stables in garments one has not changed for seven weeks +does not commend even a Rabbi to a dainty maiden. The spell of good +luck was broken, and since then the learned tramp had known nothing +but humiliation and hunger.</p> + +<p>The throb of elation at the sight of the gate of Berlin had been +speedily subdued by the discovery that he must bide in the poorhouse +the Jews had built there till the elders had examined him. And there +he had herded all day long with the sick and cripples and a lewd +rabble, till evening brought the elders and his doom—a point-blank +refusal to allow him to enter the city and study medicine.</p> + +<p>Why? Why? What had they against him? He asked himself the question +between his paroxysms. And suddenly, in the very midst of explaining +his hard case to a new passer-by, the answer came to him and still +further confused his explanations. Yes, it must have been that wolf in +Rabbi's clothing he had talked to that morning in the poorhouse! the +red-bearded reverend who had lent so sympathetic an ear to the tale of +his life in Poland, his journey <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_295" id="Page_295">[295]</a></span>hither; so sympathetic an eye to his +commentary on the great Maimonides' <i>Guide of the Perplexed</i>. The vile +spy, the base informer! He had told the zealots of the town of the +new-comer's heretical mode of thinking. They had shut him out, as one +shuts out the plague.</p> + +<p>So this was the free atmosphere, the grander Judaism he had yearned +for. The town which boasted of the far-famed Moses Mendelssohn, of the +paragon of wisdom and tolerance, was as petty as the Rabbi-ridden +villages whose dust he had shaken off. A fierce anger against the Jews +and this Mendelssohn shook him. This then was all he had gained by +leaving his wife and children that he might follow only after Truth!</p> + +<p>Perhaps herein lay his punishment. But no! He was not to blame for +being saddled with a family. Marriage at eleven could by no stretch of +sophism be called a voluntary act. He recalled the long, sordid, +sensational matrimonial comedy of which he had been the victim; the +keen competition of the parents of daughters for the hand of so +renowned an infant prodigy, who could talk theology as crookedly as a +graybeard. His own boyish liking for Pessel, the rich rent-farmer's +daughter, had been rudely set aside when her sister fell down a cellar +and broke her leg. Solomon must marry the damaged daughter, the +rent-farmer had insisted to the learned boy's father, who had replied +as pertinaciously, "No, I want the straight-legged sister."</p> + +<p>The poor young man writhed afresh at the thought of his father's +obstinacy. True, Rachael had a hobble in her leg, but as he had +discovered years later when a humble tutor in her family, she was an +amiable creature, and as her father had offered to make him joint heir +to his vast fortune, he would have been settled for life, wallowing in +luxury and learning. But no! his father was bent upon <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_296" id="Page_296">[296]</a></span>having Pessel, +and so he, Solomon, had been beggared by his father's fastidious +objection to a dislocated bone.</p> + +<p>Alas, how misfortune had dogged him! There was that wealthy scholar of +Schmilowitz who fell in love with his fame, and proposed for him by +letter without ever having seen him. What a lofty epistle his father +had written in reply, a pastiche of Biblical verses and Talmudical +passages, the condition of consent neatly quoted from "The Song of +Solomon," "Thou, O Solomon, must have a thousand pieces of silver, and +those that keep the fruit thereof two hundred!" A dowry of a thousand +guldens for the boy, and two hundred for the father! The terms of the +Canticles had been accepted, his father had journeyed to Schmilowitz, +seen his daughter-in-law, and drawn up the marriage-contract. The two +hundred guldens for himself had been paid him on the nail, and he had +even insisted on having four hundred.</p> + +<p>In vain, "Here is your letter," the scholar had protested, "you only +asked for two hundred."</p> + +<p>"True," he had replied; "but that was only not to spoil the beautiful +quotation."</p> + +<p>How joyously he had returned home with the four hundred guldens for +himself, the wedding-presents for his little Solomon—a cap of black +velvet trimmed with gold lace, a Bible bound in green velvet with +silver clasps, and the like.</p> + +<p>The heart-broken tramp saw the innocent boy that had once been he, +furtively strutting about in his velvet cap, rehearsing the +theological disputation he was to hold at the wedding-table, and +sniffing the cakes and preserves his mother was preparing for the +feast, what time the mail was bringing the news of the sudden death of +the bride from small-pox.</p> + +<p>At the moment he had sorrowed as little for his unseen <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_297" id="Page_297">[297]</a></span>bride as his +father, who, having made four hundred guldens by his son in an +honorable way, might now hope to make another four hundred. "The cap +and the silver-clasped Bible are already mine," the child had told +himself, "and a bride will also not be long wanting, while my +wedding-disputation can serve me again." The mother alone had been +inconsolable, cakes and preserves being of a perishable nature, +especially when there is no place to hide them from the secret attacks +of a disappointed bridegroom. Only now did poor Maimon realize how his +life had again missed ease! For he had fallen at last into the hands +of the widow of Nesvig, with a public-house in the outskirts and an +only daughter. Merely moderately prosperous but inordinately +ambitious, she had dared to dream of this famous wonder-child for her +Sarah. Refusal daunted her not, nor did she cease her campaign till, +after trying every species of trick and manœuvre and +misrepresentation, every weapon of law and illegality, she had carried +home the reluctant bridegroom. By what unscrupulous warfare she had +wrested him from his last chance of wealth, flourishing a prior +marriage-contract in the face of the rich merchant who unluckily +staying the night in her inn, had proudly shown her the document which +betrothed his daughter to the renowned Solomon! The boy's mother dying +at this juncture, the widow had not shrunk from obtaining from the +law-courts an attachment on the dead body, by which its interment was +interdicted till the termination of the suit. In vain the rich +merchant had kidnapped the bridegroom in his carriage at dead of +night, the boy was pursued and recaptured, to lead a life of constant +quarrel with his mother-in-law, and exchange flying crockery at +meal-times; to take refuge in distant tutorships, and in the course of +years, after begetting several children, to drift further and further, +and finally disappear beyond the frontier.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_298" id="Page_298">[298]</a></span>Poor Sarah! He thought of her now with softness. A likeable wench +enough, active and sensible, if with something of her mother's +pertinacity. No doubt she was still the widow's right hand in the +public-house. Ah, how handsome she had looked that day when the +drunken Prince Radziwil, in his mad freak at the inn, had set +approving eyes upon her: "Really a pretty young woman! Only she ought +to get a white chemise." A formula at which the soberer gentlemen of +his train had given her the hint to clear out of the way.</p> + +<p>Now in his despair, the baffled Pilgrim of Knowledge turned yearningly +to her image, wept weakly at the leagues that separated him from all +who cared for him. How was David growing up—his curly-haired +first-born; child of his fourteenth year? He must be nearly ten by +now, and in a few years he would be confirmed and become "A Son of the +Commandment." A wave of his own early religious fervor came over him, +bringing with it a faint flavor of festival dishes and far-away echoes +of synagogue tunes. Fool, fool, not to be content with the Truth that +contented his fathers, not to rest in the bosom of the wife God had +given him. Even his mother-in-law was suffused with softer tints +through the mist of tears. She at least appreciated him, had fought +tooth and nail for him, while these gross Berliners—! He clenched his +fists in fury: the full force of the injustice came home to him +afresh; his palms burnt, his brow was racked with shooting pains. His +mind wandered off again to Prince Radziwil and to that day in the +public-house. He saw this capricious ruler marching to visit, with all +the pomp of war, a village not four miles from his residence; first +his battalions of infantry, artillery and cavalry, then his body-guard +of volunteers from the poor nobility, then his kitchen-wagons, then +his bands of music, then his royal coach in which he snored, overcome +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_299" id="Page_299">[299]</a></span>by Hungarian wine, lastly his train of lackeys. Then he saw his Serene +Highness thrown on his mother-in-law's dirty bed, booted and spurred; +for his gentlemen, as they passed the inn, had thought it best to give +his slumbers a more comfortable posture. Here, surrounded by valets, +pages, and negroes, he had snored on all night, while the indomitable +widow cooked her meals and chopped her wood in the very room as usual. +And here, in a sooty public-house, with broken windows, and rafters +supported by undressed tree-stems, on a bed swarming with insects—the +prince had awoke, and, naught perturbed, when the thing was explained, +had bidden his menials prepare a banquet on the spot.</p> + +<p>Poor Maimon's parched mouth watered now as he thought of that mad +bacchanal banquet of choice wines and dishes, to which princes and +lords had sat down on the dirty benches of the public-house. Goblets +were drained in competition to the sound of cannon, and the judges who +awarded the prize to the Prince, were presented by him with estates +comprising hundreds of peasants. Maimon began to shout in imitation of +the cannon, in imagination he ran amuck in a synagogue, as he had seen +the prince do, smashing and wrecking everything, tearing the Holy +Scrolls from the Ark and trampling upon them. Yes, they deserved it, +the cowardly bigots. Down with the law, to hell with the Rabbis. +A-a-a-h! He would grind the phylacteries under his heel—thus. And +thus! And—</p> + +<p>The soldiers perceiving he was in a violent fever, summoned the Jewish +overseer, who carried him back into the poorhouse.</p> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_300" id="Page_300">[300]</a></span><br /> +<h4>II</h4> + +<p>Maimon awoke the next morning with a clear and lively mind, and soon +understood that he was sick. "God be thanked," he thought joyfully, +"now I shall remain here some days, during which not only shall I eat +but I may hope to prevail upon some kindly visitor to protect me. +Perhaps if I can manage to send a message to Herr Mendelssohn, he will +intercede for me. For a scholar must always have bowels of compassion +for a scholar."</p> + +<p>These roseate expectations were rudely dusked: the overseer felt +Maimon's pulse and his forehead, and handing him his commentary on the +<i>Guide of the Perplexed</i>, convoyed him politely without the gate. +Maimon made no word of protest, he was paralyzed.</p> + +<p>"What now, O Guide of the Perplexed?" he cried, stonily surveying his +hapless manuscript. "O Moses, son of Maimon, thou by whom I have sworn +so oft, canst thou help me now? See, my pockets are as empty as the +heads of thy adversaries."</p> + +<p>He turned out his pockets, and lo! several silver pieces fell out and +rolled merrily in the roadway. "A miracle!" he shouted. Then he +remembered that the elders had dismissed him with them, and that +overcome by his sentence he had put them mechanically away. Yes, he +had been treated as a mere beggar. A faint flush of shame tinged his +bristly cheek at the thought. True, he had partaken of the hospitality +of strangers, but that was the due meed of his position as Rabbi, as +the free passages to Königsberg and Stettin were tributes to his +learning. Never had he absolutely fallen to <i>schnorring</i> (begging). He +shook his fist at the city. He would fling their money in their +faces—some day. Thus swearing, he repocketed the coins, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_301" id="Page_301">[301]</a></span>took the +first turning that he met, and abandoned himself to chance. In the +mean inn in which he halted for refreshment he was glad to encounter a +fellow-Jew and one in companionable rags.</p> + +<p>Maimon made inquiries from him about the roads and whither they led, +and gathered with some surprise that his companion was a professional +<i>Schnorrer</i>.</p> + +<p>"Are not you?" asked the beggar, equally surprised.</p> + +<p>"Certainly not!" cried Maimon angrily.</p> + +<p>"What a waste of good rags!" said the <i>Schnorrer</i>.</p> + +<p>"What a waste of good muscle!" retorted Maimon; for the beggar was a +strapping fellow in rude health. "If I had your shoulders I should +hold my head higher on them."</p> + +<p>The <i>Schnorrer</i> shrugged them. "Only fools work. What has work brought +you? Rags. You begin with work and end with rags. I begin with rags +and end with meals."</p> + +<p>"But have you no self-respect?" cried Maimon, in amaze. "No morality? +No religion?"</p> + +<p>"I have as much religion as any <i>Schnorrer</i> on the road," replied the +beggar, bridling up. "I keep my Sabbath."</p> + +<p>"Yes, indeed," said Maimon, smiling, "our sages say, Rather keep thy +Sabbath as a week-day than beg; you say, Rather keep thy week-day as a +Sabbath than be dependent on thyself." To himself he thought, "That is +very witty: I must remember to tell Lapidoth that." And he called for +another glass of whisky.</p> + +<p>"Yes; but many of our sages, meseems, are dependent on their +womankind. I have dispensed with woman; must I therefore dispense with +support likewise?"</p> + +<p>Maimon was amused and shocked in one. He set down his whisky, +unsipped. "But he who dispenses with woman lives in sin. It is the +duty of man to beget posterity, to <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_302" id="Page_302">[302]</a></span>found a home; for what is +civilization but home, and what is home but religion?" The wanderer's +tones were earnest; he forgot his own sins of omission in the lucidity +with which his intellect saw the right thing.</p> + +<p>"Ah, you are one of the canting ones," said the <i>Schnorrer</i>. "It +strikes me you and I could do something better together than quarrel. +What say you to a partnership?"</p> + +<p>"In begging?"</p> + +<p>"What else have I to offer? You are new to the country—you don't know +the roads—you haven't got any money."</p> + +<p>"Pardon me! I have a thaler left."</p> + +<p>"No, you haven't—you pay that to me for the partnership."</p> + +<p>The metaphysical Maimon was tickled. "But what do I gain for my +thaler?"</p> + +<p>"My experience."</p> + +<p>"But if so, you gain nothing from <i>my</i> partnership."</p> + +<p>"A thaler to begin with. Then, you see, your learning and morality +will draw when I am at a loss for quotations. In small villages we go +together and produce an impression of widespread misery: we speak of +the destruction of our town by fire, of persecution, what you will. +One beggar might be a liar: two together are martyrs."</p> + +<p>"Then you beg only in villages?"</p> + +<p>"Oh no. But in towns we divide. You do one half, I do another. Then we +exchange halves, armed with the knowledge of who are the beneficent in +either half. It is less fatiguing."</p> + +<p>"Then the beneficent have to give twice over."</p> + +<p>"They have double merit. Charity breeds charity."</p> + +<p>"This is a rare fellow," thought Maimon. "How Lapidoth would delight +in him! And he speaks truth. I <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_303" id="Page_303">[303]</a></span>know nothing of the country. If I +travel a little with him I may learn much. And he, too, may learn from +me. He has a good headpiece, and I may be able to instil into him more +seemly notions of duty and virtue. Besides, what else can I do?" So, +spinning his thaler in air, "Done!" he cried.</p> + +<p>The beggar caught it neatly. "Herr Landlord," said he, "another glass +of your excellent whisky!" And, raising it to his lips when it came, +"Brother, here's to our partnership."</p> + +<p>"What, none for me?" cried Maimon, crestfallen.</p> + +<p>"Not till you had begged for it," chuckled the <i>Schnorrer</i>. "You have +had your first lesson. Herr Landlord, yet another glass of your +excellent whisky!"</p> + +<p>And so the philosopher, whose brain was always twisting and turning +the universe and taking it to pieces, started wandering about Germany +with the beggar whose thoughts were bounded by his paunch. They +exploited but a small area, and with smaller success than either had +anticipated. Though now and then they were flush, there was never a +regular meal; and too often they had to make shift with mouldly bread +and water, and to lie on stale straw, and even on the bare earth.</p> + +<p>"You don't curse enough," the beggar often protested.</p> + +<p>"But why should one curse a man who refuses one's request?" the +philosopher would persist. "Besides, he is embittered thereby, and +only the more likely to refuse."</p> + +<p>"Cork your philosophy, curse you!" the beggar would cry. "How often am +I to explain to you that cursing terrifies people."</p> + +<p>"Not at all," Maimon would mutter, terrified.</p> + +<p>"No? What is Religion, but Fear?"</p> + +<p>"False religion, if you will. But true religion, as <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_304" id="Page_304">[304]</a></span>Maimonides says, +is the attainment of perfection through the knowledge of God and the +imitation of His actions."</p> + +<p>Nevertheless, when they begged together, Maimon produced an +inarticulate whine that would do either for a plea or a curse. When he +begged alone, all the glib formulæ he had learnt from the <i>Schnorrer</i> +dried up on his tongue. But his silence pleaded more pitifully than +his speech. For he was barefooted and almost naked. Yet amid all these +untoward conditions his mind kept up its interminable twisting and +turning of the universe; that acute analysis for which centuries of +over-subtlety had prepared the Polish Jew's brain, and which was now +for the first time applied scientifically to the actual world instead +of fantastically to the Bible. And it was perhaps when he was lying on +the bare earth that the riddle of existence—twinkling so defiantly in +the stars—tortured him most keenly.</p> + +<p>Thus passed half a year. Maimon had not learnt to beg, nor had the +beggar acquired the rudiments of morality. How often the philosopher +longed for his old friend Lapidoth—the grave-digger's son-in-law—to +talk things over with, instead of this carnal vagabond. They had been +poverty-stricken enough, those two, but oh! how differently they had +taken the position. He remembered how merrily Lapidoth had pinned his +dropped-off sleeve to the back of his coat, crying, "Don't I look like +a <i>Schlachziz</i> (nobleman)?" and how he in return had vaunted the +superiority of his gaping shoes: "They don't squeeze at the toes." How +they had played the cynic, he and the grave-digger's son-in-law, +turning up with remorseless spade the hollow bones of human virtue! As +convincedly as synagogue-elders sought during fatal epidemics for the +secret sins of the congregation, so had they two striven to uncover +the secret sinfulness of self-deceived righteousness.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_305" id="Page_305">[305]</a></span>"Bad self-analysis is the foundation of contentment," Lapidoth had +summed it up one day, as they lounged on the town-wall.</p> + +<p>To which Maimon: "Then, friend, why are we so content to censure +others? Let us be fair and pass judgment on ourselves. But the +contemplative life we lead is merely the result of indolence, which we +gloss over by reflections on the vanity of all things. We are content +with our rags. Why? Because we are too lazy to earn better. We +reproach the unscholarly as futile people addicted to the pleasures of +sense. Why? Because, not being constituted like you and me, they live +differently. Where is our superiority, when we merely follow our +inclination as they follow theirs? Only in the fact that we confess +this truth to ourselves, while they profess to act, not to satisfy +their particular desires, but for the general utility."</p> + +<p>"Friend," Lapidoth had replied, deeply moved, "you are perfectly +right. If we cannot now mend our faults, we will not deceive ourselves +about them, but at least keep the way open for amendment."</p> + +<p>So they had encouraged each other to clearer vision and nobler living. +And from such companionship to have fallen to a <i>Schnorrer's</i>! Oh, it +was unendurable.</p> + +<p>But he endured it till harvest-time came round, bringing with it the +sacred season of New Year and Atonement, and the long chilly nights. +And then he began to feel tremors of religion and cold.</p> + +<p>As they crouched together in outhouses, the beggar snoozing placidly +in a stout blouse, the philosopher shivering in tatters, Maimon saw +his degradation more lucidly than ever. They had now turned their +steps towards Poland, every day bringing Maimon nearer to the +redeeming influence of early memories, and it was when sleeping in the +Jewish poorhouse at Posen—the master of which <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_306" id="Page_306">[306]</a></span>eked out his +livelihood honorably as a jobbing tailor—that Maimon at length found +strength to resolve on a breach. He would throw himself before the +synagogue door, and either die there or be relieved. When his +companion awoke and began to plan out the day's campaign, "No, I +dissolve the partnership," said he firmly.</p> + +<p>"But how are you going to live, you good-for-nothing?" asked his +astonished comrade, "you who cannot even beg."</p> + +<p>"God will help," Maimon said stolidly.</p> + +<p>"God help you!" said the beggar.</p> + +<p>Maimon went off to the school-room. The master was away, and a noisy +rabble of boys ceased their games or their studies to question the +tatterdemalion, and to make fun of his Lithuanian accent—his <i>s</i>'s +for <i>sh</i>'s. Nothing abashed, the philosopher made inquiries after an +old friend of his who, he fortunately recollected, had gone to Posen +as the Chief Rabbi's secretary. The news that the Chief Rabbi had +proceeded to another appointment, taking with him his secretary, +reduced him to despair. A gleam of hope broke when he learnt that the +secretary's boy had been left behind in Posen with Dr. Hirsch Janow, +the new Chief Rabbi.</p> + +<p>And in the event this boy brought salvation. He informed Dr. Hirsch +Janow that a great scholar and a pious man was accidentally fallen +into miserable straits; and lo! in a trice the good-hearted man had +sent for Maimon, sounded his scholarship and found it plumbless, +approved of his desire to celebrate the sacred festivals in Posen, +given him all the money in his pockets—the indurated beggar accepted +it without a blush—invited him to dine with him every Sabbath, and +sent the boy with him to procure him "a respectable lodging."</p> + +<p>As he left the house that afternoon, Maimon could not help overhearing +the high-pitched reproaches of the Rabbitzin (Rabbi's wife).</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_307" id="Page_307">[307]</a></span>"There! You've again wasted my housekeeping money on scum and +riff-raff. We shall never get clear of debt."</p> + +<p>"Hush! hush!" said the Rabbi gently. "If he hears you, you will wound +the feelings of a great scholar. The money was given to me to +distribute."</p> + +<p>"That story has a beard," snapped the Rabbitzin.</p> + +<p>"He is a great saint," the boy told Maimon on the way. "He fasts every +day of the week till nightfall, and eats no meat save on Sabbath. His +salary is small, but everybody loves him far and wide; he is named +'the keen scholar.'" Maimon agreed with the general verdict. The +gentle emaciated saint had touched old springs of religious feeling, +and brought tears of more than gratitude to his eyes.</p> + +<p>His soul for a moment felt the appeal of that inner world created by +Israel's heart, that beautiful world of tenderest love and sternest +law, wherein The-Holy-One-Blessed-Be-He (who has chosen Israel to +preach holiness among the peoples), mystically enswathed with +praying-shawl and phylacteries, prays to Himself, "May it be My will +that My pity overcome My wrath."</p> + +<p>And what was his surprise at finding himself installed, not in some +mean garret, but in the study of one of the leading Jews of the town. +The climax was reached when he handed some coppers to the housewife, +and asked her to get him some gruel for supper.</p> + +<p>"Nay, nay," said the housewife, smiling. "The Chief Rabbi has not +recommended us to sell you gruel. My husband and my son are both +scholars, and so long as you choose to tarry at Posen they will be +delighted if you will honor our table."</p> + +<p>Maimon could scarcely believe his ears; but the evidence of a +sumptuous supper was irrefusable. And after that he was conducted to a +clean bed! O the luxurious ache of stretching one's broken limbs on +melting feathers! the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_308" id="Page_308">[308]</a></span>nestling ecstasy of dainty-smelling sheets +after half a year of outhouses!</p> + +<p>It was the supreme felicity of his life. To wallow in such a wave of +happiness had never been his before, was never to be his again. +Shallow pates might prate, he told himself, but what pleasure of the +intellect could ever equal that of the senses? Could it possibly +pleasure him as much even to fulfil his early Maimonidean ideal—the +attainment of Perfection? Perpending which problem, the philosopher +fell deliciously asleep.</p> + +<p>Late, very late, the next morning he dragged himself from his snug +cocoon, and called, in response to a summons, upon his benefactor.</p> + +<p>"Well, and how do you like your lodging?" said the gentle Rabbi.</p> + +<p>Maimon burst into tears. "I have slept in a bed!" he sobbed, "I have +slept in a bed!"</p> + +<p>Two days later, clad—out of the Rabbitzin's housekeeping money—in +full rabbinical vestments, with clean linen beneath, the metamorphosed +Maimon, cheerful of countenance, and godly of mien, presented himself +at the poorhouse, where the tailor and his wife, as well as his whilom +mate—all of them acquainted with his good fortune—expected him with +impatience. The sight of him transported them. The poor mother took +her babe in her arms, and with tears in her eyes begged the Rabbi's +blessings; the beggar besought his forgiveness for his rough +treatment, and asked for an alms.</p> + +<p>Maimon gave the little one his blessing, and the <i>Schnorrer</i> all he +had in his pocket, and went back deeply affected.</p> + +<p>Meantime his fame had spread: all the scholars of the town came to see +and chop theology with this illustrious travelling Rabbi. He became a +tutor in a wealthy family: his learning was accounted superhuman, and +he himself <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_309" id="Page_309">[309]</a></span>almost divine. A doubt he expressed as to the healthiness +of a consumptive-looking child brought him at her death the honors of +a prophet. Disavowal was useless: a new prophet had arisen in Israel.</p> + +<p>And so two happy years passed—honorably enough, unless the +philosopher's forgetfulness of his family be counted against him. But +little by little his restless brain and body began to weary of these +superstitious surroundings.</p> + +<p>It began to leak out that he was a heretic: his rare appearances in +the synagogue were noted; daring sayings of his were darkly whispered; +Persecution looked to its weapons.</p> + +<p>Maimon's recklessness was whetted in its turn. At the entrance to the +Common Hall in Posen there had been, from time immemorial, a stag-horn +fixed into the wall, and an equally immemorial belief among the Jews +that whoso touched it died on the spot. A score of stories in proof +were hurled at the scoffing Maimon. And so, passing the stag-horn one +day, he cried to his companions: "You Posen fools, do you think that +any one who touches this horn dies on the spot? See, I dare to touch +it."</p> + +<p>Their eyes, dilating with horror, followed his sacrilegious hand. They +awaited the thud of his body. Maimon walked on, smiling.</p> + +<p>What had he proved to them? Only that he was a hateful heretic, a +profaner of sanctuaries.</p> + +<p>The wounded fanaticism that now shadowed him with its hatred provoked +him to answering excesses. The remnant of religion that clung, despite +himself, to his soul, irritated him. Would not further culture rid him +of the incubus? His dream of Berlin revived. True, bigotry barked +there too, but culture went on its serene course. The fame and +influence of Mendelssohn had grown steadily, and it was now at its +apogee, for Lessing had written <i>Nathan Der <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_310" id="Page_310">[310]</a></span>Weise</i>, and in the +tempest that followed its production, and despite the ban placed on +the play and its author in both Catholic and Protestant countries, the +most fanatical Christian foes of the bold freelance could not cry that +the character was impossible.</p> + +<p>For there—in the very metropolis—lived the Sage himself, the David +to the dramatist's Jonathan, the member of the Coffee-House of the +Learned, the friend of Prince Lippe-Schaumberg, the King's own +Protected Jew, in every line of whose countenance Lavater kept +insisting the unprejudiced phrenologist might read the soul of +Socrates.</p> + +<p>And he, Maimon, no less blessed with genius, what had he been doing, +to slumber so long on these soft beds of superstition and barbarism, +deaf to that early call of Truth, that youthful dream of Knowledge? +Yes, he would go back to Berlin, he would shake off the clinging mists +of the Ghetto, he would be the pioneer of his people's emancipation. +His employers had remained throughout staunch admirers of his +intellect. But despite every protest he bade them farewell, and +purchasing a seat on the Frankfort post with his scanty savings set +out for Berlin. No mendicity committees lay in wait for the prosperous +passenger, and as the coach passed through the Rosenthaler gate, the +brave sound of the horn seemed to Maimon at once a flourish of triumph +over Berlin and of defiance to superstition and ignorance.</p> + +<br /> +<h4>III</h4> + +<p>But superstition and ignorance were not yet unhorsed. The Jewish +police-officers, though they allowed coach-gentry to enter and take up +their quarters where they pleased, did not fail to pry into their +affairs the next day, as well for the protection of the Jewish +community against <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_311" id="Page_311">[311]</a></span>equivocal intruders as in accordance with its +responsibility to the State.</p> + +<p>In his modest lodging on the New-Market, Maimon had to face the +suspicious scrutiny of the most dreaded of these detectives, who was +puzzled and provoked by a belief he had seen him before, "evidently +looking on me," as Maimon put it afterwards, "as a comet, which comes +nearer to the earth the second time than the first, and so makes the +danger more threatening."</p> + +<p>Of a sudden this lynx-eyed bully espied a Hebrew Logic by Maimonides, +annotated by Mendelssohn. "Yes! yes!" he shrieked; "that's the sort of +books for me!" and, glaring threateningly at the philosopher, "Pack," +he said. "Pack out of Berlin as quick as you can, if you don't wish to +be led out with all the honors."</p> + +<p>Maimon was once more in desperate case. His money was all but +exhausted by the journey, and the outside of the Rosenthaler gate +again menaced him. All his sufferings had availed him nothing: he was +back almost at his starting-point.</p> + +<p>But fortune favors fools. In a countryman settled at Berlin he found a +protector. Then other admirers of talent and learning boarded and +lodged him. The way was now clear for Culture.</p> + +<p>Accident determined the line of march. Maimon rescued Wolff's +<i>Metaphysics</i> from a butterman for two groschen. Wolff, he knew, was +the pet philosopher of the day. Mendelssohn himself had been inspired +by him—the great brother-Jew with whom he might now hope some day to +talk face to face.</p> + +<p>Maimon was delighted with his new treasure—such mathematical +exposition, such serried syllogisms—till it came to theology. "The +Principle of Sufficient Reason"—yes, it was a wonderful discovery. +But as proving God? <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_312" id="Page_312">[312]</a></span>No—for that there was <i>not</i> Sufficient Reason. +Nor could Maimon harmonize these new doctrines with his Maimonides or +his Aristotle. Happy thought! He would set forth his doubts in Hebrew, +he would send the manuscript to Herr Mendelssohn. Flushed by the hope +of the great man's acquaintance, he scribbled fervidly and posted the +manuscript.</p> + +<p>He spent a sleepless night.</p> + +<p>Would the lion of Berlin take any notice of an obscure Polish Jew? +Maimon was not left in suspense. Mendelssohn replied by return. He +admitted the justice of his correspondent's doubts, but begged him not +to be discouraged by them, but to continue his studies with unabated +zeal. O, judge in Israel! <i>Nathan Der Weise</i>, indeed.</p> + +<p>Fired with such encouragement, Maimon flung himself into a Hebrew +dissertation that should shatter all these theological cobwebs, that +by an uncompromising Ontology should bring into doubt the foundations +of Revealed as well as of Natural Theology. It was a bold thing to do, +for since he was come to Berlin, and had read more of his books, he +had gathered that Mendelssohn still professed Orthodox Judaism. A +paradox this to Maimon, and roundly denied as impossible when he first +heard of it. A man who could enter the lists with the doughtiest +champions of Christendom, whose German prose was classical, who could +philosophize in Socratic dialogue after the fashion of Plato—such a +man a creature of the Ghetto! Doubtless he took his Judaism in some +vague Platonic way; it was impossible to imagine him the literal +bond-slave of that minute ritual, winding phylacteries round his left +arm or shaking himself in a praying-shawl. Anyhow here—in logical +lucid Hebrew—were Maimon's doubts and difficulties. If Mendelssohn +was sincere, let him resolve them, and earn the blessings of a truly +Jewish soul. If he was <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_313" id="Page_313">[313]</a></span>unable to answer them, let him give up his +orthodoxy, or be proved a fraud and a time-server. <i>Amicus Mendelssohn +sed magis amica veritas.</i></p> + +<p>In truth there was something irritating to the Polish Jew in the great +German's attitude, as if it held some latent reproach of his own. Only +a shallow thinker, he felt, could combine culture and spiritual +comfort, to say nothing of worldly success. He had read the +much-vaunted <i>Phœdon</i> which Lutheran Germany hailed as a +counterblast to the notorious "Berlin religion," restoring faith to a +despondent world mocked out of its Christian hopes by the fashionable +French wits and materialists under the baneful inspiration of +Voltaire, whom Germany's own Frederick had set on high in his Court. +But what a curious assumption for a Jewish thinker to accept, that +unless we are immortal, our acts in this world are of no consequence! +Was not he, Maimon, leading a high-minded life in pursuit of Truth, +with no such hope? "If our soul were mortal, then Reason would be a +dream, which Jupiter has sent us in order that we might forget our +misery; and we should be like the beasts, only to seek food and die." +Nonsense! Rhetoric! True, his epistles to Lavater were effective +enough, there was courage in his public refusal of Christianity, +nobility in his sentiment that he preferred to shame anti-Jewish +prejudice by character rather than by controversy. He, Maimon, would +prefer to shame it by both. But this <i>Jerusalem</i> of Mendelssohn's! +Could its thesis really be sustained? Judaism laid no yoke upon +belief, only on conduct? was no reason-confounding dogma? only a +revealed legislation? A Jew gave his life to the law and his heart to +Germany! Or France, or Holland, or the Brazils as the case might be? +Palestine must be forgotten. Well, it was all bold and clever enough, +but was it more than a half-way house to assimilation with the +peoples? At any rate <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_314" id="Page_314">[314]</a></span>here was a Polish brother's artillery to +meet—more deadly than that of Lavater, or the stupid Christians.</p> + +<p>Again, but with acuter anxiety, he awaited Mendelssohn's reply.</p> + +<p>It came—an invitation for next Saturday afternoon. Aha! The outworks +were stormed. The great man recognized in him a worthy foe, a brother +in soul. Gratitude and vanity made the visit a delightful +anticipation. What a wit-combat it would be! How he would marshal his +dialectic epigrams! If only Lapidoth could be there to hear!</p> + +<p>As the servant threw open the door for him, revealing a suite of +beautiful rooms and a fine company of gentlefolks, men with powdered +wigs and ladies with elegant toilettes, Maimon started back with a +painful shock. An under-consciousness of mud-stained boots and a +clumsily cut overcoat, mixed itself painfully with this impression of +pretty, scented women, and the clatter of tongues and coffee-cups. He +stood rooted to the threshold in a sudden bitter realization that the +great world cared nothing about metaphysics. Ease, fine furniture, a +position in the world—these were the things that counted. Why had all +his genius brought him none of these things? Wifeless, childless, +moneyless, he stood, a solitary soul wrestling with problems. How had +Mendelssohn managed to obtain everything? Doubtless he had had a +better start, a rich father, a University training. His resentment +against the prosperous philosopher rekindled. He shrank back and +closed the door. But it was opened instantly again from within. A +little hunchback with shining eyes hurried towards him.</p> + +<p>"Herr Maimon?" he said inquiringly, holding out his hand with a smile +of welcome.</p> + +<p>Startled, Maimon laid his hand without speaking in that cordial palm. +So this was the man he had envied. No <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_315" id="Page_315">[315]</a></span>one had ever told him that +"Nathan der Weise" was thus afflicted. It was as soul that he had +appealed to the imagination of the world; even vulgar gossip had been +silent about his body. But how this deformity must embitter his +success.</p> + +<p>Mendelssohn coaxed him within, complimenting him profusely on his +writings: he was only too familiar with these half-shy, +half-aggressive young Poles, whose brains were bursting with heretical +ideas and sick fantasies. They brought him into evil odor with his +orthodox brethren, did these "Jerusalem Werthers," but who should deal +with them, if not he that understood them, that could handle them +delicately? What was to Maimon a unique episode was to his host an +everyday experience.</p> + +<p>Mendelssohn led Maimon to the embrasure of a window: he brought him +refreshments—which the young man devoured uncouthly—he neglected his +fashionable guests, whose unceasing French babble proclaimed their +ability to get on by themselves, to gain an insight into this gifted +young man's soul. He regarded each new person as a complicated piece +of wheelwork, which it was the wise man's business to understand and +not be angry with. But having captured the secret of the mechanism, it +was one's duty to improve it on its own lines.</p> + +<p>"Your dissertation displays extraordinary acumen, Herr Maimon," he +said. "Of course you still suffer from the Talmudic method or rather +want of method. But you have a real insight into metaphysical +problems. And yet you have only read Wolff! You are evidently not a +<i>Chamor nosé Sefarim</i> (a donkey bearing books)." He used the Hebrew +proverb to make the young Pole feel at home, and a half smile hovered +around his sensitive lips. Even his German took on a winning touch of +jargon in vocabulary and accentuation, though to kill the jargon was +one of the ideals of his life.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_316" id="Page_316">[316]</a></span>"Nay, Herr Mendelssohn," replied Maimon modestly; "you must not forget +<i>The Guide of the Perplexed</i>. It was the inspiration of my youth!"</p> + +<p>"Was it?" cried Mendelssohn delightedly. "So it was of mine. In fact I +tell the Berliners Maimonides was responsible for my hump, and some of +them actually believe I got it bending over him."</p> + +<p>This charming acceptance of his affliction touched the sensitive +Maimon and put him more at ease than even the praise of his writings +and the fraternal vocabulary. "In my country," he said, "a perfect +body is thought to mark the fool of the family! They believe the +finest souls prefer to inhabit imperfect tenements."</p> + +<p>Mendelssohn bowed laughingly. "An excellently turned compliment! At +this rate you will soon shine in our Berlin society. And how long is +it since you left Poland?"</p> + +<p>"Alas! I have left Poland more than once. I should have had the honor +and the happiness of making your acquaintance earlier, had I not been +stopped at the Rosenthaler gate three years ago."</p> + +<p>"At the Rosenthaler gate! If I had only known!"</p> + +<p>The tears came into Maimon's eyes—tears of gratitude, of self-pity, +of regret for the lost years. He was on his feet now, he felt, and his +feet were on the right road. He had found a powerful protector at +last. "Think of my disappointment," he said tremulously, "after +travelling all the way from Poland."</p> + +<p>"Yes, I know. I was all but stopped at the gate myself," said +Mendelssohn musingly.</p> + +<p>"You?"</p> + +<p>"Yes—when I was a lad."</p> + +<p>"Aren't you a native of Berlin, then?"</p> + +<p>"No, I was born in Dessau. Not so far to tramp from as Poland. But +still a goodish stretch. It took me five <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_317" id="Page_317">[317]</a></span>days—I am not a Hercules +like you—and had I not managed to stammer out that I wished to enrol +myself among the pupils of Dr. Frankel, the new Chief Rabbi of the +city, the surly Cerberus would have slammed the gate in my face. My +luck was that Frankel had come from Dessau, and had been my teacher. I +remember standing on a hillock crying as he was leaving for Berlin, +and he took me in his arms and said I should also go to Berlin some +day. So when I appeared he had to make the best of it."</p> + +<p>"Then you had nothing from your parents?"</p> + +<p>"Only a beautiful handwriting from my father which got me copying jobs +for a few groschens and is now the joy of the printers. He was a +scribe, you know, and wrote the Scrolls of the Law. But he wanted me +to be a pedlar."</p> + +<p>"A pedlar!" cried Maimon, open-eyed.</p> + +<p>"Yes, the money would come in at once, you see. I had quite a fight to +persuade him I would do better as a Rabbi. I fear I was a very violent +and impatient youngster. He didn't at all believe in my Rabbinical +future. And he was right after all—for a member of a learned guild, +Jewish or Christian, have I never been."</p> + +<p>"You had a hard time, then, when you came to Berlin?" said Maimon +sympathetically.</p> + +<p>Mendelssohn's eyes had for an instant an inward look, then he quoted +gently, "Bread with salt shalt thou eat, water by measure shalt thou +drink, upon the hard earth shalt thou sleep, and a life of anxiousness +shalt thou live, and labor in the study of the law!"</p> + +<p>Maimon thrilled at the quotation: the fine furniture and the fine +company faded, and he saw only the soul of a fellow-idealist to which +these things were but unregarded background.</p> + +<p>"Ah yes," went on Mendelssohn. "You are thinking I don't look like a +person who once notched his loaf into <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_318" id="Page_318">[318]</a></span>sections so as not to eat too +much a day. Well, let it console you with the thought that there's a +comfortable home in Berlin waiting for you, too."</p> + +<p>Poor Maimon stole a glance at the buxom, blue-eyed matron doing the +honors of her salon so gracefully, assisted by two dazzling young +ladies in Parisian toilettes—evidently her daughters—and he groaned +at the thought of his peasant-wife and his uncouth, superstition-swaddled +children: decidedly he must give Sarah a divorce.</p> + +<p>"I can't delude myself with such day-dreams," he said hopelessly.</p> + +<p>"Wait! Wait! So long as you don't day-dream your time away. That is +the danger with you clever young Poles—you are such dreamers. +Everything in this life depends on steadiness and patience. When we +first set up hospitality, Fromet—my wife—and I, we had to count the +almonds and raisins for dessert. You see, we only began with a little +house and garden in the outskirts, the main furniture of which," he +said, laughing at the recollection, "was twenty china apes, +life-size."</p> + +<p>"Twenty china apes!"</p> + +<p>"Yes, like every Jewish bridegroom, I had to buy a quantity of china +for the support of the local manufactory, and that was what fell to +me. Ah, my friend, what have not the Jews of Germany to support! The +taxes are still with us, but the <i>Rishus</i> (malice)"—again he smiled +confidentially at the Hebrew-jargon word—"is less every day. Why, a +Jew couldn't walk the streets of Berlin without being hooted and +insulted, and my little ones used to ask, 'Father, is it wicked to be +a Jew?' I thank the Almighty that at the end of my days I have lived +to see the Jewish question raised to a higher plane."</p> + +<p>"I should rather thank <i>you</i>," cried Maimon, with sceptical +enthusiasm.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_319" id="Page_319">[319]</a></span>"Me?" said Mendelssohn, with the unfeigned modesty of the man who, his +every public utterance having been dragged out of him by external +compulsion, retains his native shyness and is alone in ignorance of +his own influence. "No, no, it is Montesquieu, it is Dohm, it is my +dear Lessing. Poor fellow, the Christian bigots are at him now like a +plague of stinging insects. I almost wish he hadn't written <i>Nathan +der Weise</i>. I am glad to reflect I didn't instigate him, nay, that he +had written a play in favor of the Jews ere we met."</p> + +<p>"How did you come to know him?"</p> + +<p>"I hardly remember. He was always fond of outcasts—a true artistic +temperament, that preferred to consort with actors and soldiers rather +than with the beer-swilling middle-class of Berlin. Oh yes, I think we +met over a game of chess. Then we wrote an essay on Pope together. +Dear Gotthold! What do I not owe him? My position in Berlin, my +feeling for literature—for we Jews have all stifled our love for the +beautiful and grown dead to poetry."</p> + +<p>"Well, but what is a poet but a liar?"</p> + +<p>"Ah, my dear Herr Maimon, you will grow out of that. I must lend you +Homer. Intellectual speculation is not everything. For my part, I have +never regretted withdrawing a portion of my love from the worthy +matron, philosophy, in order to bestow it on her handmaid, +<i>belles-lettres</i>. I am sorry to use a French word, but for once +there's no better. You smile to see a Jew more German than the +Germans."</p> + +<p>"No, I smile to hear what sounds like French all round! I remember +reading in your <i>Philosophical Conversations</i> your appeal to the +Germans not to exchange their own gold for the tinsel of their +neighbors."</p> + +<p>"Yes, but what can one do? It is a Berlin mania; and, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_320" id="Page_320">[320]</a></span>you know, the +King himself.... Our Jewish girls first caught it to converse with the +young gallants who came a-borrowing of their fathers, but the +influence of my dear daughters—there, the beautiful one is Dorothea, +the eldest, and that other, who takes more after me, is +Henrietta—their influence is doing much to counteract the wave of +flippancy and materialism. But fancy any one still reading my +<i>Philosophical Conversations</i>—my 'prentice work. I had no idea of +printing it. I lent the manuscript to Lessing, observing jestingly +that I, too, could write like Shaftesbury, the Englishman. And lo! the +next time I met him he handed me the proofs. Dear Gotthold."</p> + +<p>"Is it true that the King—?"</p> + +<p>"Sent for me to Potsdam to scold me? You are thinking of another +matter. That was in my young days." He smiled and lowered his voice. +"I ventured to hint in a review that His Majesty's French verses—I am +glad by the way he has lived to write some against Voltaire—were not +perfection. I thought I had wrapped up my meaning beyond royal +comprehension. But a malicious courtier, the preacher Justi, denounced +me as a Jew who had thrown aside all reverence for the most sacred +person of His Majesty. I was summoned to Sans-Souci and—with a touch +of <i>Rishus</i> (malice)—on a Saturday. I managed to be there without +breaking my <i>Shabbos</i> (Sabbath)."</p> + +<p>"Then he does keep Sabbath!" thought Maimon, in amaze.</p> + +<p>"But, as you may imagine, I was not as happy as a bear with honey. +However, I pleaded that he who makes verses plays at nine-pins, and he +who plays at nine-pins, be he monarch or peasant, must be satisfied +with the judgment of the boy who has charge of the bowls."</p> + +<p>"And you are still alive!"</p> + +<p>"To the annoyance of many people. I fancy His <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_321" id="Page_321">[321]</a></span>Majesty was ashamed to +punish me before the French cynics of his court, and I know on good +authority that it was because the Marquis D'Argens was astonished to +learn that I could be driven out of Berlin at any moment by the police +that the King made me a Schutz-Jude (protected Jew). So I owe +something to the French after all. My friends had long been urging me +to sue for protection, but I thought, as I still think, that one ought +not to ask for any rights which the humblest Jew could not enjoy. +However, a king's gift horse one cannot look in the mouth. And now you +are to become <i>my</i> Schutz-Jude"—Maimon's heart beat gratefully—"and +the question is, what do you propose to do in Berlin? What is the +career that is to bring you a castle and a princess?"</p> + +<p>"I wish to study medicine."</p> + +<p>"Good. It is the one profession a Jew may enter here; though, you must +know, however great a practice you may attain—even among the +Christians—they will never publish your name in the medical list. +Still, we must be thankful for small mercies. In Frankfort the Jewish +doctors are limited to four, in other towns to none. We must hand you +over to Dr. Herz—there, that man who is laughing so, over one of his +own good things, no doubt—that is Dr. Herz, and the beautiful +creature is his wife, Henrietta, who is founding a Goethe salon. She +and my daughters are inseparable—a Jewish trinity. And so, Herr +Physician, I extend to you the envious congratulations of a +book-keeper."</p> + +<p>"But you are not a book-keeper!"</p> + +<p>"Not now, but that was what I began as—or rather, what I drifted +into, for I was Talmudical tutor in his family, when my dear Herr +Bernhardt proposed it to me. And I am not sorry. For it left me plenty +of time to learn Latin and Greek and mathematics, and finally landed +me <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_322" id="Page_322">[322]</a></span>in a partnership. Still I have always been a race-horse burdened +with a pack, alas! I don't mean my hump, but the factory still steals +a good deal of my time and brains, and if I didn't rise at five—But +you have made me quite egoistic—it is the resemblance of our young +days that has touched the spring of memories. But come! let me +introduce you to my wife and my son Abraham. Ah, see, poor Fromet is +signalling to me. She is tired of being left to battle single-handed. +Would you not like to know M. de Mirabeau? Or let me introduce you to +Wessely—he will talk to you in Hebrew. It is Wessely who does all the +work for which I am praised—it is he who is elevating our Jewish +brethren, with whom I have not the heart nor the courage to strive. Or +there is Nicolai, the founder of 'The Library of the Fine Arts,' to +which," he added with a sly smile, "I hope yet to see you +contributing. Perhaps Fräulein Reimarus will convert you—that +charming young lady there talking with her brother-in-law, who is a +Danish state-councillor. She is the great friend of Lessing—as I +live, there comes Lessing himself. I am sure he would like the +pleasure of your acquaintance."</p> + +<p>"Because he likes outcasts? No, no, not yet," and Maimon, whose mood +had been growing dark again, shrank back, appalled by these great +names. Yes, he was a dreamer and a fool, and Mendelssohn was a sage, +indeed. In his bitterness he distrusted even his own Dissertation, his +uncompromising logic, destructive of all theology. Perhaps Mendelssohn +was right: perhaps he had really solved the Jewish problem. To be a +Jew among Germans, and a German among Jews: to reconcile the old creed +with Culture: to hold up one's head, and assert oneself as an +honorable element in the nation—was not this catholic gathering a +proof of the feasibility of such an ideal? Good sense! What true +self-estimate as well as wit in the sage's famous <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_323" id="Page_323">[323]</a></span>retort to the +swaggering German officer who asked him what commodity he dealt in. +"In that which you appear to need—good sense." Maimon roused himself +to listen to the conversation. It changed to German under the impulse +of the host, who from his umpire's chair controlled it with play of +eye, head, or hand; and when appealed to, would usually show that both +parties were fighting about words, not things. Maimon noted from his +semi-obscure retreat that the talk grew more serious and connected, +touched problems. He saw that for Mendelssohn as for himself nothing +really existed but the great questions. Flippant interruptions the +sage seemed to disregard, and if the topic dribbled out into +irrelevancies he fell silent. Maimon studied the noble curve of his +forehead, the decided nose, the prominent lips, in the light of Herr +Lavater's theories. Lessing said little: he had the air of a broken +man. The brilliant life of the culture-warrior was closing in +gloom—wife, child, health, money, almost reputation, gone: the +nemesis of genius.</p> + +<p>At one point a lady strove to concentrate attention upon herself by +accusing herself of faults of character. Even Maimon understood she +was angling for compliments. But Mendelssohn gravely bade her mend her +faults, and Maimon saw Lessing's harassed eyes light up for the first +time with a gleam of humor. Then the poet, as if roused to +recollection, pulled out a paper, "I almost forgot to give you back +Kant's letter," he said. "You are indeed to be congratulated."</p> + +<p>Mendelssohn blushed like a boy, and made a snatch at the letter, but +Lessing jestingly insisted on reading it to the company.</p> + +<p>"I consider that in your <i>Jerusalem</i> you have succeeded in combining +our religion with such a degree of freedom of conscience, as was never +imagined possible, and of which <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_324" id="Page_324">[324]</a></span>no other faith can boast. You have at +the same time so thoroughly and so clearly demonstrated the necessity +of unlimited liberty of conscience, that ultimately our Church will +also be led to reflect how it should remove from its midst everything +that disturbs and oppresses conscience, which will finally unite all +men in their view of the essential points of religion."</p> + +<p>There was an approving murmur throughout the company. "Such a letter +would compensate me for many more annoyances than my works have +brought me," said Mendelssohn. "And to think," he added laughingly, +"that I once beat Kant in a prize competition. A proof of the power of +lucid expression over profound thought. And that I owe to your +stimulus, Lessing."</p> + +<p>The poet made a grimace. "You accuse me of stimulating +superficiality!"</p> + +<p>There was a laugh.</p> + +<p>"Nay, I meant you have torn away the thorns from the roses of +philosophy! If Kant would only write like you—"</p> + +<p>"He might understand himself," flashed the beautiful Henrietta Herz.</p> + +<p>"And lose his disciples," added her husband. "That is really, Herr +Mendelssohn, why we pious Jews are so angry with your German +translation of the Bible—you make the Bible intelligible."</p> + +<p>"Yes, they have done their best to distort it," sighed Mendelssohn. +"But the fury my translation arouses among the so-called wise men of +the day, is the best proof of its necessity. When I first meditated +producing a plain Bible in good German, I had only the needs of my own +children at heart, then I allowed myself to be persuaded it might +serve the multitude, now I see it is the Rabbis who need it most. But +centuries of crooked thinking have deadened them to the beauties of +the Bible: they have left <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_325" id="Page_325">[325]</a></span>it behind them as elementary, when they +have not themselves coated it with complexity. Subtle +misinterpretation is everything, a beautiful text, nothing. And then +this corrupt idiom of theirs—than which nothing more corrupts a +nation—they have actually invested this German jargon with sanctity, +and I am a wolf in sheep's clothing for putting good German in Hebrew +letters. Even the French Jews, Cerf Berr tells me, think bad German +holy. To say nothing of Austria."</p> + +<p>"Wait, wait!" said an eager-eyed man; "the laws of the Emperor Joseph +will change all that—once the Jews of Vienna are forced to go to +school with the sciences, they will become an honored element of the +nation."</p> + +<p>Mendelssohn shook a worldly-wise head. "Not so fast, my dear Wessely, +not so fast. Your Hebrew Ode to the Austrian Emperor was unimpeachable +as poetry, but, I fear, visionary as history. Who knows that this is +more than a temporary political move?"</p> + +<p>"And we pious Jews," put in Dr. Herz, smiling, "you forget, Herr +Wessely, we are not so easily schooled. We have never forgiven our +Mendelssohn for saying our glorious religion had accumulated cobwebs. +It is the cobwebs we love, not the port."</p> + +<p>"Yes, indeed," broke in Maimon, so interested that he forgot his own +jargon, to say nothing of his attire. "When I was in Poland, I crawled +nicely into mud, through pointing out that they ought not to turn to +the east in praying, because Jerusalem, which, in accordance with +Talmudic law, they turned to, couldn't lie due east of everywhere. In +point of fact we were north-west, so that they should have +turned"—his thumbs began to turn and his voice to take on the +Talmudic sing-song—"south-east. I told them it was easy in each city +to compute the exact turning, by corners and circles—"</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_326" id="Page_326">[326]</a></span>"By spherical trigonometry, certainly," said Mendelssohn pleasantly. +Maimon, conscious of a correction, blushed and awoke to find himself +the centre of observation. His host made haste to add, "You remind me +of the odium I incurred by agreeing with the Duke of +Mecklenburg-Schwerin's edict, that we should not bury our dead before +the third day. And this in spite of my proofs from the Talmud! Dear, +dear, if the Rabbis were only as anxious to bury dead ideas as dead +bodies!" There was a general smile, but Maimon said boldly—</p> + +<p>"I think you treat them far too tolerantly."</p> + +<p>"What, Herr Maimon," and Mendelssohn smiled the half-sad smile of the +sage, who has seen the humors of the human spectacle and himself as +part of it—"would you have me rebuke intolerance by intolerance? I +will admit that when I was your age—and of an even hotter temper—I +could have made a pretty persecutor. In those days I contributed to +the mildest of sheets, 'The Moral Preacher,' we young blades called +it. But because it didn't reek of religion, on every page the pious +scented atheism. I could have whipped the dullards or cried with +vexation. Now I see intolerance is a proof of earnestness as well as +of stupidity. It is well that men should be alert against the least +rough breath on the blossoms of faith they cherish. The only criticism +that still has power to annoy me is that of the timid, who fear it is +provoking persecution for a Jew to speak out. But for the rest, +opposition is the test-furnace of new ideas. I do my part in the +world, it is for others to do theirs. As soon as I had yielded my +translation to friend Dubno, to be printed, I took my soul in my +hands, raised my eyes to the mountains, and gave my back to the +smiters. All the same I am sorry it is the Rabbi of Posen who is +launching these old-fashioned thunders against the German Pentateuch +of "Moses of Dessau," for <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_327" id="Page_327">[327]</a></span>both as a Talmudist and mathematician +Hirsch Janow has my sincere respect. Not in vain is he styled 'the +keen scholar,' and from all I hear he is a truly good man."</p> + +<p>"A saint!" cried Maimon enthusiastically, again forgetting his +shyness. His voice faltered as he drew a glowing panegyric of his +whilom benefactor, and pictured him as about to die in the prime of +life, worn out by vigils and penances. In a revulsion of feeling, +fresh stirrings of doubt of the Mendelssohnian solution agitated his +soul. Though he had but just now denounced the fanatics, he was +conscious of a strange sympathy with this lovable ascetic who fasted +every day, torturing equally his texts and himself, this hopeless +mystic for whom there could be no bridge to modern thought; all the +Polish Jew in him revolted irrationally against the new German +rationalism. No, no; it must be all or nothing. Jewish Catholicism was +not to be replaced by Jewish Protestantism. These pathetic zealots, +clinging desperately to the past, had a deeper instinct, a truer +prevision of the future, than this cultured philosopher.</p> + +<p>"Yes, what you tell me of Hirsch Janow goes with all I have heard," +said Mendelssohn calmly. "But I put my trust in time and the new +generation. I will wager that the translation I drew up for my +children will be read by his."</p> + +<p>Maimon happened to be looking over Mendelssohn's shoulder at his +charming daughters in their Parisian toilettes. He saw them exchange a +curious glance that raised their eyebrows sceptically. With a flash of +insight he caught their meaning. Mendelssohn seeking an epigram had +stumbled into a dubious oracle.</p> + +<p>"The translation I drew up for my children will be read by his."</p> + +<p>By his, perhaps.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_328" id="Page_328">[328]</a></span>But by my own?</p> + +<p>Maimon shivered with an apprehension of tragedy. Perhaps it was his +Dissertation that Mendelssohn's children would read. He remembered +suddenly that Mendelssohn had said no word to its crushing logic.</p> + +<p>As he was taking his leave, he put the question point-blank. "What +have you to say to my arguments?"</p> + +<p>"You are not in the right road at present," said Mendelssohn, holding +his hand amicably, "but the course of your inquiries must not be +checked. Doubt, as Descartes rightly says, is the beginning of +philosophical speculation."</p> + +<p>He left the Polish philosopher on the threshold, agitated by a medley +of feelings.</p> + +<br /> +<h4>IV</h4> + +<p>This mingled attitude of Maimon the Fool towards Nathan the Wise +continued till the death of the Sage plunged Berlin into mourning, and +the Fool into vain regrets for his fits of disrespect towards one, the +great outlines of whose character stood for ever fixed by the chisel +of death. "<i>Quis desiderio sit pudor aut modus tam cari capitis?</i>" he +wrote in his autobiography.</p> + +<p>Too often had he lost his temper—particularly when Spinoza was the +theme—and had all but accused Mendelssohn of dishonesty. Was not +Truth the highest ideal? And was not Spinoza as irrefutable as Euclid. +What! Could the emancipated intellect really deny that marvellous +thinker, who, after a century of unexampled obloquy, was the +acknowledged prophet of the God of the future, the inspirer of Goethe, +and all that was best in modern thought! But no, Mendelssohn held +stubbornly to his own life-system, never would admit that his long +spiritual happiness had been based on a lie. It was highly +unreasonable <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_329" id="Page_329">[329]</a></span>and annoying of him, and his formula for closing +discussions, "We must hold fast not to words but to the things they +signify," was exasperatingly answerable. How strange that after the +restless Maimon had of himself given up Spinoza, the Sage's last years +should have been clouded by the alleged Spinozism of his dear dead +Lessing.</p> + +<p>But now that the Sage himself was dead, the Fool remembered his +infinite patience—the patience not of bloodlessness, but of a +passionate soul that has conquered itself—not to be soured by a +fool's disappointing career, nor even by his bursts of profligacy.</p> + +<p>For Maimon's life held many more vicissitudes, but the profession of +medicine was never of them. "I require of every man of sound mind that +he should lay out for himself a plan of action," said the philosopher; +and wandered to Breslau, to Amsterdam, to Potsdam, the parasite of +protectors, the impecunious hack of publishers, the rebel of manners, +the ingenious and honored metaphysician. When Kant declared he was the +only one of his critics that understood <i>The Critique of Pure Reason</i>, +Maimon returned to Berlin to devote himself to the philosophical work +that was to give him a pinnacle apart among the Kantians. Goethe and +Schiller made flattering advances to him. Berlin society was at his +feet. But he remained to the end, shiftless and feckless, uncouth and +unmanageable, and not seldom when the taverns he frequented were +closed, he would wander tipsily through the sleeping streets +meditating suicide, or arguing metaphysics with expostulant watchmen.</p> + +<p>"For all his mathematics," a friend said of him, "he never seems to +think of the difference between <i>plus</i> and <i>minus</i> in money matters." +"People like you, there's no use trying to help," said another, +worn-out, when Maimon pleaded for only a few coppers. Yet he never +acquired the beggar's servility, nay, was often himself the patron of +some <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_330" id="Page_330">[330]</a></span>poorer hanger-on, for whom he would sacrifice his last glass of +beer. Curt in his manners, he refused to lift his hat or embrace his +acquaintances in cold blood. Nor would he wear a wig. Pure Reason +alone must rule.</p> + +<p>So, clad in an all-concealing overcoat, the unshaven philosopher might +be seen in a coffee-house or on an ale-house bench, scribbling at odd +moments his profound essays on Transcendental Philosophy, the leaves +flying about and losing themselves, and the thoughts as ill-arranged, +for the Hebrew Talmudical manner still clung to his German writing as +to his talking, so that the body swayed rhythmically, his thumb worked +and his voice chanted the sing-song of piety to ideas that would have +paralyzed the Talmud school. It was in like manner that when he lost a +game of chess or waxed hot in argument, his old Judean-Polish mother +jargon came back to him. His old religion he had shed completely, yet +a synagogue-tune could always move him to tears. Sometimes he might be +seen at the theatre, sobbing hysterically at tragedies or laughing +boisterously over comedies, for he had long since learned to love +Homer and the humane arts, though at first he was wont to contend that +no vigor of literary expression could possibly excel his +mother-in-law's curses. Not that he ever saw her again: his wife and +eldest son tracked him to Breslau, but only in quest of ducats and +divorce: the latter of which Maimon conceded after a legal rigmarole. +But he took no advantage of his freedom. A home of his own he never +possessed, save an occasional garret where he worked at an unsteady +table—one leg usually supported by a folio volume—surrounded by the +cats and dogs whom he had taken to solacing himself with. And even if +lodged in a nobleman's palace, his surroundings were no cleaner. In +Amsterdam he drove the Dutch to despair: even German housekeepers were +stung to remonstrance. Yet the charm of his <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_331" id="Page_331">[331]</a></span>conversation, the +brilliancy of his intellect kept him always well-friended. And the +fortune which favors fools watched over his closing years, and sent +the admiring Graf Kalkreuth, an intellectual Silesian nobleman, to dig +him out of miserable lodgings, and instal him in his own castle near +Freistadt.</p> + +<p>As he lay upon his luxurious death-bed in the dreary November dusk, +dying at forty-six of a neglected lung-trouble, a worthy Catholic +pastor strove to bring him to a more Christian frame of mind.</p> + +<p>"What matters it?" protested the sufferer; "when I am dead, I am +gone."</p> + +<p>"Can you say that, dear friend," rejoined the Pastor, with deep +emotion. "How? Your mind, which amid the most unfavorable +circumstances ever soared to higher attainments, which bore such fair +flowers and fruits—shall it be trodden in the dust along with the +poor covering in which it has been clothed? Do you not feel at this +moment that there is something in you which is not body, not matter, +not subject to the conditions of space and time?"</p> + +<p>"Ah!" replied Maimon, "there are beautiful dreams and hopes—"</p> + +<p>"Which will surely be fulfilled. Should you not wish to come again +into the society of Mendelssohn?"</p> + +<p>Maimon was silent.</p> + +<p>Suddenly the dying man cried out, "Ay me! I have been a fool, the most +foolish among the most foolish." The thought of Nathan the Wise was +indeed as a fiery scourge. Too late he realized that the passion for +Truth had destroyed him. Knowledge alone was not sufficient for life. +The will and the emotions demanded their nutriment and exercise as +well as the intellect. Man was not made merely to hunt an abstract +formula, pale ghost of living realities.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_332" id="Page_332">[332]</a></span>"To seek for Truth"—yes, it was one ideal. But there remained +also—as the quotation went on which Mendelssohn's disciples had +chosen as their motto—"To love the beautiful, to desire the good, to +do the best." Mendelssohn with his ordered scheme of harmonious +living, with his equal grasp of thought and life, sanely balanced +betwixt philosophy and letters, learning and business, according so +much to Hellenism, yet not losing hold of Hebraism, and adjusting with +equal mind the claims of the Ghetto and the claims of Culture, +Mendelssohn shone before Maimon's dying eyes, as indeed the Wise.</p> + +<p>The thinker had a last gleam of satisfaction in seeing so lucidly the +springs of his failure as a human being. Happiness was the child of +fixedness—in opinions, in space. Soul and body had need of a centre, +a pivot, a home.</p> + +<p>He had followed the hem of Truth to the mocking horizon: he had in +turn fanatically adopted every philosophical system Peripatetic, +Spinozist, Leibnozist, Leibnitzian, Kantian—and what did he know now +he was going beyond the horizon? Nothing. He had won a place among the +thinkers of Germany. But if he could only have had his cast-off son to +close his dying eyes, and could only have believed in the prayers his +David would have sobbed out, how willingly would he have consented to +be blotted out from the book of fame. A Passover tune hummed in his +brain, sad, sweet tears sprang to his eyes—yea, his soul found more +satisfaction in a meaningless melody charged with tremulous memories +of childhood, than in all the philosophies.</p> + +<p>A melancholy synagogue refrain quavered on his lips, his soul turned +yearningly towards these ascetics and mystics, whose life was a +voluntary martyrdom to a misunderstood righteousness, a passionate +sacrifice to a naïve conception of the cosmos. The infinite pathos of +their lives <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_333" id="Page_333">[333]</a></span>touched him to forgetfulness of his own futility. His +soul went out to them, but his brain denied him the comfort of their +illusions.</p> + +<p>He set his teeth and waited for death.</p> + +<p>The Pastor spoke again: "Yes, you have been foolish. But that you say +so now shows your soul is not beyond redemption. Christ is ever on the +threshold."</p> + +<p>Maimon made an impatient gesture. "You asked me if I should not like +to see Mendelssohn again. How do you suppose I could face him, if I +became a Christian?"</p> + +<p>"You forget, my dear Maimon, he knows the Truth now. Must he not +rejoice that his daughters have fallen upon the bosom of the Church?"</p> + +<p>Maimon sat up in bed with a sudden shock of remembrance that set him +coughing.</p> + +<p>"Dorothea, but not Henrietta?" he gasped painfully.</p> + +<p>"Henrietta too. Did you not know? And Abraham Mendelssohn also has +just had his boy Felix baptized—a wonder-child in music, I hear."</p> + +<p>Maimon fell back on his pillow, overcome with emotions and thoughts. +The tragedy latent in that smile of the sisters had developed itself.</p> + +<p>He had long since lost touch with Berlin, ceased to interest himself +in Judaism, its petty politics, but now his mind pieced together +vividly all that had reached him of the developments of the Jewish +question since Mendelssohn's death: the battle of old and new, grown +so fierce that the pietists denied the reformers Jewish burial; young +men scorning their fathers and crying, "Culture, Culture; down with +the Ghetto"; many in the reaction from the yoke of three thousand +years falling into braggart profligacy, many more into fashionable +Christianity. And the woman of the new generation no less apostate, +Henrietta Herz bringing beautiful Jewesses under the fascination of +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_334" id="Page_334">[334]</a></span>brilliant Germans and the romantic movement, so that Mendelssohn's own +daughter, Dorothea, had left her husband and children to live with +Schlegel, and the immemorial chastity of the Jewess was undermined. +And instead of the honorable estimation of his people Mendelssohn had +worked for, a violent reaction against the Jews, fomented spiritually +by Schleiermacher with his "transcendental Christianity," and +politically by Gentz with his cry of "Christian Germany": both men +lions of the Jewish-Christian Salon which Mendelssohn had made +possible. And the only Judaism that stood stable amid this flux, the +ancient rock of Rabbinism he had sought to dislodge, the Amsterdam +Jewry refusing even the civil rights for which he had fought.</p> + +<p>"Poor Mendelssohn!" thought the dying Maimon. "Which was the Dreamer +after all, he or I? Well for him, perhaps, that his <i>Phœdon</i> is +wrong, that he will never know."</p> + +<p>The gulf between them vanished, and in a last flash of remorseless +insight he saw himself and Mendelssohn at one in the common irony of +human destiny.</p> + +<p>He murmured: "And how dieth the wise? As the fool."</p> + +<p>"What do you say?" said the Pastor.</p> + +<p>"It is a verse from the Bible."</p> + +<p>"Then are you at peace?"</p> + +<p>"I am at peace."</p> + +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<a name="FROM_A_MATTRESS_GRAVE" id="FROM_A_MATTRESS_GRAVE"></a><hr /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_335" id="Page_335">[335]</a></span><br /> + +<h3>FROM A MATTRESS GRAVE<span class="totoc"><a href="#toc">ToC</a></span></h3> + +<div class="block2"><p>["I am a Jew, I am a Christian. I am tragedy, I am +comedy—Heraclitus and Democritus in one: a Greek, a Hebrew: an +adorer of despotism as incarnate in Napoleon, an admirer of +communism as embodied in Proudhon; a Latin, a Teuton; a beast, a +devil, a god."</p> + +<p>"God's satire weighs heavily upon me. The Great Author of the +Universe, the Aristophanes of Heaven, was bent on demonstrating +with crushing force to me, the little earthly so-called German +Aristophanes, how my weightiest sarcasms are only pitiful +attempts at jesting in comparison with His, and how miserably I +am beneath Him in humor, in colossal mockery."]</p></div> +<br /> + +<p>The carriage stopped, and the speckless footman, jumping down, +inquired: "Monsieur Heine?"</p> + +<p>The <i>concierge</i>, knitting beside the <i>porte cochère</i>, looked at him, +looked at the glittering victoria he represented, and at the <i>grande +dame</i> who sat in it, shielding herself with a parasol from the glory +of the Parisian sunlight. Then she shook her head.</p> + +<p>"But this is number three, Avenue Matignon?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, but Monsieur receives only his old friends. He is dying."</p> + +<p>"Madame knows. Take up her name.'"</p> + +<p>The <i>concierge</i> glanced at the elegant card. She saw "Lady"—which she +imagined meant an English <i>Duchesse</i>—and words scribbled on it in +pencil.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_336" id="Page_336">[336]</a></span>"It is <i>au cinquième</i>," she said, with a sigh.</p> + +<p>"I will take it up."</p> + +<p>Ere he returned, Madame descended and passed from the sparkling +sunshine into the gloom of the portico, with a melancholy +consciousness of the symbolic. For her spirit, too, had its poetic +intuitions and insights, and had been trained by friendship with one +of the wittiest and tenderest women of her time to some more than +common apprehension of the greater spirit at whose living tomb she was +come to worship. Hers was a fine face, wearing the triple aristocracy +of beauty, birth, and letters. The complexion was of lustreless ivory, +the black hair wound round and round. The stateliness of her figure +completed the impression of a Roman matron.</p> + +<p>"Monsieur Heine begs that your ladyship will do him the honor of +mounting, and will forgive him the five stories for the sake of the +view."</p> + +<p>Her ladyship's sadness was tinctured by a faint smile at the message, +which the footman delivered without any suspicion that the view in +question meant the view of Heine himself. But then that admirable +menial had not the advantage of her comprehensive familiarity with +Heine's writings. She crossed the blank stony courtyard and curled up +the curving five flights, her mind astir with pictures and emotions.</p> + +<p>She had scribbled on her card a reminder of her identity; but could he +remember, after all those years, and in his grievous sickness, the +little girl of eleven who had sat next to him at the Boulogne <i>table +d'hôte</i>? And she herself could now scarcely realize at times that the +stout, good-natured, short-sighted little man with the big white brow, +who had lounged with her daily at the end of the pier, telling her +stories, was the most mordant wit in Europe, "the German +Aristophanes"; and that those nursery tales, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_337" id="Page_337">[337]</a></span>grotesquely compact of +mermaids, water-sprites, and a funny old French fiddler with a poodle +that diligently took three baths a day, were the frolicsome +improvisations of perhaps the greatest lyric poet of his age. She +recalled their parting: "When you go back to England, you can tell +your friends that you have seen Heinrich Heine!"</p> + +<p>To which the little girl: "And who is Heinrich Heine?"</p> + +<p>A query which had set the blue-eyed little man roaring with laughter.</p> + +<p>These things might be vivid still to her vision: they colored all she +had read since from his magic pen—the wonderful poems interpreting +with equal magic the romance of strange lands and times, or the modern +soul, naked and unashamed, as if clothed in its own complexity; the +humorous-tragic questionings of the universe; the delicious +travel-pictures and fantasies; the lucid criticisms of art, and +politics, and philosophy, informed with malicious wisdom, shimmering +with poetry and wit. But, as for him, doubtless she and her ingenuous +interrogation had long since faded from his tumultuous life.</p> + +<p>The odors of the sick-room recalled her to the disagreeable present. +In the sombre light she stumbled against a screen covered with paper +painted to look like lacquer-work, and, as the slip-shod old nurse in +her <i>serre-tête</i> motioned her forward, she had a dismal sense of a +lodging-house interior, a bourgeois barrenness enhanced by two +engravings after Léopold Robert, depressingly alien from that dainty +boudoir atmosphere of the artist-life she knew.</p> + +<p>But this sordid impression was swallowed up in the vast tragedy behind +the screen. Upon a pile of mattresses heaped on the floor lay the +poet. He had raised himself a little on his pillows, amid which showed +a longish, pointed, white face with high cheek-bones, a Grecian nose, +and a large pale mouth, wasted from the sensualism she <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_338" id="Page_338">[338]</a></span>recollected in +it to a strange Christ-like beauty. The outlines of the shrivelled +body beneath the sheet seemed those of a child of ten, and the legs +looked curiously twisted. One thin little hand, as of transparent wax, +delicately artistic, upheld a paralyzed eyelid, through which he +peered at her.</p> + +<p>"Lucy <i>Liebchen</i>!" he piped joyously. "So you have found out who +Heinrich Heine is!"</p> + +<p>He used the familiar German "<i>du</i>"; for him she was still his little +friend. But to her the moment was too poignant for speech. The +terrible passages in the last writings of this greatest of +autobiographers, which she had hoped poetically colored, were then +painfully, prosaically true.</p> + +<p>"Can it be that I still actually exist? My body is so shrunk that +there is hardly anything left of me but my voice, and my bed makes me +think of the melodious grave of the enchanter Merlin, which is in the +forest of Broceliand in Brittany, under high oaks whose tops shine +like green flames to heaven. Oh, I envy thee those trees, brother +Merlin, and their fresh waving. For over my mattress grave here in +Paris no green leaves rustle, and early and late I hear nothing but +the rattle of carriages, hammering, scolding, and the jingle of +pianos. A grave without rest, death without the privileges of the +departed, who have no longer any need to spend money, or to write +letters, or to compose books...."</p> + +<p>And then she thought of that ghastly comparison of himself to the +ancient German singer—the poor clerk of the Chronicle of +Limburg—whose sweet songs were sung and whistled from morning to +night all through Germany; while the <i>Minnesinger</i> himself, smitten +with leprosy, hooded and cloaked, and carrying the lazarus-clapper, +moved through the shuddering city. God's satire weighed heavily <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_339" id="Page_339">[339]</a></span>upon +him, indeed. Silently she held out her hand, and he gave her his +bloodless fingers; she touched the strangely satin skin, and felt the +fever beneath.</p> + +<p>"It cannot be my little Lucy," he said reproachfully. "She used to +kiss me. But even Lucy's kiss cannot thrill my paralyzed lips."</p> + +<p>She stooped and kissed his lips. His little beard felt soft and weak +as the hair of a baby.</p> + +<p>"Ah, I have made my peace with the world and with God. Now He sends me +His death-angel."</p> + +<p>She struggled with the lump in her throat. "You must be indeed a prey +to illusions, if you mistake an Englishwoman for Azrael."</p> + +<p>"<i>Ach</i>, why was I so bitter against England? I was only once in +England, years ago. I knew nobody, and London seemed so full of fog +and Englishmen. Now England has avenged herself beautifully. She sends +me you. Others too mount the hundred and five steps. I am an annexe to +the Paris Exhibition. Remains of Heinrich Heine. A very pilgrimage of +the royal <i>demi-monde</i>! A Russian princess brings the hateful odor of +her pipe," he said with scornful satisfaction, "an Italian princess +babbles of <i>her</i> aches and pains, as if in competition with mine. But +the gold medal would fall to <i>my</i> nerves, I am convinced, if they were +on view at the Exhibition. No, no, don't cry; I meant you to laugh. +Don't think of me as you see me now; pretend to me I am as you first +knew me. But how fine and beautiful <i>you</i> have grown; even to my +fraction of an eye, which sees the sunlight as through black gauze. +Fancy little Lucy has a husband; a husband—and the poodle still takes +three baths a day. Are you happy, darling? are you happy?"</p> + +<p>She nodded. It seemed a sacrilege to claim happiness.</p> + +<p>"<i>Das ist schön!</i> Yes, you were always so merry. God <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_340" id="Page_340">[340]</a></span>be thanked! How +refreshing to find one woman with a heart, and that her husband's. +Here the women have a metronome under their corsets, which beats time, +but not music. <i>Himmel!</i> What a whiff of my youth you bring me! Does +the sea still roll green at the end of Boulogue pier, and do the +sea-gulls fly? while I lie here, a Parisian Prometheus, chained to my +bed-post. Ah, had I only the bliss of a rock with the sky above me! +But I must not complain; for six years before I moved here I had +nothing but a ceiling to defy. Now my balcony gives sideways on the +Champs-Elysées, and sometimes I dare to lie outside on a sofa and peer +at beautiful, beautiful Paris, as she sends up her soul in sparkling +fountains, and incarnates herself in pretty women, who trip along like +dance music. Look!"</p> + +<p>To please him she went to a window and saw, upon the narrow +iron-grilled balcony, a tent of striped chintz, like the awning of a +café, supported by a light iron framework. Her eyes were blurred by +unshed tears, and she divined rather than saw the far-stretching +Avenue, palpitating with the fevered life of the Great Exhibition +year; the intoxicating sunlight, the horse-chestnut trees dappling +with shade the leafy footways, the white fountain-spray and flaming +flower-beds of the Rond Point, the flashing flickering stream of +carriages flowing to the Bois with their freight of beauty and wealth +and insolent vice.</p> + +<p>"The first time I looked out of that window," he said, "I seemed to +myself like Dante at the end of the Divine Comedy, when once again he +beheld the stars. You cannot know what I felt when after so many years +I saw the world again for the first time, with half an eye, for ever +so little a space. I had my wife's opera-glass in my hand, and I saw +with inexpressible pleasure a young vagrant vendor of pastry offering +his goods to two ladies in crinolines, with a small dog. I closed the +glass; I could see no more, for <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_341" id="Page_341">[341]</a></span>I envied the dog. The nurse carried +me back to bed and gave me morphia. That day I looked no more. For me +the Divine Comedy was far from ended. The divine humorist has even +descended to a pun. Talk of Mahomet's coffin. I lie between the two +Champs-Elysées, the one where warm life palpitates, and that other, +where the pale ghosts flit."</p> + +<p>Then it was not a momentary fantasy of the pen, but an abiding mood +that had paid blasphemous homage to the "Aristophanes of Heaven." +Indeed, had it not always run through his work, this conception of +humor in the grotesqueries of history, "the dream of an intoxicated +divinity"? But his amusement thereat had been genial. "Like a mad +harlequin," he had written of Byron, the man to whom he felt himself +most related, "he strikes a dagger into his own heart, to sprinkle +mockingly with the jetting black blood the ladies and gentlemen +around.... My blood is not so splenetically black; my bitterness comes +only from the gall-apples of my ink." But now, she thought, that +bitter draught always at his lips had worked into his blood at last.</p> + +<p>"Are you quite incurable?" she said gently, as she returned from the +window to seat herself at his mattress graveside.</p> + +<p>"No, I shall die some day. Gruby says very soon. But doctors are so +inconsistent. Last week, after I had had a frightful attack of cramp +in the throat and chest, '<i>Pouvez-vous siffler?</i>' he said. '<i>Non, pas +méme une comédie de M. Scribe</i>,' I replied. So you may see how bad I +was. Well, even that, he said, wouldn't hasten the end, and I should +go on living indefinitely! I had to caution him not to tell my wife. +Poor Mathilde! I have been unconscionably long a-dying. And now he +turns round again and bids me order my coffin. But I fear, despite his +latest bulletin, I <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_342" id="Page_342">[342]</a></span>shall go on some time yet increasing my knowledge +of spinal disease. I read all the books about it, as well as +experiment practically. What clinical lectures I will give in heaven, +demonstrating the ignorance of doctors!"</p> + +<p>She was glad to note the more genial <i>nuance</i> of mockery. Raillery +vibrated almost in the very tones of his voice, which had become clear +and penetrating under the stimulus of her presence, but it passed away +in tenderness, and the sarcastic wrinkles vanished from the corners of +his mouth as he made the pathetic jest anent his wife.</p> + +<p>"So you read as well as write," she said.</p> + +<p>"Oh, well, De Zichlinsky, a nice young refugee, does both for me most +times. My mother, poor old soul, wrote the other day to know why I +only signed my letters, so I had to say my eyes pained me, which was +not so untrue as the rest of the letter."</p> + +<p>"Doesn't she know?"</p> + +<p>"Know? God bless her, of course not. Dear old lady, dreaming so +happily at the Dammthor, too old and wise to read newspapers. No, she +does not know that she has a dying son, only that she has an undying! +<i>Nicht Wahr?</i>"</p> + +<p>He looked at her with a shade of anxiety; that tragic anxiety of the +veteran artist scenting from afar the sneers of the new critics at his +life-work, and morbidly conscious of his hosts of enemies.</p> + +<p>"As long as the German tongue lives."</p> + +<p>"Dear old Germany," he said, pleased. "Yes, as I wrote to you, for +<i>you</i> are the <i>liebe Kleine</i> of the poem,</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">'Nennt man die besten Namen,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So wird auch der meine genannt.'"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>She was flattered, but thought sadly of the sequel:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"'Nennt man die schlimmsten Schmerzen,<br /></span><span class='pn'><a name="Page_343" id="Page_343">[343]</a></span> +<span class="i0">So wird auch der meine genannt'"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="noin">as he went on:—</p> + +<p>"That was why, though the German censorship forbade or mutilated my +every book, which was like sticking pins into my soul, I would not +become naturalized here. Paris has been my new Jerusalem, and I +crossed my Jordan at the Rhine; but as a French subject I should be +like those two-headed monstrosities they show at the fairs. Besides, I +hate French poetry. What measured glitter! Not that German poetry has +ever been to me more than a divine plaything. A laurel-wreath on my +grave, place or withhold, I care not; but lay on my coffin a sword, +for I was as brave a soldier as your Canning in the Liberation War of +Humanity. But my Thirty Years' War is over, and I die 'with sword +unbroken, and a broken heart.'" His head fell back in ineffable +hopelessness. "Ah," he murmured, "it was ever my prayer, 'Lord, let me +grow old in body, but let my soul stay young; let my voice quaver and +falter, but never my hope.' And this is how I end."</p> + +<p>"But your work does not end. Your fight was not vain. You are the +inspirer of young Germany. And you are praised and worshipped by all +the world. Is that no pleasure?"</p> + +<p>"No, I am not <i>le bon Dieu</i>!" He chuckled, his spirits revived by the +blasphemous <i>mot</i>." Ah, what a fate! To have the homage only of the +fools, a sort of celestial Victor Cousin. One compliment from Hegel +now must be sweeter than a churchful of psalms." A fearful fit of +coughing interrupted further elaboration of the blasphemous fantasia. +For five minutes it rent and shook him, the nurse bending fruitlessly +over him; but at its wildest he signed to his visitor not to go, and +when at last it lulled he went on calmly: "Donizetti ended mad in a +gala <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_344" id="Page_344">[344]</a></span>dress, but I end at least sane enough to appreciate the joke—a +little long-drawn out, and not entirely original, yet replete with +ingenious irony. Little Lucy looks shocked, but I sometimes think, +little Lucy, the disrespect is with the goody-goody folks, who, while +lauding their Deity's strength and hymning His goodness, show no +recognition at all of His humor. Yet I am praised as a wit as well as +a poet. If I could take up my bed and walk, I would preach a new +worship—the worship of the Arch-Humorist. I should draw up the Ritual +of the Ridiculous. Three times a day, when the <i>muezzin</i> called from +the Bourse-top, all the faithful would laugh devoutly at the gigantic +joke of the cosmos. How sublime, the universal laugh! at sunrise, +noon, and sunset; those who did not laugh would be persecuted; they +would laugh, if only on the wrong side of the mouth. Delightful! As +most people have no sense of humor, they will swallow the school +catechism of the comic as stolidly as they now swallow the spiritual. +Yes, I see you will <i>not</i> laugh. But why may I not endow my Deity—as +everybody else does—with the quality which I possess or admire most?"</p> + +<p>She felt some truth in his apology. He was mocking, not God, but the +magnified man of the popular creeds; to him it was a mere intellectual +counter with which his wit played, oblivious of the sacred <i>aura</i> that +clung round the concept for the bulk of the world. Even his famous +picture of Jehovah dying, or his suggestion that perhaps <i>dieser +Parvenu des Himmels</i> was angry with Israel for reminding Him of his +former obscure national relations—what was it but a lively rendering +of what German savants said so unreadably about the evolution of the +God-Idea? But she felt also it would have been finer to bear unsmiling +the smileless destinies; not to affront with the tinkle of vain +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_345" id="Page_345">[345]</a></span>laughter the vast imperturbable. She answered gently, "You are talking +nonsense."</p> + +<p>"I always talked nonsense to you, little Lucy, for</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">'My heart is wise and witty<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And it bleeds within my breast.'<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="noin">Will you hear its melodious drip-drip, my last poem?—My manuscript, +Catherine; and then you can go take a nap. I am sure I gave you little +rest last night."</p> + +<p>The old woman brought him some folio sheets covered with great +pathetically sprawling letters, and when she had retired, he began—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Wie langsam kriechet sie dahin,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Die Zeit, die schauderhafte Schnecke...?"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>His voice went on, but after the first lines the listener's brain was +too troubled to attend. It was agitated with whirling memories of +those earlier outcries throbbing with the passion of life, flaming +records of the days when every instant held not an eternity of +<i>ennui</i>, but of sensibility. "Red life boils in my veins.... Every +woman is to me the gift of a world.... I hear a thousand +nightingales.... I could eat all the elephants of Hindostan and pick +my teeth with the spire of Strasburg Cathedral.... Life is the +greatest of blessings, and death the worst of evils...." But the poet +was still reading—she forced herself to listen.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"'Perhaps with ancient heathen shapes,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Old faded gods, this brain is full;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who, for their most unholy rites,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Have chosen a dead poet's skull.'"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>He broke off suddenly. "No, it is too sad. A cry in the night from a +man buried alive; a new note in German <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_346" id="Page_346">[346]</a></span>poetry—<i>was sage ich?</i>—in +the poetry of the world. No poet ever had such a lucky chance +before—<i>voyez-vous</i>—to survive his own death, though many a one has +survived his own immortality. Dici <i>miser</i> ante obitum nemo +debet—call no man wretched till he's dead. 'Tis not till the journey +is over that one can see the perspective truthfully and the tombstones +of one's hopes and illusions marking the weary miles. 'Tis not till +one is dead that the day of judgment can dawn; and when one is dead +one cannot see or judge at all. An exquisite irony. <i>Nicht Wahr?</i> The +wrecks in the Morgue, what tales they could tell! But dead men tell no +tales. While there's life there's hope; and so the worst cynicisms +have never been spoken. But I—I alone—have dodged the Fates. I am +the dead-alive, the living dead. I hover over my racked body like a +ghost, and exist in an interregnum. And so I am the first mortal in a +position to demand an explanation. Don't tell me I have sinned, and am +in hell. Most sins are sins of classification by bigots and poor +thinkers. Who can live without sinning, or sin without living? All +very well for Kant to say: 'Act so that your conduct may be a law for +all men under similar conditions.' But Kant overlooked that <i>you</i> are +part of the conditions. And when you are a Heine, you may very well +concede that future Heines should act just so. It is easy enough to be +virtuous when you are a professor of pure reason, a regular, punctual +mechanism, a thing for the citizens of Königsberg to set their watches +by. But if you happen to be one of those fellows to whom all the roses +nod and all the stars wink ... I am for Schelling's principle: the +highest spirits are above the law. No, no, the parson's explanation +won't do. Perhaps heaven holds different explanations, graduated to +rising intellects, from parsons upwards. Moses Lump will be satisfied +with a gold chair, and the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_347" id="Page_347">[347]</a></span>cherubim singing, 'holy! holy! holy!' in +Hebrew, and ask no further questions. Abdullah Ben Osman's mouth will +be closed by the kisses of houris. Surely Christ will not disappoint +the poor old grandmother's vision of Jerusalem the Golden seen through +tear-dimmed spectacles as she pores over the family Bible. He will +meet her at the gates of death with a wonderful smile of love; and, as +she walks upon the heavenly Jordan's shining waters, hand in hand with +Him, she will see her erst-wrinkled face reflected from them in +angelic beauty. Ah, but to tackle a Johann Wolfgang Goethe or a +Gotthold Ephraim Lessing—what an ordeal for the celestial Professor +of Apologetics! Perhaps that's what the Gospel means—only by becoming +little children can we enter the kingdom of heaven. I told my little +god-daughter yesterday that heaven is so pure and magnificent that +they eat cakes there all day—it is only what the parson says, +translated into child-language—and that the little cherubs wipe their +mouths with their white wings. 'That's very dirty,' said the child. I +fear that unless I become a child myself I shall have severer +criticisms to bring against the cherubs. O God," he broke off +suddenly, letting fall the sheets of manuscript and stretching out his +hands in prayer, "make me a child again, even before I die; give me +back the simple faith, the clear vision of the child that holds its +father's hand. Oh, little Lucy, it takes me like that sometimes, and I +have to cry for mercy. I dreamt I <i>was</i> a child the other night, and +saw my dear father again. He was putting on his wig, and I saw him as +through a cloud of powder. I rushed joyfully to embrace him; but, as I +approached him, everything seemed changing in the mist. I wished to +kiss his hands, but I recoiled with mortal cold. The fingers were +withered branches, my father himself a leafless tree, which the winter +had covered with hoar-frost. Ah, Lucy, Lucy, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_348" id="Page_348">[348]</a></span>my brain is full of +madness and my heart of sorrow. Sing me the ballad of the lady who +took only one spoonful of gruel, 'with sugar and spices so rich.'"</p> + +<p>Astonished at his memory, she repeated the song of Ladye Alice and +Giles Collins, the poet laughing immoderately till at the end,</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"The parson licked up the rest,"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="noin">in his effort to repeat the line that so tickled him, he fell into a +fearful spasm, which tore and twisted him till his child's body lay +curved like a bow. Her tears fell at the sight.</p> + +<p>"Don't pity me too much," he gasped, trying to smile with his eyes; "I +bend, but I do not break."</p> + +<p>But she, terrified, rang the bell for aid. A jovial-looking +woman—tall and well-shaped—came in, holding a shirt she was sewing. +Her eyes and hair were black, and her oval face had the rude coloring +of health. She brought into the death-chamber at once a whiff of +ozone, and a suggestion of tragic incongruity. Nodding pleasantly at +the visitor, she advanced quickly to the bedside, and laid her hand +upon the forehead, sweating with agony.</p> + +<p>"Mathilde," he said, when the spasm abated, "this is little Lucy of +whom I have never spoken to you, and to whom I wrote a poem about her +dark-brown eyes which you have never read."</p> + +<p>Mathilde smiled amiably at the Roman matron.</p> + +<p>"No, I have never read it," she said archly. "They tell me that Heine +is a very clever man, and writes very fine books; but I know nothing +about it, and must content myself with trusting to their word."</p> + +<p>"Isn't she adorable?" cried Heine delightedly. "I have only two +consolations that sit at my bedside, my French wife and my German +muse, and they are not on speaking <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_349" id="Page_349">[349]</a></span>terms. But it has its +compensations, for she is unable also to read what my enemies in +Germany say about me, and so she continues to love me."</p> + +<p>"How can he have enemies?" said Mathilde, smoothing his hair. "He is +so good to everybody. He has only two thoughts—to hide his illness +from his mother, and to earn enough for my future. And as for having +enemies in Germany, how can that be, when he is so kind to every poor +German that passes through Paris?"</p> + +<p>It moved the hearer to tears—this wifely faith. Surely the saint that +lay behind the Mephistopheles in his face must have as real an +existence, if the woman who knew him only as man, undazzled by the +glitter of his fame, unwearied by his long sickness, found him thus +without flaw or stain.</p> + +<p>"Delicious creature," said Heine fondly. "Not only thinks me good, but +thinks that goodness keeps off enemies. What ignorance of life she +crams into a dozen words. As for those poor countrymen of mine, they +are just the people that carry back to Germany all the awful tales of +my goings-on. Do you know, there was once a poor devil of a musician +who had set my <i>Zwei Grenadiere</i>, and to whom I gave no end of help +and advice, when he wanted to make an opera on the legend of the +Flying Dutchman, which I had treated in one of my books. Now he curses +me and all the Jews together, and his name is Richard Wagner."</p> + +<p>Mathilde smiled on vaguely. "You would eat those cutlets," she said +reprovingly.</p> + +<p>"Well, I was weary of the chopped grass cook calls spinach. I don't +want seven years of Nebuchadnezzardom."</p> + +<p>"Cook is angry when you don't eat her things, <i>chéri</i>. I find it +difficult to get on with her, since you praised her dainty style. One +would think she was the mistress and I the servant."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_350" id="Page_350">[350]</a></span>"Ah, Nonotte, you don't understand the artistic temperament." Then a +twitch passed over his face. "You must give me a double dose of +morphia to-night, darling."</p> + +<p>"No, no; the doctor forbids."</p> + +<p>"One would think he were the employer and I the employee," he grumbled +smilingly. "But I daresay he is right. Already I spend 500 francs a +year on morphia, I must really retrench. So run away, dearest, I have +a good friend here to cheer me up."</p> + +<p>She stooped down and kissed him.</p> + +<p>"Ah, madame," she said, "it is very good of you to come and cheer him +up. It is as good as a new dress to me, to see a new face coming in, +for the old ones begin to drop off. Not the dresses, the friends," she +added gaily, as she disappeared.</p> + +<p>"Isn't she divine?" cried Heine enthusiastically.</p> + +<p>"I am glad you love her," his visitor replied simply.</p> + +<p>"You mean you are astonished. Love? What is love? I have never loved."</p> + +<p>"You!" And all those stories those countrymen of his had spread +abroad, all his own love-poems were in that exclamation.</p> + +<p>"No—never mortal woman. Only statues and the beautiful dead +dream-women, vanished with the <i>neiges d'antan</i>. What did it matter +whom I married? Perhaps you would have had me aspire higher than a +<i>grisette</i>? To a tradesman's daughter? Or a demoiselle in society? +'Explain my position?'—a poor exile's position—to some +double-chinned <i>bourgeois</i> papa who can only see that my immortal +books are worth exactly two thousand marks <i>banco</i>; yes, that's the +most I can wring out of those scoundrels in wicked Hamburg. And to +think that if I had only done my writing in ledgers, the 'prentice +millionaire might have become the master millionaire, ungalled by +avuncular <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_351" id="Page_351">[351]</a></span>advice and chary cheques. Ah, dearest Lucy, you can never +understand what we others suffer—you into whose mouths the larks drop +roasted. Should I marry fashion and be stifled? Or money and be +patronized? And lose the exquisite pleasure of toiling to buy my wife +new dresses and knick-knacks? <i>Après tout</i>, Mathilde is quite as +intelligent as any other daughter of Eve, whose first thought when she +came to reflective consciousness was a new dress. All great men are +mateless, 'tis only their own ribs they fall in love with. A more +cultured woman would only have misunderstood me more pretentiously. +Not that I didn't, in a weak moment, try to give her a little polish. +I sent her to a boarding-school to learn to read and write; my child +of nature among all the little school-girls—ha! ha! ha!—and I only +visited her on Sundays, and she could rattle off the Egyptian Kings +better than I, and once she told me with great excitement the story of +Lucretia, which she had heard for the first time. Dear Nonotte! You +should have seen her dancing at the school ball, as graceful and +maidenly as the smallest shrimp of them all. What <i>gaieté de cœur</i>! +What good humor! What mother-wit! And such a faithful chum. Ah, the +French women are wonderful. We have been married fifteen years, and +still, when I hear her laugh come through that door, my soul turns +from the gates of death and remembers the sun. Oh, how I love to see +her go off to Mass every morning with her toilette nicely adjusted and +her dainty prayer-book in her neatly gloved hand, for she's adorably +religious, is my little Nonotte. You look surprised; did you then +think religious people shock me!"</p> + +<p>She smiled a little. "But don't you shock her?"</p> + +<p>"I wouldn't for worlds utter a blasphemy she could understand. Do you +think Shakespeare explained himself to Ann Hathaway? But she doubtless +served well enough as <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_352" id="Page_352">[352]</a></span>artist's model; raw material to be worked up +into Imogens and Rosalinds. Enchanting creatures! How you foggy +islanders could have begotten Shakespeare! The miracle of miracles. +And Sterne! <i>Mais non</i>, an Irishman like Swift, <i>Ça s'explique.</i> Is +Sterne read?"</p> + +<p>"No; he is only a classic."</p> + +<p>"Barbarians! Have you read my book on Shakespeare's heroines? It is +good; <i>nicht wahr?</i>"</p> + +<p>"Admirable."</p> + +<p>"Then, why shouldn't you translate it into English?"</p> + +<p>"It is an idea."</p> + +<p>"It is an inspiration. Nay, why shouldn't you translate all my books? +You shall; you must. You know how the French edition <i>fait fureur</i>. +French, that is the European hall-mark, for Paris is Athens. But +English will mean fame <i>in ultima Thule</i>; the isles of the sea, as the +Bible says. It isn't for the gold pieces, though, God knows, Mathilde +needs more friends, as we call them—perhaps because they leave us so +soon. I fear she doesn't treat them too considerately, the poor little +featherhead. Heaven preserve you from the irony of having to earn your +living on your death-bed! <i>Ach</i>, my publisher, Campe, has built +himself a new establishment; what a monument to me! Why should not +some English publisher build me a monument in London? The Jew's books, +like the Jew, should be spread abroad, so that in them all the nations +of the earth shall be blessed. For the Jew peddles, not only old clo', +but new ideas. I began life—tell it not in Gath—as a commission +agent for English goods; and I end it as an intermediary between +France and Germany, trying to make two great nations understand each +other. To that not unworthy aim has all my later work been devoted."</p> + +<p>"So you really consider yourself a Jew still?"</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_353" id="Page_353">[353]</a></span>"<i>Mein Gott!</i> have I ever been anything else but an enemy of the +Philistines?"</p> + +<p>She smiled: "Yes; but religiously?"</p> + +<p>"Religiously! What was my whole fight to rouse Hodge out of his +thousand years' sleep in his hole? Why did I edit a newspaper, and +plague myself with our time and its interests? Goethe has created +glorious Greek statues, but statues cannot have children. My words +should find issue in deeds. Put me rather with poor Lessing. I am no +true Hellenist. I may have snatched at pleasure, but self-sacrifice +has always called to the depths of me. Like my ancestor, David, I have +been not only a singer, I have slung my smooth little pebbles at the +forehead of Goliath."</p> + +<p>"Yes; but haven't you turned Catholic?"</p> + +<p>"Catholic!" he roared like a roused lion, "they say that again! Has +the myth of death-bed conversion already arisen about me? How they +jump, the fools, at the idea of a man's coming round to their views +when his brain grows weak!"</p> + +<p>"No, not death-bed conversion. Quite an old history. I was assured you +had married in a Catholic Church."</p> + +<p>"To please Mathilde. Without that the poor creature wouldn't have +thought herself married in a manner sufficiently pleasing to God. It +is true we had been living together without any Church blessing at +all, but <i>que voulez-vous</i>? Women are like that. But for a duel I had +to fight, I should have been satisfied to go on as we were. I +understand by a wife something nobler than a married woman chained to +me by money-brokers and parsons, and I deemed my <i>faux ménage</i> far +firmer than many a "true" one. But since I <i>was</i> to be married, I +could not leave my beloved Nonotte a dubious widowhood. We even +invited a number of Bohemian couples to the wedding-feast, and bade +them follow our example in daring the last step of all. Ha! ha! <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_354" id="Page_354">[354]</a></span>there +is nothing like a convert's zeal, you see. But convert to Catholicism, +that's another pair of sleeves. If your right eye offends you, pluck +it out; if your right arm offends you, cut it off. And if your reason +offends you, become a Catholic. No, no, Lucy, I may have worshipped +the Madonna in song, for how can a poet be insensible to the beauty of +Catholic symbol and ritual? But a Jew I have always been."</p> + +<p>"Despite your baptism?"</p> + +<p>The sufferer groaned, but not from physical pain.</p> + +<p>"Ah, cruel little Lucy, don't remind me of my youthful folly. Thank +your stars you were born an Englishwoman. I was born under the fearful +conjunction of Christian bigotry and Jewish, in the Judenstrasse. In +my cradle lay my line of life marked out from beginning to end. My +God, what a life! You know how Germany treated her Jews—like pariahs +and wild beasts. At Frankfort for centuries the most venerable Rabbi +had to take off his hat if the smallest gamin cried: 'Jud', mach +mores!' I have myself been shut up in that Ghetto, I have witnessed a +Jew-riot more than once in Hamburg. Ah, Judaism is not a religion, but +a misfortune. And to be born a Jew <i>and</i> a genius! What a double +curse! Believe me, Lucy, a certificate of baptism was a necessary card +of admission to European culture. Neither my mother nor my money-bag +of an uncle sympathized with my shuddering reluctance to wade through +holy water to my doctor's degree. And yet no sooner had I taken the +dip than a great horror came over me. Many a time I got up at night +and looked in the glass, and cursed myself for my want of backbone! +Alas! my curses were more potent than those of the Rabbis against +Spinoza, and this disease was sent me to destroy such backbone as I +had. No wonder the doctors do not understand it. I learnt in the +Ghetto that if I didn't twine <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_355" id="Page_355">[355]</a></span>the holy phylacteries round my arm, +serpents would be found coiled round the arm of my corpse. Alas! +serpents have never failed to coil themselves round my sins. The +Inquisition could not have tortured me more, had I been a Jew of +Spain. If I had known how much easier moral pain was to bear than +physical, I would have saved my curses for my enemies, and put up with +my conscience—twinges. Ah, truly said your divine Shakespeare that +the wisest philosopher is not proof against a toothache. When was any +spasm of pleasure so sustained as pain? Certain of our bones, I learn +from my anatomy books, only manifest their existence when they are +injured. Happy are the bones that have no history. Ugh! how mine are +coming through the skin, like ugly truth through fair romance. I shall +have to apologize to the worms for offering them nothing but bones. +Alas, how ugly bitter it is to die; how sweet and snugly we can live +in this snug, sweet nest of earth. What nice words; I must start a +poem with them. Yes, sooner than die I would live over again my +miserable boyhood in my uncle Salomon's office, miscalculating in his +ledgers like a Trinitarian, while I scribbled poems for the <i>Hamburg +Wächter</i>. Yes, I would even rather learn Latin again at the Franciscan +cloister, and grind law at Göttingen. For, after all, I shouldn't have +to work very hard; a pretty girl passes, and to the deuce with the +Pandects! Ah, those wild University days, when we used to go and sup +at the 'Landwehr,' and the rosy young <i>Kellnerin</i>, who brought us our +duck <i>mit Apfelkompot</i>, kissed me alone of all the <i>Herren Studenten</i>, +because I was a poet, and already as famous as the professors. And +then, after I should be re-rusticated from Göttingen, there would be +Berlin over again, and dear Rahel Levin and her salon, and the +Tuesdays at Elise von Hohenhausen's (at which I would read my <i>Lyrical +Intermezzo</i>), and the mad literary nights <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_356" id="Page_356">[356]</a></span>with the poets in the +Behrenstrasse. And balls, theatres, operas, masquerades—shall I ever +forget the ball when Sir Walter Scott's son appeared as a Scotch +Highlander, just when all Berlin was mad about the Waverley Novels! I, +too, should read them over again for the first time, those wonderful +romances; yes, and I should write my own early books over again—oh, +the divine joy of early creation!—and I should set out again with +bounding pulses on my <i>Harzreise</i>: and the first night of <i>Freischütz</i> +would come once more, and I should be whistling the <i>Jungfern</i> and +sipping punch in the Casino, with Lottchen filling up my glass." His +eyes oozed tears, and suddenly he stretched out his arms and seized +her hand and pressed it frantically, his face and body convulsed, his +paralyzed eyelids dropping. "No, no!" he pleaded, in a hoarse, hollow +voice, as she strove to withdraw it, "I hear the footsteps of death, I +must cling on to life; I must, I must. O the warmth and the scent of +it!"</p> + +<p>She shuddered. For an instant he seemed a vampire with shut eyes +sucking at her life-blood to sustain his; and when that horrible +fantasy passed, there remained the overwhelming tragedy of a dead man +lusting for life. Not this the ghost, who, as Berlioz put it, stood at +the window of his grave, regarding and mocking the world in which he +had no further part. But his fury waned, he fell back as in a stupor, +and lay silent, little twitches passing over his sightless face.</p> + +<p>She bent over him, terribly distressed. Should she go? Should she ring +again? Presently words came from his lips at intervals, abrupt, +disconnected, and now a ribald laugh, and now a tearful sigh. And then +he was a student humming:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Gaudeamus igitur, juvenes dum sumus,"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="noin"><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_357" id="Page_357">[357]</a></span>and his death-mask lit up with the wild joys of living. And then +earlier memories still—of his childhood in Düsseldorf—seemed to flow +through his comatose brain; his mother and brothers and sisters; the +dancing-master he threw out of the window; the emancipation of the +Jewry by the French conquerors; the joyous drummer who taught him +French; the passing of Napoleon on his white horse; the atheist +school-boy friend with whom he studied Spinoza on the sly, and the +country louts from whom he bought birds merely to set them free, and +the blood-red hair of the hangman's niece who sang him folk-songs. And +suddenly he came to himself, raised his eyelid with his forefinger and +looked at her.</p> + +<p>"Catholic!" he cried angrily. "I never returned to Judaism, because I +never left it. My baptism was a mere wetting. I have never put +Heinrich—only H—on my books, and never have I ceased to write +'Harry' to my mother. Though the Jews hate me even more than the +Christians, yet I was always on the side of my brethren."</p> + +<p>"I know, I know," she said soothingly. "I am sorry I hurt you. I +remember well the passage in which you say that your becoming a +Christian was the fault of the Saxons who changed sides suddenly at +Leipzig; or else of Napoleon who had no need to go to Russia; or else +of his school-master who gave him instruction at Brienne in geography, +and did not tell him that it was very cold at Moscow in winter."</p> + +<p>"Very well, then," he said, pacified. "Let them not say either that I +have been converted to Judaism on my death-bed. Was not my first poem +based on one in the Passover night <i>Hagadah</i>? Was not my first +tragedy, <i>Almansor</i>, really the tragedy of down-trodden Israel, that +great race which from the ruins of its second Temple knew to save, not +the gold and the precious stones, but its real treasure, the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_358" id="Page_358">[358]</a></span>Bible—a +gift to the world that would make the tourist traverse oceans to see a +Jew, if there were only one left alive. The only people that preserved +freedom of thought through the middle ages, they have now to preserve +God against the free-thought of the modern world. We are the Swiss +guards of Deism. God was always the beginning and end of my thought. +When I hear His existence questioned, I feel as I felt once in your +Bedlam when I lost my guide, a ghastly forlornness in a mad world. Is +not my best work, <i>The Rabbi of Bacharach</i>, devoted to expressing the +'vast Jewish sorrow,' as Börne calls it?"</p> + +<p>"But you never finished it?"</p> + +<p>"I was a fool to be persuaded by Moser. Or was it Gans? Ah, will not +Jehovah count it to me for righteousness, that New Jerusalem +Brotherhood with them in the days when I dreamt of reconciling Jew and +Greek—the goodness of beauty with the beauty of goodness! Oh, those +days of youthful dreams, whose winters are warmer than the summers of +the after years. How they tried to crush us, the Rabbis and the State +alike! O the brave Moser, the lofty-souled, the pure-hearted, who +passed from counting-house to laboratory, and studied Sanscrit for +recreation, <i>moriturus te saluto</i>. And thou, too, Markus, with thy +boy's body, and thy old man's look, and thy encyclopædic, inorganic +mind; and thou, O Gans, with thy too organic Hegelian hocus-pocus. +Yes, the Rabbis were right, and the baptismal font had us at last; but +surely God counts the will to do, and is more pleased with +great-hearted dreams than with the deeds of the white-hearted burghers +of virtue, whose goodness is essence of gendarmerie. And where, +indeed—if not in Judaism, broadened by Hellenism—shall one find the +religion of the future? Be sure of this, anyhow, that only a Jew will +find it. We have the gift of religion, the wisdom of the ages. You +others—young races <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_359" id="Page_359">[359]</a></span>fresh from staining your bodies with woad—have +never yet got as far as Moses. Moses—that giant figure—who dwarfs +Sinai when he stands upon it, the great artist in life, who, as I +point out in my <i>Confessions</i> built human pyramids; who created +Israel; who took a poor shepherd family, and created a nation from +it—a great, eternal, holy people, a people of God, destined to +outlive the centuries, and to serve as a pattern to all other +nations—a statesman, not a dreamer, who did not deny the world and +the flesh, but sanctified it. Happiness, is it not implied in the very +aspiration of the Christian for postmundane bliss? And yet, 'the man +Moses was very meek'; the most humble and lovable of men. He +too—though it is always ignored—was ready to die for the sins of +others, praying, when his people had sinned, that <i>his</i> name might be +blotted out instead; and though God offered to make of him a great +nation, yet did he prefer the greatness of his people. He led them to +Palestine, but his own foot never touched the promised land. What a +glorious, Godlike figure, and yet so prone to wrath and error, so +lovably human. How he is modelled all round like a Rembrandt—while +your starveling monks have made of your Christ a mere decorative +figure with a gold halo. O Moshé Rabbenu, Moses our teacher indeed! +No, Christ was not the first nor the last of our race to wear a crown +of thorns. What was Spinoza but Christ in the key of meditation?"</p> + +<p>"Wherever a great soul speaks out his thoughts, there is Golgotha," +quoted the listener.</p> + +<p>"Ah, you know every word I have written," he said, childishly pleased. +"Decidedly, you must translate me. You shall be my apostle to the +heathen. You are good apostles, you English. You turned Jews under +Cromwell, and now your missionaries are planting our Palestinian +doctrines in the South Seas, or amid the josses and pagodas of <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_360" id="Page_360">[360]</a></span>the +East, and your young men are colonizing unknown continents on the +basis of the Decalogue of Moses. You are founding a world-wide +Palestine. The law goes forth from Zion, but by way of Liverpool and +Southampton. Perhaps you are indeed the lost Ten Tribes."</p> + +<p>"Then you would make me a Jew, too," she laughed.</p> + +<p>"Jew or Greek, there are only two religious +possibilities—fetish-dances and spinning dervishes don't count—the +Renaissance meant the revival of these two influences, and since the +sixteenth century they have both been increasing steadily. Luther was +a child of the Old Testament. Since the Exodus, Freedom has always +spoken with a Hebrew accent. Christianity is Judaism run divinely mad, +a religion without a drainage system, a beautiful dream dissevered +from life, soul cut adrift from body, and sent floating through the +empyrean, when it can only at best be a captive balloon. At the same +time, don't take your idea of Judaism from the Jews. It is only an +apostolic succession of great souls that understands anything in this +world. The Jewish mission will never be over till the Christians are +converted to the religion of Christ. Lassalle is a better pupil of the +Master than the priests who denounce socialism. You have met Lassalle! +No? You shall meet him here one day. A marvel. Me <i>plus</i> Will. He +knows everything, feels everything, yet is a sledge-hammer to act. He +may yet be the Messiah of the nineteenth century. Ah! when every man +is a Spinoza, and does good for the love of good, when the world is +ruled by justice and brotherhood, reason and humor, then the Jews may +shut up shop, for it will be the Holy Sabbath. Did you mark, Lucy, I +said, reason and humor? Nothing will survive in the long run but what +satisfies the sense of logic, and the sense of humor. Logic and +laughter—the two trumps of doom! Put not your trust in princes—the +really great of <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_361" id="Page_361">[361]</a></span>the earth are always simple. Pomp and ceremonial, +popes and kings, are toys for children. Christ rode on an ass, now the +ass rides on Christ."</p> + +<p>"And how long do you give your trumps to sound before your Millennium +dawns?" said "little Lucy," feeling strangely old and cynical beside +this incorrigible idealist.</p> + +<p>"Alas, perhaps I am only another dreamer of the Ghetto, perhaps I have +fought in vain. A Jewish woman once came weeping to her Rabbi with her +son, and complained that the boy, instead of going respectably into +business like his sires, had developed religion, and insisted on +training for a Rabbi. Would not the Rabbi dissuade him? 'But,' said +the Rabbi, chagrined, 'why are you so distressed about it? Am <i>I</i> not +a Rabbi?' 'Yes,' replied the woman, 'but this little fool takes it +seriously,' <i>Ach</i>, every now and again arises a dreamer who takes the +world's lip-faith seriously, and the world tramples on another fool. +Perhaps there is no resurrection for humanity. If so, if there's no +world's Saviour coming by the railway, let us keep the figure of that +sublime Dreamer whose blood is balsam to the poor and the suffering."</p> + +<p>Marvelling at the mental lucidity, the spiritual loftiness of his +changed mood, his visitor wished to take leave of him with this image +in her memory; but just then a half-paralyzed Jewish graybeard made +his appearance, and Heine's instant dismissal of him on her account +made it difficult not to linger a little longer.</p> + +<p>"My <i>chef de police</i>!" he said, smiling. "He lives on me and I live on +his reports of the great world. He tells me what my enemies are up to. +But I have them in there," and he pointed to an ebony box on a chest +of drawers, and asked her to hand it to him.</p> + +<p>"Pardon me before I forget," he said; and, seizing a pencil like a +dagger, he made a sprawling note, laughing <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_362" id="Page_362">[362]</a></span>venomously. "I have them +here!" he repeated, "they will try to stop the publication of my +<i>Memoirs</i>, but I will outwit them yet. I hold them! Dead or alive, +they shall not escape me. Woe to him who shall read these lines, if he +has dared attack me. Heine does not die like the first comer. The +tiger's claws will survive the tiger. When I die, it will be for +<i>them</i> the Day of Judgment."</p> + +<p>It was a reminder of the long fighting life of the freelance, of all +the stories she had heard of his sordid quarrels, of his blackmailing +his relatives, and besting his uncle. She asked herself his own +question, "Is genius, like the pearl in the oyster, only a splendid +disease?"</p> + +<p>Aloud she said, "I hope you are done with Börne!"</p> + +<p>"Börne?" he said, softening. "<i>Ach</i>, what have I against Börne? Two +baptized German Jews exiled in Paris should forgive each other in +death. My book was misunderstood. I wish to heaven I hadn't written +it. I always admired Börne, even if I could not keep up the ardor of +my St. Simonian days when my spiritual Egeria was Rahel von Varnhagen. +I had three beautiful days with him in Frankfort when he was full of +Jewish wit, and hadn't yet shrunk to a mere politician. He was a brave +soldier of humanity, but he had no sense of art, and I could not stand +the dirty mob around him with its atmosphere of filthy German tobacco +and vulgar tirades against tyrants. The last time I saw him he was +almost deaf, and worn to a skeleton by consumption. He dwelt in a +vast, bright silk dressing-gown, and said that if an Emperor shook his +hand he would cut it off. I said if a workman shook mine I should wash +it. And so we parted, and he fell to denouncing me as a traitor and a +<i>persifleur</i>, who would preach monarchy or republicanism, according to +which sounded better in the sentence. Poor Lob Baruch! Perhaps he was +wiser than I in his idea that his brother Jews should sink themselves +in <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_363" id="Page_363">[363]</a></span>the nations. He was born, by the way, in the very year of old +Mendelssohn's death. What an irony! But I am sorry for those +insinuations against Mme. Strauss. I have withdrawn them from the new +edition, although, as you perhaps know, I had already satisfied her +husband's sense of justice by allowing him to shoot at me, whilst I +fired in the air. What can I more?"</p> + +<p>"I am glad you have withdrawn them," she said, moved.</p> + +<p>"Yes; I have no Napoleonic grip, you see. A morsel of conventional +conscience clings to me."</p> + +<p>"Therefore I could never understand your worship of Napoleon."</p> + +<p>"There speaks the Englishwoman. You Pharisees—forgive me—do not +understand great men, you and your Wellington! Napoleon was not of the +wood of which kings are made, but of the marble of the gods. Let me +tell you the "code Napoleon" carried light not only into the Ghettos, +but into many another noisome spider-clot of feudalism. The world +wants earthquakes and thunderstorms, or it grows corrupt and stagnant. +This Paris needs a scourge of God, and the moment France gives Germany +a pretext, there will be sackcloth and ashes, or prophecy has died out +of Israel."</p> + +<p>"<i>Qui vivra verra</i>," ran heedlessly off her tongue. Then, blushing +painfully, she said quickly, "But how do you worship Napoleon and +Moses in the same breath?"</p> + +<p>"Ah, my dear Lucy, if your soul was like an Aladdin's palace with a +thousand windows opening on the human spectacle! Self-contradiction +the fools call it, if you will not shut your eyes to half the show. I +love the people, yet I hate their stupidity and mistrust their +leaders. I hate the aristocrats, yet I love the lilies that toil not, +neither do they spin, and sometimes bring their perfume and their +white robes into a sick man's chamber. Who would <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_364" id="Page_364">[364]</a></span>harden with work the +white fingers of Corysande, or sacrifice one rustle of Lalage's silken +skirts? Let the poor starve; I'll have no potatoes on Parnassus. My +socialism is not barracks and brown bread, but purple robes, music, +and comedies.</p> + +<p>"Yes, I was born for Paradox. A German Parisian, a Jewish German, a +hated political exile who yearns for dear homely old Germany, a +sceptical sufferer with a Christian patience, a romantic poet +expressing in classic form the modern spirit, a Jew and poor—think +you I do not see myself as lucidly as I see the world? 'My mind to me +a kingdom is' sang your old poet. Mine is a republic, and all moods +are free, equal and fraternal, as befits a child of light. Or if there +<i>is</i> a despot, 'tis the king's jester, who laughs at the king as well +as all his subjects. But am I not nearer Truth for not being caged in +a creed or a clan? Who dares to think Truth frozen—on this +phantasmagorical planet, that whirls in beginningless time through +endless space! Let us trust, for the honor of God, that the +contradictory creeds for which men have died are all true. Perhaps +humor—your right Hegelian touchstone to which everything yields up +its latent negation, passing on to its own contradiction—gives truer +lights and shades than your pedantic Philistinism. Is Truth really in +the cold white light, or in the shimmering interplay of the rainbow +tints that fuse in it? Bah! Your Philistine critic will sum me up +after I am dead in a phrase; or he will take my character to pieces +and show how they contradict each other, and adjudge me, like a +schoolmaster, so many good marks for this quality, and so many bad +marks for that. Biographers will weigh me grocerwise, as Kant weighed +the Deity. Ugh! You can only be judged by your peers or by your +superiors, by the minds that circumscribe yours, not by those that are +smaller than yours. I tell you that <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_365" id="Page_365">[365]</a></span>when they have written three tons +about me, they shall as little understand me as the Cosmos I reflect. +Does the pine contradict the rose or the lotusland the iceberg? I am +Spain, I am Persia, I am the North Sea, I am the beautiful gods of old +Greece, I am Brahma brooding over the sun-lands, I am Egypt, I am the +Sphinx. But oh, dear Lucy, the tragedy of the modern, all-mirroring +consciousness that dares to look on God face to face, not content, +with Moses, to see the back parts; nor, with the Israelites, to gaze +on Moses. <i>Ach</i>, why was I not made four-square like Moses +Mendelssohn, or sublimely one-sided like Savonarola; I, too, could +have died to save humanity, if I did not at the same time suspect +humanity was not worth saving. To be Don Quixote and Sancho Panza in +one, what a tragedy! No, your limited intellects are happier: those +that see life in some one noble way, and in unity find strength. I +should have loved to be a Milton—like one of your English cathedrals, +austere, breathing sacred memories, resonant with the roll of a great +organ, with painted windows, on which the shadows of the green boughs +outside wave and flicker, and just hint of Nature. Or one of your +aristocrats with a stately home in the country, and dogs and horses, +and a beautiful wife. In short, I should like to be your husband. Or, +failing that, my own wife, a simple, loving creature, whose idea of +culture is cabbages. <i>Ach</i>, why was my soul wider than the Ghetto I +was born in? why did I not mate with my kind?" He broke into a fit of +coughing, and "little Lucy" thought suddenly of the story that all his +life-sadness and song-sadness was due to his rejection by some Jewish +girl in his own family circle.</p> + +<p>"I tire you," she said. "Do not talk to me. I will sit here a little +longer."</p> + +<p>"Nay, I have tired <i>you</i>. But I could not but tell you <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_366" id="Page_366">[366]</a></span>my thoughts; +for you are at once a child who loves and a woman who understands me. +And to be understood is rarer than to be loved. My very parents never +understood me. Nay, were they my parents—the mild man of business, +the clever, clear-headed, romance-disdaining Dutchwoman, God bless +her? No, my father was Germany, my mother was the Ghetto. The brooding +spirit of Israel breathes through me that engendered the tender humor +of her sages, the celestial fantasies of her saints. Perhaps I should +have been happier had I married the first black-eyed Jewess whose +father would put up with a penniless poet. I might have kept a kitchen +with double crockery and munched Passover cakes at Easter. Every +Friday night I should have come home from the labors of the week and +found the table-cloth shining like my wife's face, and the Sabbath +candles burning, and the Angels of Peace sitting hidden beneath their +great invisible wings, and my wife, piously conscious of having thrown +the dough on the fire, would have kissed me tenderly, and I should +have recited in an ancient melody: 'A virtuous woman, who can find +her? Her price is far above rubies.' There would have been little +children with great candid eyes, on whose innocent heads I should have +laid my hands in blessing, praying that God might make them like +Ephraim and Manasseh, Rachel and Leah—persons of dubious +exemplariness—and we should have sat down and eaten <i>Schalet</i>, which +is the divinest dish in the world, pending the Leviathan that awaits +the blessed at Messiah's table. And, instead of singing of cocottes +and mermaids, I should have sung, like Jehuda Halévi, of my +<i>Herzensdame</i>, Jerusalem. Perhaps—who knows?—my Hebrew verses would +have been incorporated in the festival liturgy, and pious old men +would have snuffled them helter-skelter through their noses. The +letters of my name would have run <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_367" id="Page_367">[367]</a></span>acrosticwise down the verses, and +the last verse would have inspired the cantor to jubilant roulades or +tremolo wails while the choir boomed in 'Pom'; and perhaps many a +Jewish banker, to whom my present poems make so little appeal, would +have wept and beat his breast and taken snuff to the words of them. +And I should have been buried honorably in the 'House of Life,' and my +son would have said <i>Kaddish</i>. Ah me, it is, after all, so much better +to be stupid and walk in the old laid-out, well-trimmed paths, than to +wander after the desires of your own heart and your own eyes over the +blue hills. True, there are glorious vistas to explore, and streams of +living silver to bathe in, and wild horses to catch by the mane, but +you are in a chartless land without stars and compass. One false step +and you are over a precipice, or up to your neck in a slough. Ah, it +is perilous to throw over the old surveyors. I see Moses ben Amram, +with his measuring-chain and his graving-tools, marking on those stone +tables of his the deepest abysses and the muddiest morasses. When I +kept swine with the Hegelians, I used to say, or rather, I still say, +for, alas! I cannot suppress what I have published: 'teach man <i>he's</i> +divine; the knowledge of his divinity will inspire him to manifest +it.' Ah me, I see now that our divinity is like old Jupiter's, who +made a beast of himself as soon as he saw pretty Europa. Would to God +I could blot out all my book on German Philosophy! No, no, humanity is +too weak and too miserable. We must have faith, we cannot live without +faith, in the old simple things, the personal God, the dear old Bible, +a life beyond the grave."</p> + +<p>Fascinated by his talk, which seemed to play like lightning round a +cliff at midnight, revealing not only measureless heights and +soundless depths, but the greasy wrappings and refuse bottles of a +picnic, the listener had an intuition <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_368" id="Page_368">[368]</a></span>that Heine's mind did indeed, +as he claimed, reflect or rather refract the All. Only not sublimely +blurred as in Spinoza's, but specifically colored and infinitely +interrelated, so that he might pass from the sublime to the ridiculous +with an equal sense of its value in the cosmic scheme. It was the +Jewish artist's proclamation of the Unity, the humorist's "Hear, O +Israel."</p> + +<p>"Will it never end, this battle of Jew and Greek?" he said, half to +himself, so that she did not know whether he meant it personally or +generally. Then, as she tore herself away, "I fear I have shocked +you," he said tenderly. "But one thing I have never blasphemed—Life. +Is not enjoyment an implicit prayer, a latent grace? After all, God is +our Father, not our drill-master. He is not so dull and solemn as the +parsons make out. He made the kitten to chase its tail and my Nonotte +to laugh and dance. Come again, dear child, for my friends have grown +used to my dying, and expect me to die for ever—an inverted +immortality. But one day they will find the puppet-show shut up and +the jester packed in his box. Good-bye. God bless you, little Lucy, +God bless you."</p> + +<p>The puppet-show was shut up sooner than he expected; but the jester +had kept his most wonderful <i>mot</i> for the last.</p> + +<p>"<i>Dieu me pardonnera</i>," he said. "<i>C'est son métier.</i>"</p> + +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<a name="THE_PEOPLES_SAVIOUR" id="THE_PEOPLES_SAVIOUR"></a><hr /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_369" id="Page_369">[369]</a></span><br /> + +<h3>THE PEOPLE'S SAVIOUR<span class="totoc"><a href="#toc">ToC</a></span></h3> + +<br /> +<h4>I</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Der Bahn, der kühnen, folgen wir,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Die uns geführt Lassalle."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>Such is the Marseillaise the Social Democrats of Germany sing, as they +troop out when the police break up their meetings.</p> + +<p>This Lassalle, whose bold lead they profess to follow, lies at rest in +the Jewish cemetery of his native Breslau under the simple epitaph +"Thinker and Fighter," and at his death the extraordinary popular +manifestations seemed to inaugurate the cult of a modern Messiah—the +Saviour of the People.</p> + +<br /> +<h4>II</h4> + +<p>But no man is a hero to his valet or his relatives, and on the spring +morning when Lassalle stood at the parting of the ways—where the +Thinker's path debouched on the Fighter's—his brother-in-law from +Prague, being in Berlin on business, took the opportunity of +remonstrating.</p> + +<p>"I can't understand what you mean by such productions," he cried, +excitedly waving a couple of pamphlets.</p> + +<p>"That is not my fault, my dear Friedland," said Lassalle <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_370" id="Page_370">[370]</a></span>suavely. "It +takes <i>some</i> brain to follow even what I have put so clearly. What +have you there?"</p> + +<p>"The lecture to the artisans, for which you have to go to gaol for +four months," said the outraged ornament of Prague society, which he +illumined as well as adorned, having, in fact, the town's +gas-contract.</p> + +<p>"Not so fast. There is my appeal yet before the <i>Kammergericht</i>. And +take care that you are not in gaol first; that pamphlet is either one +of the suppressed editions, or has been smuggled in from Zürich, a +proof in itself of that negative concept of the State which the +pamphlet aims at destroying. Your State is a mere night-watchman—it +protects the citizen but it does nothing to form him. It keeps off +ideas, but it has none of its own. But the State, as friend Bœckh +puts it, should be the institution in which the whole virtue of +mankind realizes itself. It should sum up human experience and wisdom, +and fashion its members in accordance therewith. What is history but +the story of man's struggle with nature? And what is a State but the +socialization of this struggle, the stronger helping the weaker?"</p> + +<p>"Nonsense! Why should we help the lower classes?"</p> + +<p>"Pardon me," said Lassalle, "it is they who help us. We are the +weaker, they are the stronger. That is the point of the other pamphlet +you have there, explaining what is a Constitution."</p> + +<p>"Don't try your legal quibbles on me."</p> + +<p>"Legal quibbles! Why the very point of my pamphlet is to ignore verbal +definitions. A Constitution is what constitutes it, and the +working-class being nine-tenths of the population must be nine-tenths +of the German Constitution."</p> + +<p>"Then it's true what they say, that you wish to lead a Revolution!" +exclaimed Friedland, raising his coarse glittering hands in horror.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_371" id="Page_371">[371]</a></span>"Follow a Revolution, you mean," said Lassalle. "Here again I do away +with mere words. Real Revolutions make themselves, and we only become +conscious of them. The introduction of machinery was a greater +Revolution than the French, which, since it did not express ideals +that were really present among the masses, was bound to be followed by +the old thing over again. Indeed, sometimes, as I showed in <i>Franz von +Sickingen</i> (my drama of the sixteenth-century war of the Peasants), a +Revolution may even be reactionary, an attempt to re-establish an +order of things that has hopelessly passed away. Hence it is <i>your</i> +sentiments that are revolutionary."</p> + +<p>Friedland's face had the angry helplessness of a witness in the hands +of a clever lawyer. "A pretty socialist <i>you</i> are!" he broke out, as +his arm swept with an auctioneer's gesture over the luxurious villa in +the Bellevuestrasse. "Why don't you call in the first sweep from the +street and pour him out your champagne?"</p> + +<p>"My dear Friedland! Delighted. Help yourself," said Lassalle +imperturbably.</p> + +<p>The Prague dignitary purpled.</p> + +<p>"You call your sister's husband a sweep!"</p> + +<p>"Forgive me. I should have said 'gas-fitter.'"</p> + +<p>"And who are you?" shrieked Friedland; "you gaol-bird!"</p> + +<p>"The honor of going to gaol for truth and justice will never be yours, +my dear brother-in-law."</p> + +<p>Although he was scarcely taller than the gross-paunched parvenu who +had married his only sister, his slim form seemed to tower over him in +easy elegance. An aristocratic insolence and intelligence radiated +from the handsome face that so many women had found irresistible, +uniting, as it did, three universal types of beauty—the Jewish, the +ancient Greek, and the Germanic. The Orient gave <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_372" id="Page_372">[372]</a></span>complexion and fire, +the nose was Greek, the shape of the head not unlike Goethe's. The +spirit of the fighter who knows not fear flashed from his sombre blue +eyes. The room itself—Lassalle's cabinet—seemed in its simple +luxuriousness to give point at once to the difference between the two +men and to the parvenu's taunt. It was of moderate size, with a large +work-table thickly littered with papers, and a comfortable +writing-chair, on the back of which Lassalle's white nervous hand +rested carelessly. The walls were a mass of book-cases, gleaming with +calf and morocco, and crammed with the literature of many ages and +races. Precious folios denoted the book-lover, ancient papyri the +antiquarian. It was the library of a seeker after the encyclopædic +culture of the Germany of his day. The one lighter touch in the room +was a small portrait of a young woman of rare beauty and nobility. But +this sober cabinet gave on a Turkish room—a divan covered with rich +Oriental satins, inlaid whatnots, stools, dainty tables, all laden +with costly narghiles, chibouques, and opium-pipes with enormous amber +tips, Damascus daggers, tiles, and other curios brought back by him +from the East—and behind this room one caught sight of a little +winter-garden full of beautiful plants.</p> + +<p>"Truth and justice!" repeated Friedland angrily. "Fiddlesticks! A +crazy desire for notoriety. That's the truth. And as for +justice—well, that was what was meted out to you."</p> + +<p>"Prussian justice!" Lassalle's hand rose dramatically heavenwards. His +brow grew black and his voice had the vibration of the great orator or +the great actor. "When I think of this daily judicial murder of ten +long years that I passed through, then waves of blood seem to tremble +before my eyes, and it seems as if a sea of blood would choke me. +Galley-slaves appear to me very honorable persons <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_373" id="Page_373">[373]</a></span>compared with our +judges. As for our so-called Liberal press, it is a harlot +masquerading as the goddess of liberty."</p> + +<p>"And what are you masquerading as?" retorted Friedland. "If you were +really in earnest, you would share all your fine things with dirty +working-men, and become one of them, instead of going down to their +meetings in patent-leather boots."</p> + +<p>"No, my dear man, it is precisely to show the dirty working-man what +he has missed that I exhibit to him my patent-leather boots. Humility, +contentment, may be a Christian virtue, but in economics 'tis a deadly +sin. What is the greatest misfortune for a people? To have no wants, +to be lazzaroni sprawling in the sun. But to have the greatest number +of needs, and to satisfy them honestly, is the virtue of to-day, of +the era of political economy. I have always been careful about my +clothes, because it is our duty to give pleasure to other people. If I +went down to my working-men in a dirty shirt, they would be the first +to cry out against my contempt for them. And as for becoming a +working-man, I choose to be a working-man in that sphere in which I +can do most good, and I keep my income in order to do it. At least it +was honorably earned."</p> + +<p>"Honorably earned!" sneered Friedland. "That is the first time I have +heard it described thus." And he looked meaningly at the beautiful +portrait.</p> + +<p>"I am quite aware you have not the privilege of conversing with my +friends," retorted Lassalle, losing his temper for the first time. "I +know I am kept by my mistress, the Countess Hatzfeldt; that all the +long years, all the best years of my life, I chivalrously devoted to +championing an oppressed woman count for nothing, and that it is +dishonorable for me to accept a small commission on the enormous +estates I won back for her from her brutal husband! Why, my mere fees +as lawyer would have <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_374" id="Page_374">[374]</a></span>come to double. But pah! why do I talk with +you?" He began to pace the room. "The fact that I have such a +delightful home to exchange for gaol is just the thing that should +make you believe in my sincerity. No, my respected +brother-in-law"—and he made a sudden theatrical gesture, and his +voice leapt to a roar,—"understand I will carry on my life-mission as +I choose, and never—never to satisfy every fool will I carry the +ass." His voice sank. "You know the fable."</p> + +<p>"Your mission! The Public Prosecutor was right in saying it was to +excite the non-possessing classes to hatred and contempt of the +possessing class."</p> + +<p>"He was. I live but to point out to the working-man how he is +exploited by capitalists like you."</p> + +<p>"And ruin your own sister!"</p> + +<p>"Ha, ha! So you're afraid I shall succeed. Good!" His blue eyes +blazed. He stood still, an image of triumphant Will.</p> + +<p>"You will succeed only in disgracing your relatives," said Friedland +sullenly.</p> + +<p>His brother-in-law broke into Homeric laughter. "Ho, ho," he cried. +"Now I see. You are afraid that I'll come to Prague, that I'll visit +you and cry out to your fashionable circle: 'I, Ferdinand Lassalle, +the pernicious demagogue of all your journals, Governmental and +Progressive alike, the thief of the casket-trial, the Jew-traitor, the +gaol-bird, I am the brother-in-law of your host,' And so you've rushed +to Berlin to break off with me. Ho, ho, ho!"</p> + +<p>Friedland gave him a black look and rushed from the room. Lassalle +laughed on, scarcely noticing his departure. His brain was busy with +that comical scene, the recall of which had put the enemy to flight. +On his migration from Berlin to Prague, when he got the gas-contract, +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_375" id="Page_375">[375]</a></span>Friedland, by a profuse display of his hospitality, and a careful +concealment of his Jewish birth, wormed his way among families of +birth and position, and finally into the higher governmental circles. +One day, when he was on the eve of dining the <i>élite</i> of Prague, +Lassalle's old father turned up accidentally on a visit to his +daughter and son-in-law. Each in turn besought him hurriedly not to +let slip that they were Jews. The old man was annoyed, but made no +reply. When all the guests were seated, old Lassalle rose to speak, +and when silence fell, he asked if they knew they were at a Jew's +table. "I hold it my duty to inform you," he said, "that I am a Jew, +that my daughter is a Jewess, and my son-in-law a Jew. I will not +purchase by deceit the honor of dining with you." The well-bred guests +cheered the old fellow, but the host was ghastly with confusion, and +never forgave him.</p> + +<br /> +<h4>III</h4> + +<p>But Lassalle's laughter soon ceased. Another recollection stabbed him +to silence. The old man was dead—that beautiful, cheerful old man. +Never more would his blue eyes gaze in proud tenderness on his darling +brilliant boy. But a few months ago and he had seemed the very type of +ruddy old age. How tenderly he had watched over his poor broken-down +old wife, supporting her as she walked, cutting up her food as she +ate, and filling her eyes with the love-light, despite all her pain +and weakness. And now this poor, deaf, shrivelled little mother, had +to totter on alone. "Father, what have you to do to-day?" he +remembered asking him once. "Only to love you, my child," the old man +had answered cheerily, laying his hand on his son's shoulder.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_376" id="Page_376">[376]</a></span>Yes, he had indeed loved him. What long patience from his childhood +upwards; patience with the froward arrogant boy, a law to himself even +in forging his parents' names to his school-notes, and meditating +suicide because his father had beaten him for demanding more elegant +clothes; patience with the emotional volcanic youth to whose grandiose +soul a synod of professors reprimanding him seemed unclean crows and +ravens pecking at a fallen eagle that had only to raise quivering +wings to fly towards the sun; patience with his refusal to enter a +commercial career, and carry on the prosperous silk business; patience +even with his refusal to study law and medicine. "But what then do you +wish to study, my boy? At sixteen one must choose decisively."</p> + +<p>"The vastest study in the world, that which is most closely bound up +with the most sacred interests of humanity—History."</p> + +<p>"But what will you live on, since, as a Jew, you can't get any post or +professorship in Prussia?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, I shall live somehow."</p> + +<p>"But why won't you study medicine or law?"</p> + +<p>"Doctors, lawyers, and even savants, make a merchandise of their +knowledge. I will have nothing of the Jew. I will study for the sake +of knowledge and action."</p> + +<p>"Do you think you are a poet?"</p> + +<p>"No, I wish to devote myself to public affairs. The time approaches +when the most sacred ends of humanity must be fought for. Till the end +of the last century the world was held in the bondage of the stupidest +superstition. Then rose, at the mighty appeal of intellect, a material +force which blew the old order into bloody fragments. Intellectually +this revolt has gone on ever since. In every nation men have arisen +who have fought by the Word, and fallen or conquered. Börne says that +no European <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_377" id="Page_377">[377]</a></span>sovereign is blind enough to believe his grandson will +have a throne to sit on. I wish I could believe so. For my part, +father, I feel that the era of force must come again, for these folk +on the thrones will not have it otherwise. But for the moment it is +ours not to make the peoples revolt, but to enlighten and raise them +up."</p> + +<p>"What you say may not be altogether untrue, but why should <i>you</i> be a +martyr,—you, our hope, our stay? Spare us. One human being can change +nothing in the order of the world. Let those fight who have no +parents' hearts to break."</p> + +<p>"Yes, but if every one talked like that—! Why offer myself as a +martyr? Because God has put in my breast a voice which calls me to the +struggle, has given me the strength that makes fighters. Because I can +fight and suffer for a noble cause. Because I will not disappoint the +confidence of God, who has given me this strength for His definite +purpose. In short, because I cannot do otherwise."</p> + +<p>Yes, looking back, he saw he could not have done otherwise, though for +that old voice of God in his heart he now substituted mentally the +Hegelian concept of the Idea trying to realize itself through him, +Shakespeare's "prophetic soul of the wide world dreaming on things to +come." The Will of God was the Will of the Time-spirit, and what was +True for the age was whatever its greatest spirits could demonstrate +to it by reason and history. The world had had enough of merely +dithyrambic prophets, it was for the Modern Prophet to heat with his +fire the cannon-balls of logic and science; he must be a thinker among +prophets and a prophet among thinkers. Those he could not inspire +through emotion must be led through reason. There must be not one weak +link in his close-meshed chain of propositions. And who could doubt +that what the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_378" id="Page_378">[378]</a></span>Time-spirit was working towards among the Germans—the +Chosen People in the eternal plan of the universe for this new step in +human evolution—was the foundation of a true Kingdom of right, a +Kingdom of freedom and equality, a State which should stand for +justice on earth, and material and spiritual blessedness for all? But +his father had complained not unjustly. Why should <i>he</i> have been +chosen for the Man—the Martyr—through whom the Idea sought +self-realization? It was a terrible fate to be Moses, to be +Prometheus. No doubt that image of himself he read in the faces of his +friends, and in the loving eyes of the Countess Hatzfeldt—that +glorious wonder-youth gifted equally with genius and beauty—must seem +enviable enough, yet to his own heart how chill was this lonely +greatness. And youth itself was passing—was almost gone.</p> + +<br /> +<h4>IV</h4> + +<p>But he shook off this rare sombre mood, and awoke to the full +consciousness that Friedland was fled. Well, better so. The stupid +fool would come back soon enough, and to-day, with Prince +Puckler-Muskau, Baron Korff, General de Pfuel, and von Bülow the +pianist, coming to lunch, and perhaps Wagner, if he could finish his +rehearsal of "Lohengrin" in time, he was not sorry to see his table +relieved of the dull pomposity and brilliant watch-chain of the pillar +of Prague society. How mean to hide one's Judaism! What a burden to +belong to such a race, degenerate sons of a great but long-vanished +past, unable to slough the slave traits engendered by centuries of +slavery! How he had yearned as a boy to shake off the yoke of the +nations, even as he himself had shaken off the yoke of the Law of +Moses. Yes, the scaffold itself would have been <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_379" id="Page_379">[379]</a></span>welcome, could he but +have made the Jews a respected people. How the persecution of the Jews +of Damascus had kindled the lad of fifteen! A people that bore such +things was hideous. Let them suffer or take vengeance. Even the +Christians marvelled at their sluggish blood, that they did not prefer +swift death on the battle-field to the long torture. Was the +oppression against which the Swiss had rebelled one whit greater? +Cowardly people! It merited no better lot. And he recalled how, when +the ridiculous story that the Jews make use of Christian blood cropped +up again at Rhodes and Lemnos, he had written in his diary that the +universal accusation was a proof that the time was nigh when the Jews +in very sooth <i>would</i> help themselves with Christian blood. <i>Aide-toi, +le ciel t'aidera.</i> And ever in his boyish imagination he had seen +himself at the head of an armed nation, delivering it from bondage, +and reigning over a free people. But these dreams had passed with +childhood. He had found a greater, grander cause, that of the +oppressed German people, ground down by capitalists and the Iron Law +of Wages, and all that his Judaism had brought him was a prejudice the +more against him, a cheap cry of Jew-demagogue, to hamper his larger +fight for humanity. And yet was it not strange?—they were all Jews, +his friends and inspirers; Heine and Börne in his youth, and now in +his manhood, Karl Marx. Was it perhaps their sense of the great Ghetto +tragedy that had quickened their indignation against all wrong?</p> + +<p>Well, human injustice was approaching its term at last. The Kingdom of +Heaven on earth was beginning to announce itself by signs and +portents. The religion of the future was dawning—the Church of the +People. "O father, father!" he cried, "if you could have lived to see +my triumph!"</p> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_380" id="Page_380">[380]</a></span><br /> +<h4>V</h4> + +<p>There was a knock at the door.</p> + +<p>His man appeared, but, instead of announcing the Countess Hatzfeldt, +as Lassalle's face expected, he tendered a letter.</p> + +<p>Lassalle's face changed yet again, and the thought of the Countess +died out of it as he caught sight of the graceful writing of Sophie de +Solutzew. What memories it brought back of the first real passion of +his life, when, whirled off his feet by an unsuspected current, +enchanted yet astonished to be no longer the easy conqueror throwing +crumbs of love to poor fluttering woman, he had asked the Russian girl +to share his strife and triumphs. That he should want to marry her had +been as amazing to him as her refusal. What talks they had had in this +very room, when she passed through Berlin with her ailing father! How +he had suffered from the delay of her decision, foreseen, yet none the +less paralyzing when it came. And yet no, not paralyzing; he could not +but recognize that the shock had in reality been a stimulation. It was +in the reaction against his misery, in the subtle pleasure of a +temptation escaped despite himself, and of regained freedom to work +for his great ideals, that he had leapt for the first time into +political agitation. The episode had made him reconsider, like a great +sickness or a bereavement. It had shown him that life was slipping, +that afternoon was coming, that in a few more years he would be forty, +that the "Wonder-Child," as Humboldt had styled him, was grown to +mature man, and that all the vent he had as yet found for his great +gifts was a series of scandalous law-suits and an esoteric volume of +the philosophy of Heraclitus the Dark. And now, coming to him in the +midst of his great spurt, this <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_381" id="Page_381">[381]</a></span>letter from the quieter world of three +years ago—though he himself had provoked it—seemed almost of +dreamland. Its unexpected warmth kindled in him something of the old +glow. Brussels! She was in western Europe again, then. Yes, she still +possessed the Heine letter he required; only it was in her father's +possession, and she had written to him to Russia to send it on. Her +silence had been due to pique at the condition Lassalle had attached +to acceptance of the mere friendship she offered him, to wit, that, +like all his friends, she must write him two letters to his one. +"Inconsiderate little creature!" he thought, smiling but half +resentful. But, though she had now only that interest for him which +the woman who has refused one never quite loses, she stirred again his +sense of the foolish emptiness of loveless life. His brilliant +reputation as scholar and orator and potential leader of men; his +personal fascination, woven of beauty, wit, elegance, and a halo of +conquest, that made him the lion of every social gathering, and his +little suppers to celebrities the talk of Berlin—what a hollow farce +it all was! And his thoughts flew not to Sophie but to the new +radiance that had flitted across his life. He called up the fading +image of the brilliant Helene von Dönniges whom he had met a year +before at the Hirsemenzels. He lived again through that wonderful +evening, that almost Southern episode of mutual love at first sight.</p> + +<p>He saw himself holding the salon rapt with his wonderful conversation. +A silvery voice says suddenly, "No, I don't agree with you." He turns +his head in astonishment. O the <i>piquante</i>, golden-haired beauty, +adorably white and subtle, the dazzling shoulders, the coquettish play +of the <i>lorgnette</i>, the wit, the daring, the <i>diablerie</i>. "So it's a +no, a contradiction, the first word I hear of yours. So this is you. +Yes, yes, it is even thus I pictured you." She is rising to beg <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_382" id="Page_382">[382]</a></span>the +hostess to introduce them, but he places his hand gently on her arm. +"Why? We know each other. You know who I am, and you are Brunehild, +Adrienne Cardoville of the <i>Wandering Jew</i>, the gold chestnut hair +that Captain Korff has told me of, in a word—Helene!" The whole salon +regards them, but what are the others but the due audience to this +splendid couple taking the centre of the stage by the right divine of +a love too great for drawing-room conventions, calling almost for +orchestral accompaniment by friend Wagner! He talks no more save to +her, he sups at her side, he is in boyish ecstasies over her taste in +wines. And when, at four in the morning, he throws her mantle over her +shoulders and carries her down the three flights of stairs to her +carriage, even her prudish cousinly chaperon seems to accept this as +but the natural manner in which the hero takes possession of his +heaven-born bride.</p> + +<p>So rousing to his sleeping passion was his sudden abandonment to this +old memory, that he now went to a drawer and rummaged for her +photograph. After the Baron, her father, that ultra-respectable +Bavarian diplomatist, had refused to hear her speak of the +Jew-demagogue, Lassalle had asked her to send him her portrait, as he +wished to build a house adorned with frescoes, and the artist was to +seek in her the inspiration of his Brunehild. In the rush of his life, +project and photograph had been alike neglected. He had let her go +without much effort—in a way he still considered her his, since the +opposition had not come from her. But had he been wise to allow this +drifting apart? Great political events might be indeed maturing, but +oh, how slowly, and there was always that standing danger of her +"Moorish Prince"—the young Wallachian student, Janko von Racowitza, +the "dragon who guards my treasure," as he had once called him, and +who, though betrothed to her, was the slave of her caprices, ready to +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_383" id="Page_383">[383]</a></span>sacrifice himself if she loved another better, a gentle, pliant +creature Lassalle could scarcely understand, especially considering +his princely blood.</p> + +<p>When he at last came upon the photograph, he remembered with a thrill +that her birthday was at hand. She would be of age in a day or two, no +longer the puppet of her father's will.</p> + +<br /> +<h4>VI</h4> + +<p>When a little later the Countess Hatzfeldt was announced, he had +forgotten he was expecting her. He slipped the photograph back among +the papers, and moved forward hurriedly to greet her.</p> + +<p>Her face was the face of the beautiful portrait on the wall, grown +twice as old, but with the lines of beauty still clear under the +unnecessary touches of rouge, so that sometimes, despite her frosted +hair, one could imagine her life at its spring-tide. This was +especially so when the sunshine leapt into her eyes. But, at her +oldest, there remained to her the dignity of the Princess born, the +charm of the woman of virile intellect and vast social experience.</p> + +<p>"Something is troubling you," she said.</p> + +<p>He smiled reassuringly. "My brother-in-law popped in from Prague. He +read me a sermon."</p> + +<p>"That would not trouble you, Ferdinand."</p> + +<p>Lassalle was silent.</p> + +<p>"You have heard again from that Sophie de Solutzew!"</p> + +<p>"Divinatrix! After three years! You are wonderful as ever, Countess."</p> + +<p>The compliment did not lighten her features. They looked haggard, +almost their real age.</p> + +<p>"It is not the moment for petticoats—with the chance <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_384" id="Page_384">[384]</a></span>of your life +before you and months of imprisonment hanging over your head."</p> + +<p>"Oh, I am certain my appeal will get me off with a fine at most. You +must remember, Countess, that only once in my life, despite incessant +snares, have the fowlers really caged me. And even then I was let out +every time I had to plead in one of your cases. It was quite illegal," +and he laughed at the recollection of the many miracles his eloquence, +now insinuating, now menacing, had achieved.</p> + +<p>"Yes, you are marvellous."</p> + +<p>"I marvel at myself."</p> + +<p>"Let me see your new 'Open Sesame.' Is it ready?"</p> + +<p>"No, no, Sophie," he said banteringly. "You know you mean you want to +see your namesake's letter."</p> + +<p>"That is not my concern."</p> + +<p>"O Countess!" He tendered the letter.</p> + +<p>"Hum," she said, casting a rapid eye over it. "Then you wrote her +first."</p> + +<p>"Only because the letter was wanted for the new edition of Heine, and +I had no copy of it.".</p> + +<p>"But I have a copy."</p> + +<p>"You? Where?"</p> + +<p>"In my heart, <i>mon cher enfant</i>. Why should I not remember the great +poet's words? 'Dearest brother-in-arms—Never have I found in any +other but you so much passion united with so much clairvoyance in +action. You have truly the divine right of autocracy. I only feel a +humble fly....'" She paused and smiled at him. "You see."</p> + +<p>"Perfect," cried Lassalle, who had been listening complacently. "But +it's not that letter. The letter of introduction he gave me to +Varnhagen von Ense when I was a boy of twenty—in the year we met."</p> + +<p>"How should I not remember that? Was it not the first you showed me?"</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_385" id="Page_385">[385]</a></span>A sigh escaped her. In that year when he had won her love, she had +been just twice as old as he. Now, despite arithmetic, she felt three +times his age.</p> + +<p>"I will dictate it to you," she went on; "and you can send it to the +publisher and be done with it."</p> + +<p>"My rare Countess, my more than mother," he said, touched, "that you +should have carried all that in your dear, wise head."</p> + +<p>"'My friend, Herr Lassalle, the bearer of this letter, is a young man +of extraordinary talent. To the most profound erudition and the +greatest insight and the richest gifts of expression, he unites—'"</p> + +<p>"Doesn't it also say, 'that I have ever met?'"</p> + +<p>"Yes, yes; my head is leaving me. Put it in after 'insight.' 'He +unites an energy of will and an attitude for action which plunge me +into astonishment.'"</p> + +<p>"You see," interrupted Lassalle, looking up; "Heine saw at once the +difference between me and Karl Marx. Marx is, when all is said and +done, a student, and his present address is practically the British +Museum. In mere knowledge I do not pretend to superiority. What +language, what art, what science, is unknown to him? But he has run +almost entirely to brain. He works out his thoughts best in +mathematics—the Spinoza of socialism. But fancy Spinoza leading a +people; and even Spinoza had more glow. When I went to see him in +London in the winter to ask him to head the movement with me, he +objected to my phraseology, dissected my battle-cries in cold blood. I +preach socialism as a religion, the Church of the People—he won't +even shout 'Truth and Justice!' He will only prove you scientifically +that the illusion of the masses that Right is not done them will goad +them to express their Might. And his speeches! Treatises, not +trumpets! Once after one of his speeches in the prisoner's <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_386" id="Page_386">[386]</a></span>box, a +juror shook hands with him, and thanked him for his instructive +lecture. Ha! ha! ha! Take my <i>System of Acquired Rights</i>, +now."—Lassalle was now launched on one of his favorite monologues, +and the Countess at least never desired to interrupt him.—"There you +have learning and logic that has forced the most dry-as-dust to hail +it as a masterpiece of Jurisprudence. But it is enrooted in life, and +drew its sustenance from my actual practice in fighting my dear +Countess's battles. As Heine goes on to say, <i>savoir</i> and <i>pouvoir</i> +are rarely united. Luther was a man of action, but his thought was not +the widest. Lessing was a man of thought, but he died broken on the +wheel of fortune. It was a combination of the two I tried to paint in +my Ulrich von Hutten—the Humanist who transcended Luther and who was +the morning star of the true Reformation. You remember his Frankfort +student who, having mistakenly capped a Jew, could not decide whether +the sin was mortal or venial. But though I put my own self into him, I +shall not be beaten like him." He jumped to his feet and threw down +his pen so that it stood quivering in the table. "For surely it was of +me that Heine was thinking when he wrote: 'Yes, a third man will +come'"—and Lassalle's accent became dramatically sonorous—"'and he +will conclude what Luther began, what Lessing continued, a man of whom +the Fatherland stands in such need, The Third Liberator.'"</p> + +<p>"The Third Liberator," passionately echoed the Countess.</p> + +<p>"Do you know," he went on, "I've often fancied it was I who gave Heine +the line of thought he developed in his sketch of German philosophy, +that our revolution will be the outcome of our Philosophy, that in the +earthquake will be heard the small still voice of Kant and Hegel. It +is what I tried to say the other day in my address on Fichte. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_387" id="Page_387">[387]</a></span>It is +pure thought that will build up the German Empire. Reality—with its +fragments, Prussia, Saxony, etc.—will have to remould itself after +the Idea of a unified German—Republic. Why do you smile?" he broke +off uneasily, with a morbid memory of his audience drifting away into +the refreshment room.</p> + +<p>"I was thinking of Heine's saying that we Germans are a methodical +nation, to take our thinking first and our revolution second, because +the heads that have been used for thinking may be afterwards used for +chopping off. But if you chopped off heads first, like the French, +they could not be of much use to philosophy."</p> + +<p>Lassalle laughed. "I love Heine. He seemed my soul's brother. I loved +him from boyhood, only regretting he wasn't a republican like Börne. +Would he could have lived to see the triumph of his prediction, the +old wild Berserker rage that will arise among us Teutons when the +Talisman of the Cross breaks at last, as break it must, and the old +gods come to their own again. A tooth for a tooth, an eye for an eye. +The canting tyrants shall bite the dust, the false judges shall be +judged."</p> + +<p>"That is how I like you to talk."</p> + +<p>He smote the table with his fist. His own praises had fired him, +though his marvellous memory that could hold even the complete +libretti of operas had been little in doubt as to Heine's phrasing.</p> + +<p>"Yes, the holy alliance of Science and the People—those opposite +poles! They will crush between their arms of steel all that opposes +the higher civilization. The State, the immemorial vestal fire of all +civilization—what a good phrase! I must write that down for my +<i>Kammergericht</i> speech."</p> + +<p>"And at the same time finish this Heine business, please, and be done +with that impertinent demoiselle. What! she <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_388" id="Page_388">[388]</a></span>must have letter for +letter! Of course it's a blessing she ceased to correspond with you. +But all the same, just see what these creatures are. No sympathy with +the wear and tear of your life. All petty egotisms and vanities! What +do they care about your world-reaching purposes? Yes, they'll sit at +your feet, but their own enjoyment or mental development is all +they're thinking of. These Russian girls are the most dreadful. I know +hundreds like your Sophie. They're a typical development of our +new-fangled age. They even take nominal husbands, merely to emancipate +themselves from the parental roof. I wonder she didn't play you that +trick. And now she's older and has got over her pique, she sees what +she has lost. But you will not be drawn in again?"</p> + +<p>"No; you may rely on that," said Lassalle.</p> + +<p>Her face became almost young.</p> + +<p>"You are so ignorant of woman, <i>mon cher enfant</i>," she said, smoothing +his brown curly hair; "you are really an infant, without judgment or +reason where they are concerned."</p> + +<p>"And you are so ignorant of man," thought Lassalle, for his +repudiation of the Russian girl had brought up vividly the vision of +his enchanting Brunehild. Did the Countess then think that a man could +feed for ever on memories? True, she had gracefully declined into a +quasi-maternal position, but a true mother would have felt more +strongly that the relation was not so sufficing to him as to her.</p> + +<p>The Countess seemed to divine what was passing through his mind. "If +you could get a wife worthy of you," she cried. "A brain to match +yours, a soul to feel yours, a heart to echo the drum-beat of yours, a +mate for your dungeon or your throne, ready for either—but where is +this paragon?"</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_389" id="Page_389">[389]</a></span>"You are right," cried Lassalle, subtly gratified. After all Helene +was a child with a child's will, broken by the first obstacle. "Never +have I met a woman I could really feel my mate. If ever I have kindled +a soul in one, it has been for a moment. No, I have always known I +must live and die alone. I have told you of my early love for the +beautiful Rosalie Zander, my old comrade's sister, who still lives +unmarried for love of me. But I knew that to marry her would mean +crippling myself through my tenderness. Alone I can suffer all, but +how drag a weaker than myself into the tragic circle of my destinies? +No, Curtius must leap into his gulf alone."</p> + +<p>His words soothed her, but had a sting in them.</p> + +<p>"But your happiness must be before all," she said, not without meaning +it. "Only convince me that you have found your equal, and she shall be +yours in the twinkling of an eye. I shouldn't even allow love-letters +to intervene —you are so colossal. Your Titanic emotions overflow +into hundreds of pages. You are the most uneconomical man I ever met."</p> + +<p>He smiled.</p> + +<p>"A volcano is not an ant-heap. But I know you are right. For Lassalle +the Fighter the world holds no wife. If I could only be sure that the +victory will come in my day."</p> + +<p>"Remember what your own Heraclitus said: 'The best follow after +fame.'"</p> + +<p>"Yes, Fame is the Being of Man in Non-Being. It is the immortality of +man made real," he quoted himself. "But—"</p> + +<p>She hastened to continue his quotation. "'Hence it has always so +mightily stirred the greatest souls and lifted them beyond all petty +and narrow ends.'"</p> + +<p>"The ends are great—but the means, how petty! The <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_390" id="Page_390">[390]</a></span>Presidency of a +Working-Men's Union, one not even to be founded in Berlin."</p> + +<p>"But yet a General German Working-Men's Union. Who knows what it may +grow to! The capture of Berlin will be a matter of days."</p> + +<p>"I had rather capture it with the sword. Bismarck is right. The German +question can only be solved by blood and iron."</p> + +<p>"Is it worth while going over that ground again? Did we not agree last +year in Caprera when Garibaldi would not see his way to invading +Austria for us, that we must put our trust in peaceful methods. You +have as yet no real following at all. The Progressists will never make +a Revolution, for all their festivals and fanfaronades. This National +League of theirs is only a stage-threat."</p> + +<p>"Yes, Bismarck knows our weak-kneed, white-livered <i>bourgeois</i> too +well to be taken in by it. The League talks and Bismarck is silent. +Oh, if I had a majority in the Chamber, as they have, I'd leave <i>him</i> +to do the talking."</p> + +<p>"But even if their rant was serious, they would allow <i>you</i> no +leadership in their revolution. Have they not already rejected your +overtures? Therefore this deputation to you of the Leipzig working-men +(whom they practically rejected by offering them honorary membership) +is simply providential. The conception of a new and real Progressive +Party that is seething in their minds under the stimulus of their +contact with socialism in London—you did write that they had been in +London?"</p> + +<p>"Yes; they went over to see the Exhibition. But they also represent, I +take it, the old communistic and revolutionary traditions, that have +never been wholly lulled to sleep by our pseudo-Liberalism. But that +is how history repeats itself. When the middle classes oppose the +upper classes, they always have the air of fighting for the whole +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_391" id="Page_391">[391]</a></span>majority. But the day soon comes, especially if the middle classes get +into power, when the lower classes discover there never was any real +union of interests!"</p> + +<p>"Well, that's just your chance!" cried the Countess. "Here is a new +party waiting to be called out of chaos, nay, calling to you. An +unformed party is just what you want. You give it the impress of your +own personality. Remember your own motto: <i>Si superos nequeo movere +Acheronta movebo.</i>"</p> + +<p>Lassalle shook his head doubtfully. He had from the first practically +resolved on developing the vague ideas of the Deputation, but he liked +to hear his own reasons in the mouth of the Countess.</p> + +<p>"The headship of a party not even in existence," he murmured. "That +doesn't seem a very short cut to the German Republic."</p> + +<p>"Do you doubt yourself? Think of what you were when you took up my +cause—a mere unknown boy. Think how you fought it from court to +court, picking up your Law on the way, a Demosthenes, a Cicero, till +all the world wondered and deemed you a demigod. You did that because +I stood for Injustice. You were the Quixote to right all wrong. You +saw the universal in the individual. My case was but a prefiguration +of your real mission. Now it is the universal that calls to you. See +in your triumph for me your triumph for that suffering humanity, with +which you have taught me to sympathize."</p> + +<p>"My noble Countess!"</p> + +<p>"What does your own Franz von Sickingen say of history?</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"'And still its Form remains for ever Force.'<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="noin">The Force of the modern world is the working-man. And as you yourself +have taught me that there are no real <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_392" id="Page_392">[392]</a></span>revolutions except those that +formally express what is already a fact, there wants then only the +formal expression of the working-man's Force. To this Force you will +now give Form."</p> + +<p>"What an apt pupil!" He stooped and kissed her lips. Then, walking +about agitatedly: "Yes," he cried; "I will weld the workers of +Germany—to gain their ends they must fuse all their wills into +one—none of these acrid, petty, mutually-destructive individualities +of the <i>bourgeois</i>—one gigantic hammer, and I will be the Thor who +wields it." His veins swelled, he seemed indeed a Teutonic god. "And +therefore I must have Dictator's rights," he went on. "I will not +accept the Presidency to be the mere puppet of possible factions."</p> + +<p>"There speaks Ferdinand Lassalle! And now, <i>mon cher enfant</i>, you +deserve to hear my secret."</p> + +<p>She smiled brilliantly.</p> + +<p>His heart beat a little quicker as he bent his ear to her customary +whisper. Her secrets were always interesting, sometimes sensational, +and there was always a pleasure in the sense of superiority that +knowledge conferred, and in the feeling of touching, through his +Princess-Countess, the inmost circles of European diplomacy. He was of +the gods, and should know whatever was on the knees of his +fellow-gods.</p> + +<p>"Bismarck is thinking of granting Universal Suffrage!"</p> + +<p>"Universal Suffrage!" he shouted.</p> + +<p>"Hush, hush! Walls have ears."</p> + +<p>"Then I must have inspired him."</p> + +<p>"No; but you will have."</p> + +<p>"How do you mean? Is it not my idea?"</p> + +<p>"Implicitly, perhaps, but you have never really pressed for it +specifically. Your only contribution to practical politics is a futile +suggestion that the Diet should refuse to <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_393" id="Page_393">[393]</a></span>sit, and so cut off +supplies. Now of course Universal Suffrage is the first item of the +programme of your Working-Men's Union."</p> + +<p>"Sophie!"</p> + +<p>She smiled and nodded. "Why should Bismarck have the credit," she +whispered, "for what is practically your idea? You will seem to exact +it from him by the force of your new party, which will peg away at +that one point like the Anti-Corn-Law people in England."</p> + +<p>"Yes; but I'll have no Manchester state-concepts."</p> + +<p>"I know, I know. Now even if Bismarck hesitates,"—she made her +whisper still lower—"there are foreign complications looming that +will make it impossible for him to ignore the masses. Now I understand +that what the Leipzig working-men suggest is that you shall write them +an Open Letter."</p> + +<p>"Yes. In it I shall counsel the creation of the Fourth Party, I shall +declare that the Progressists do not represent the People at all, that +their pretensions are as impertinent as their threats are hollow, that +there is no People behind them. It will be a thunderbolt! Like +Luther's nailing his theses to the church-door at Wittenberg. And to +the real masses themselves I shall declare: 'You are the rock on which +the Church of the Present is to be built. Steep yourselves in the +thought of this, your mission. The vices of the oppressed, the idle +indifference of the thoughtless, and even the harmless frivolity of +the unimportant no longer become you.' And I shall teach them how to +exact from the State the capital for co-operative associations that +will oust the capitalist."</p> + +<p>"And make them capitalists themselves?"</p> + +<p>"That is what Rodbertus and Marx object. But you must give the +working-man something definite, you must educate him gradually."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_394" id="Page_394">[394]</a></span>"Put that second if you will, but Universal Suffrage must be first."</p> + +<p>"Naturally. It will be the instrument to force the second."</p> + +<p>"It will be the instrument to force you to the front. Bismarck will +appear the mere tool of your will. Who knows but that the King himself +may be a pawn on your board!"</p> + +<p>Lassalle seized her hands. "There I recognize my soul's mate."</p> + +<p>"And I recognize the voice of the von Bulows," she said, with a +half-sob in her laughter, as she drew back.</p> + +<p>The lunch was brilliant, blending the delicate perfume of aristocracy +with free-and-easy Bohemianism, and enhanced by the artistic +background of pictures, bric-à-brac, and marble facsimiles of the +masterpieces of statuary, including the Venus of Milo and the Apollo +Belvedere.</p> + +<p>The Countess stayed only long enough to smoke a couple of cigarettes, +but the other guests were much longer in shaking off the fascination +of Lassalle's boyish spirits and delightful encyclopædic monologues. +When the last guest was gone, Lassalle betook himself to the best +florist in Berlin, composing a birthday poem on the way. At the shop +he wrote it down, and, signing it "F.L.," placed it in the most +beautiful basket of flowers he could find. The direction was Fräulein +Helene von Dönniges.</p> + +<br /> +<h4>VII</h4> + +<p>The "Open Reply Letter" did not thrill the world like a Lutheran +thesis, but it made the Progressists very angry. What! they had not +the People behind them! They were only exploiting, not representing +the People! And while <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_395" id="Page_395">[395]</a></span>the Court organs chuckled over this flank +attack on their bragging foes, the Liberal organs denounced Lassalle +as the catspaw of reaction. The whilom "friends of the working-man," +in their haste to overturn Lassalle's position, tumbled into their own +pits. Schulze-Delitzsch himself, founder of co-operative working-men's +societies, denouncer of the middleman, now found himself—in the face +of Lassalle's uncompromising analysis—praising the Law of +Competition, while that Iron Law of Wages, their tendency to fall to +the minimum of subsistence (which was in the canon of all orthodox +economists), was denied the moment it was looked at resentfully from +the wage-earner's standpoint. Herculean labors now fell upon +Lassalle—a great speech of four hours at Frankfort-on-the-Main, the +founding of the General German Working-Men's Union, with himself as +dictator for five years, the delivery of inflammatory speeches in town +after town, the publishing of pamphlets against the Progressists, +attempts to capture Berlin for the cause, the successful fighting of +his own law-case. And amid all this, the writing of one of his most +wonderful and virulent books, at once deeply instructing and +passionately inflaming the German working-man.</p> + +<p>And always the same sledge-hammer hitting at the same nail—Universal +Suffrage. Get that and you may get everything. Nourish no resentment +against the capitalists. They are the product of history as much as +your happier children will be. But on the other hand, no inertia, no +submission! Wake up! English or French working-men would follow me in +a trice. You are a pack of valets.</p> + +<p>In such a whirl Helene von Dönniges was shot off from his mind as a +spinning-top throws off a straw.</p> + +<p>But when, after a couple of months of colossal activity, incessant +correspondence, futile attempts to convert friends, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_396" id="Page_396">[396]</a></span>quarrels with the +authorities, grapplings with the internal cabals of the Union itself, +he fled on his summer tour—where was the great new Party? He had +hoped to have five hundred thousand men at his back, but they had come +in by beggarly hundreds. There was even talk of an insurance bonus to +attract them. Lassalle had exaggerated both the magnetism of his +personality and the intelligence and discontent of the masses. His +masterful imagination had made the outer world a mere reflection of +his inner world. Even in those early days, when he was scarcely known, +and that favorably rather than otherwise, he had imagined himself the +pet aversion of the comfortable classes. Knowing the rôle he purposed +to play, his dramatic self-consciousness had reaped in anticipation +the rebel's reward. And now, though he was nearer detestation than +before, there was still no Party of revolt for him to lead. But he +worked on undaunted, Titanic, spending his money to subsidize +tottering democratic papers, using his summer journeyings to try to +attach not abilities in the countries he passed through, and his stay +at the waters to draw up a great speech, with which he toured on his +return. And now a new cry! The cowardly venal Press must be swept +away. "As true as you are here, hanging on my lips, eager and +transported, as true as my soul trembles with the purest enthusiasm in +pouring itself wholly into yours, so truly does the certainty +penetrate me that a day will come when we shall launch the thunderbolt +which will bury that Press in eternal night." He proposed that the +newspapers should therefore be deprived of their advertisement +columns. What wonder if they accused him of playing Bismarck's game! +And, indeed, there was not wanting direct mention of Bismarck in the +speech. He at least was a man, while the Progressists were old women. +The orator mocked their festive demonstrations. They <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_397" id="Page_397">[397]</a></span>were like the +Roman slaves who, during the Saturnalia, played at being free. To +spare themselves a real battle, the defeated were intoning among the +wines and the victuals a hymn of victory. "Let us lift up our arms and +pledge ourselves, if this Revolution should come about, whether in +this way or in that, to remember that the Progressists and members of +the National League to the last declared they wanted <i>no</i> revolution! +Pledge yourselves to do this, raise your hands on high!" At the +Sonningen meeting in the great shooting-gallery, they not only raised +their hands, but their knives, against interrupting Progressists. The +Burgomaster, a Progressist, at the head of ten gendarmes armed with +bayonets, and policemen with drawn swords, dissolved the meeting. +Lassalle, half followed, half borne onward by six thousand cheering +men, strode to the telegraph office, and sent off a telegram to +Bismarck. His working-men's meeting had been dissolved by a +Progressist Burgomaster without any legal justification. "I ask for +the severest, promptest legal satisfaction."</p> + +<br /> +<h4>VIII</h4> + +<p>Bismarck took no official notice. But it was not long before the +Countess succeeded in bringing the two men together. The way had +indeed been paved. If Lassalle's idealism had survived the experience +of the Hatzfeldt law-suits, if he had yet to learn that the Fighter +cannot pick his steps as cleanly and logically as the Thinker, those +miry law-suits, waged unscrupulously on both sides, had prepared him +to learn the lesson readily and to apply it unflinchingly. Without +Force behind one, victory must be sought more circuitously. But to a +man who represents no Force, how shall Bismarck listen? What have you +to <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_398" id="Page_398">[398]</a></span>offer? "<i>Do ut des</i>" is his overt motto. To poor devils I have +nothing to say. Lassalle must therefore needs magnify his office of +President, wave his arm with an air of vague malcontent millions. Was +Bismarck taken in? Who shall say? In after-years, though he had in the +meantime granted Universal Suffrage in Prussia, he told the Reichstag +he was merely fascinated by this marvellous conversationalist, who +delighted him for hours, without his being able to get a word in; by +this grandiloquent Demagogue without a Demos, who plainly loved +Germany, yet was uncertain whether the German Empire would be formed +by a Hohenzollern dynasty or a Lassalle dynasty. And, in truth, since +extremes meet, there was much in Lassalle's conception of the State, +and in his German patriotism, which made him subtly akin to the +Conservative Chancellor. They walked arm-in-arm in the streets of +Berlin, Bismarck parading heart on sleeve; they discussed the +annexation of Schleswig-Holstein. Bismarck promised both Universal +Suffrage and State-Capitalized Associations—"only let us wait till +the war is done with!" <i>En attendant</i>, the profit of his strange +alliance with this thorn in his enemies' flesh, was wholly to the +Minister. But Lassalle, exalted to forgetfulness of the pettiness of +the army at his back, almost persuaded himself to believe as he +believed Bismarck believed. "Bismarck is my tool, my plenipotentiary," +he declared to his friends. And to his judges: "I play cards on table, +gentlemen, for the hand is strong enough. Perhaps before a year is +over Universal Suffrage will be the law of the land, and Bismarck will +have enacted the rôle of Sir Robert Peel." He even gave his followers +to understand that the King of Prussia's promise to consider the +condition of the Silesian weavers was the result of his pressure. And +was not the Bishop of Mayence an open partisan? Church, King, and +Minister, do you not see <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_399" id="Page_399">[399]</a></span>them all dragged at my chariot wheels? +Nevertheless, he failed completely to organize a branch at Berlin. And +new impeachments for inciting to hatred and contempt, and for +high-treason, came to cripple his activity. "If I have glorified +political passion," he cried in his defence, "I have only followed +Hegel's maxim: 'Nothing great has ever been done in the world without +passion.'"</p> + +<p>He was in elegant evening dress, with patent-leather boots, the one +cool person in the stifling court. For hours and hours he spoke, with +the perpetually changing accents of the great orator who has so +studied his art that it has become nature. Now he was winning, +persuasive, now menacing, terrible, now with disdainful smile and +half-closed eyes of contempt. And ever and anon he threw back his head +with the insolent majesty of a Roman Emperor. Even when there was a +touch of personal pathos, defiance followed on its heels. "I used to +go to gaol as others go to the ball, but I am no longer young. Prison +is hard for a mature man, and there is no article of the code that +entitles you to send me there." Yet six months' imprisonment was +adjudged him, and the most he could obtain by his ingeniously +inexhaustible technical pleas was deferment of his punishment.</p> + +<p>But there was consolation in the memories of his triumphal tour +through the Rhenish provinces, where the Union had struck widest root. +Town after town sent its whole population to greet him. Roaring +thousands met him at the railway stations, and he passed under +triumphal arches and through streets a-flutter with flags, where +working-girls welcomed him with showers of roses. "Such scenes as +these," he wrote to the Countess, "must have attended the foundation +of new religions." And, indeed, as weeping working-men fought to draw +his carriage, and as he looked upon the vast multitudes surging around +him, he could not <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_400" id="Page_400">[400]</a></span>but remember Heine's prophecy: "You will be the +Messiah of the nineteenth century."</p> + +<p>"I have not grasped this banner," he cried at Ronsdorf, "without +knowing quite clearly that I myself may fall. But in the words of the +Roman poet:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"'Exoriare aliquis nostris ex ossibus ultor.'<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="noin">May some avenger and successor arise out of my bones! May this great +and national movement of civilization not fall with my person. But may +the conflagration which I have kindled spread farther and farther as +long as one of you still breathes!"</p> + +<p>Those were his last words to the working-men of Germany.</p> + +<p>For beneath all the flowers and the huzzahing what a tragedy of broken +health and broken hopes! Each glowing speech represented a victory +over throat-disease and over his own fits of scepticism. His nerves, +shattered by the tremendous strain of the year, the fevers, the +disillusions, the unprofitable shiftings of standpoint, painted the +prospect as black as they had formerly ensanguined it. And the six +months' imprisonment hanging over him gained added terrors from his +physical breakdown. Even on his eider-down bed he could not woo +sleep—how then on a prison pallet?</p> + +<p>When he started the Union he had imagined he could bring the +Socialistic movement to a head in a year. When, after a year as +crammed as many a lifetime, he went down at the Countess's persuasion +to take the milk-cure at Kaltbad on the Righi, he confessed to his +friend Becker that he saw no near hope save from a European war.</p> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_401" id="Page_401">[401]</a></span><br /> +<h4>IX</h4> + +<p>One stormy day at the end of July, a bovine-eyed Swiss boy, dripping +with rain, appeared at the hygienic hotel, where Lassalle sat brooding +with his feet on the mantelpiece, to tell him that a magnificent lady +wanted to see him. She was with a party that had taken refuge in a +mountain-side shed. A great coup his resurging energy was meditating +at Hamburg, was swept clean from his mind.</p> + +<p>He dashed down, his heart beating with a hopeless surmise, and saw, +amid a strange group, the golden hair of Helene von Dönniges shining +like a star. He accepted it at once as the star of his destiny. His +strength seemed flowing back in swift currents of glowing blood.</p> + +<p>"By all the gods of Greece," he cried, "'tis she!"</p> + +<p>In an instant they were lovers again, and her American friend and +confidante, Mrs. Arson, was enchanted by this handsome apparition, +which, Helene protested, she had only summoned up half laughingly. +Dear old Holthoff had written her that Lassalle was somewhere on the +Righi, but she had not really believed she would stumble on him. She +was suffering from nervous prostration, and it was only the accident +of Mrs. Arson's holiday plan for her children that had enabled her to +obey the doctor's advice to breathe mountain air.</p> + +<p>"I breathe it for the first time," said Lassalle. "Do you know what I +was doing when your boy-angel came? Writing to Holthoff and old +Bœckh the philologist for introductions to your father. The game +has dallied on long enough. We must finish."</p> + +<p>Helene blushed charmingly, and looked at Mrs. Arson with a glance that +sought protection against and admiration for his audacity.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_402" id="Page_402">[402]</a></span>"I guess you're made for each other," said Mrs. Arson, carried off her +feet. "Why, you're like twins. Are you relatives?"</p> + +<p>"That's what everybody asks," said Helene. "Why, even before I met +him, people piqued my curiosity about him by saying I talked like +him."</p> + +<p>"It was the best compliment I had ever received—said behind my back +too. But people are right for once. Do you know that the painter to +whom I gave your portrait to inspire him for the Brunehild fresco said +that in drawing our two faces he discovered that they have exactly the +same anatomical structure."</p> + +<p>Her face took on that fascinating <i>diablerie</i> which men found +irresistible.</p> + +<p>"Then your compliments to me are only boomerangs."</p> + +<p>"Boomerangs only return when they miss."</p> + +<p>The storm abating, they moved up the mountain, talking gaily. Mrs. +Arson and her children kept considerately in the rear with their +guide. Helene admired Lassalle's stick. He handed it to her.</p> + +<p>"It was Robespierre's. Förster the historian gave it me. That +<i>repoussé</i> gold-work on the handle is of course the Bastille."</p> + +<p>"How appropriate!" she laughed.</p> + +<p>"Which? The Bastille to the stick, or the stick to me?"</p> + +<p>"Both."</p> + +<p>He grew serious.</p> + +<p>"What would you do if I lost my head?"</p> + +<p>"I should stand by till your head was severed in order that you might +look on your beloved to the last. Then I should take poison."</p> + +<p>"My Cleopatra!"</p> + +<p>Her fitful face changed.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_403" id="Page_403">[403]</a></span>"Or marry Janko!"</p> + +<p>"That weakling—is he still hovering?"</p> + +<p>"He passed the winter with us. He looks upon me as his," she said +dolefully.</p> + +<p>"I flick him away. Do not try to belong to another. I tell you +solemnly I claim you as mine. We cannot resist destiny. Our meeting +to-day proves it. To-morrow we climb to see the sunrise together,—the +sunrise over the mountains. Symbol of our future that begins. The +heavens opening in purple and gold over the white summits—love +breaking upon your virginal purity."</p> + +<p>Already she felt, as of yore, swept off on roaring seas. But the rush +and the ecstasy had their alloy of terror. To be with him was to be no +longer herself, but a hypnotized stranger. Perhaps she was unwise to +have provoked this meeting. She should have remembered he was not to +be coquetted with. As well put a match to a gunpowder barrel to warm +your fingers. Every other man could be played with. This one swallowed +you up.</p> + +<p>"But Prince Janko has no one but me," she tried to protest. "My little +Moorish page, my young Othello!"</p> + +<p>"Keep him a page. Othellos are best left bachelors. Remember the fate +of Desdemona."</p> + +<p>"I'll give you both up," she half whimpered. "I'll go on the stage."</p> + +<p>"You!"</p> + +<p>"Yes. Everybody says I'm splendid at burlesque. You should see me as a +boy."</p> + +<p>"You baby! You need no triumphs in the mimic world. Your rôle is +grander."</p> + +<p>"Oh, please let us wait for Mrs. Arson. You go too fast."</p> + +<p>"I don't. I have waited a year for you. When shall we marry?"</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_404" id="Page_404">[404]</a></span>"Not before our wedding-day."</p> + +<p>"Evasive Helene!"</p> + +<p>"Cruel Ferdinand! Ask anything of me, but not will-power."</p> + +<p>A little cough came to accentuate her weakness.</p> + +<p>"My darling!" he cried in deep emotion. "We'll fly to Egypt or the +Indies. I'll hang up politics and all that frippery. My books and +science shall claim me again, and I will watch over my ailing little +girl till she becomes the old splendid Brunehild again!"</p> + +<p>"No, no, I am no Brunehild; only a modern woman with nerves—the most +feminine woman in the world, irresponsible, capricious—please, please +remember."</p> + +<p>"If you were not yourself I should not love you."</p> + +<p>"But it cannot come to anything."</p> + +<p>"Cannot? The word is for pigmies."</p> + +<p>"But my mother?"</p> + +<p>"She is a woman—I will talk to her."</p> + +<p>"My father!"</p> + +<p>"He is a man, with men one can always get on. They are reasonable. +Besides, you tell me he is an author, and I will read his famous +books."</p> + +<p>She smiled faintly. "But there is myself."</p> + +<p>"You are myself—and I never doubt myself."</p> + +<p>"Oh, but there are heaps of other difficulties."</p> + +<p>"There are none other."</p> + +<p>She pouted deliciously. "You don't know everything under the sun."</p> + +<p>"Under your aureole of hair, do you mean?"</p> + +<p>"What if I do?" she smiled back. "You must not trust me too far. I am +a spoilt child—wild, unbridled, unaccustomed to please others except +by pleasing myself."</p> + +<p>Her actress-nature enjoyed the picture of herself. She <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_405" id="Page_405">[405]</a></span>felt that +Baudelaire himself would have admired it. Lassalle's answer was subtly +attuned:</p> + +<p>"My Satanic enchantress! my bewitching child of the devil."</p> + +<p>"<i>Bien fou qui s'y fie.</i> When I lived at Nice in that royal Bohemia, +where musicians rubbed shoulders with grand-duchesses, and the King of +Bavaria exchanged epigrams with Bulwer Lytton, do you know what they +called me?"</p> + +<p>"The Queen of all the Follies!"</p> + +<p>"You know?"</p> + +<p>"Did I not love my Brunehild ere we met?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, and I—knew of you. Only I didn't recognize you at first, +because they told me you were a frightful demagogue and—a—a—Jew!"</p> + +<p>He laughed. "And so you expected a gaberdine. And yet surely Bulwer +Lytton gave you a presentation copy of <i>Leila</i>. Don't you remember the +Jew in it? As a boy I had his ideal—to redeem my people. But if my +Judaism offends you, I can become a Christian—not in belief of +course, but—"</p> + +<p>"Oh, not for worlds. I believe too little myself to bother about +religion. My friends call me the Greek, because I can readily believe +in many gods, but only with difficulty in one."</p> + +<p>He laughed. "Is it the same in love?"</p> + +<p>Her eyes gleamed archly.</p> + +<p>"Yes. Hitherto, at least, a single man has never sufficed. With only +one I had time to see all his faults, and since my first love, a +Russian officer, I would always have preferred to keep three knives +dancing in the air. But as that was impossible, I generally halved my +loaf."</p> + +<p>The mountains rang with his laughter.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_406" id="Page_406">[406]</a></span>"Well. I haven't lived a saint, and I can't expect my wife to bring +more than I."</p> + +<p>"You bring too much. You bring that Countess."</p> + +<p>"My dear Helene," he said, struck serious. "I am entirely free in +regard to the Countess, as she is long since as regards me. Of course +she will, at the first shock, feel opposed to my marriage with a +distinguished young girl on the same intellectual level as herself. +That is human, feminine, natural. But when she knows you she will +adore you, and you will repay her in kind, since she is my second +mother. You do not understand her. The dear Countess desires no other +happiness than to see me happy."</p> + +<p>"And therefore," said Helene cynically, "she will warn you to beware. +She will hunt up all my offences against holy German morals—"</p> + +<p>"I don't care what she hunts up. All I ask is, be a monotheist +henceforwards."</p> + +<p>"Now you are asking <i>me</i> to become a Jewess."</p> + +<p>"I ask you only to become my wife."</p> + +<p>He caught her hands passionately. His eyes seemed to drink her in. She +fluttered, enjoying her bird-like helplessness.</p> + +<p>"Turn your eyes away, my royal eagle!"</p> + +<p>"You are mine! you are mine!" he cried.</p> + +<p>"I am my father's—I am Janko's," she panted.</p> + +<p>"They are shadows. Listen to yourself. Be true to yourself."</p> + +<p>"I have no self. It seems so selfish to have one. I am anything—a +fay, a sprite, an elf." She freed her hands with a sudden twist and +ran laughing up the mountain.</p> + +<p>"To the sunrise!" she cried. "To the sunrise!"</p> + +<p>He gave chase: "To the sunrise! To the symbol!"</p> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_407" id="Page_407">[407]</a></span><br /> +<h4>X</h4> + +<p>But the next morning the symbolic sunrise they rose to see was hidden +by fog and rain.</p> + +<p>And—what was still more disappointing to Lassalle—Mrs. Arson +insisted on escaping with her charges from this depressing climate and +re-descending to Wabern, the village near Berne, where they had been +staying.</p> + +<p>Not even Lassalle's fascinations and persuasions could counteract the +pertinacious plash-plash of-the rain, and the chilling mist, and +perhaps the uneasy pricks of her awakening chaperon-conscience. Nor +could he extract a decisive "Yes" from his fluttering volatile +enchantress. At Kaltbad, where they said farewell, he pressed her +hands with passion. "For a little while! Be prudent and strong! You +have the goodness of a child—and a child's will. Oh, if I could pour +into these blue veins"—he kissed them fiercely—"only one drop of my +giant's will, of my Titanic energy. Grip my hands; perhaps I can do it +by magnetism. I will to join our lives. You must will too. Then there +are no difficulties. Only say 'Yes'—but definitely, unambiguously, of +your own free will—and I answer for the rest."</p> + +<p>The thought of Janko resurged painfully when his giant's will was left +behind on the heights. How ill she would be using him—her pretty +delicate boy!</p> + +<p>The giant's will left behind her? Never had Helene been more mistaken. +The very reverse! It went before her all day like a pillar of fire. At +the first stopping-place a letter already awaited her, brought by a +swift courier; lower down a telegram; as she got off her horse another +letter; at her hotel two copious telegrams; as she stepped on board +the lake steamer a final letter—all breathing <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_408" id="Page_408">[408]</a></span>passion, +encouragement, solicitous instructions to wrap up well.</p> + +<p>Wrap up well! He wrapped one up in himself!</p> + +<p>Half fascinated, half panting for free air, but wholly flattered and +enamoured, she wrote at once to break off with Janko and surrender to +her Satanic Ferdinand.</p> + +<p>"Yes, friend Satan, the child <i>wills</i>! A drop of your diabolical blood +has passed into her veins. I am yours for life. But first try +reasonable means. Make my parents' acquaintance, cover up your horns +and tail, try and win me like a bourgeois. If that fails, there is +always Egypt. But quick, quick: I cannot bear scenes and delays and +comments. Once we are married, let society stare. With you to lean on +I snap my fingers at the world. The obstacles are gigantic, but you +are also a giant, who with God's help smashes rocks to sand, that even +my breath can blow away. I must stab the beautiful dream of a noble +youth, but even this—frightfully painful for me as it is—I do for +you. I say nothing of the disappointment to my parents, of the pain of +all I love and respect. I am writing to Holthoff, my father-confessor. +We must have him for us, with us, near us. God has destined us for +each other."</p> + +<p>A telegram replied: "Bravissimo! I am on my way to join you."</p> + +<p>And to the Countess, fighting rheumatism at the waters of Wildbad in +the Black Forest, he wrote: "The rain has passed, the long fog has +gone. The mountains stand out mighty and dazzling, peak beyond peak, +like the heights of a life. What a sunset! The Eiger seemed wrapped in +a vapor of burning gold. My sufferings are nearly all wiped out. I am +joyous, full of life and love. And I have also finished at last with +that terrible correspondence for the Union. Seventy-six pages of +minute writing have I sent to Berlin yesterday and to-day, and I +breathe again. In my <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_409" id="Page_409">[409]</a></span>yesterday's letter I broke Helene to you. It is +extraordinarily fortunate that on the verge of forty I should be able +to find a wife so beautiful, so sympathetic, who loves me so much, and +who, as you and I agreed was indispensable, is entirely absorbed in my +personality. In your last letter you throw cold water on my proposed +journey to Hamburg; and perhaps you are right in thinking the coup I +planned not so great and critical as I have been imagining. But how +you misunderstand my motives when you write: 'Cannot you, till your +health is re-established, find contentment for a while in science, in +friendship, in Nature?' You think politics the breath of my nostrils. +Ah, how little you are <i>au fait</i> with me! I desire nothing more +ardently than to be quite rid of all politics, and to devote myself to +science, friendship, and Nature. I am sick and tired of politics. +Truly I would burn as passionately for them as any one, if there were +anything serious to be done, or if I had the power or saw the means, a +means worthy of me; for without supreme power nothing can be done. For +child's play, however, I am too old and too great. That is why I very +reluctantly undertook the Presidentship. I only yielded to you, and +that is why it now weighs upon me terribly. If I were but rid of it, +this were the moment I should choose to go to Naples with you. But how +to get rid of it? For events, I fear, will develop slowly, so slowly, +and my burning soul finds no interest in these children's maladies and +petty progressions. Politics means actual, immediate activity. +Otherwise one can work just as well for humanity by writing. I shall +still try to exercise at Hamburg a pressure upon events. But up to +what point it will be effective I cannot say. Nor do I promise myself +much from it. Ah, could I but get out of it!</p> + +<p>"Helene is a wonderful creature, the only personality I could wed. She +looks forward to your friendship. I know <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_410" id="Page_410">[410]</a></span>it. For I am a good observer +of women without seeming to be. That dear <i>enfant du diable</i>, as +everybody calls her at Geneva, has a deep sympathy for you, because +she is, as Goethe puts it, an original nature. Only one fault—but +gigantic. She has no Will. But if we became husband and wife, that +would cease to be a fault. I have enough Will for two, and she would +be the flute in the hands of the artist. But till then—"</p> + +<p>The Countess showed herself a kind Cassandra. His haste, she replied, +would ruin his cause. He had to deal with Philistines. The father was +a man of no small self-esteem—he had been the honored tutor of +Maximilian II., and was now in high favor at the Bavarian court, even +controlling university and artistic appointments. A Socialist would be +especially distasteful to him. Twenty years ago Varnhagen von Ense had +heard him lecture on Communism—good-humoredly, wittily, shrugging +shoulders at these poor, fantastic fools who didn't understand that +the world was excellently arranged centuries before they were born. +Helene herself, with her weak will, would be unable to outface her +family. Before approaching the parents, had he not better wait the +final developments of his law-case? If he had to leave Germany +temporarily to escape the imprisonment, would not that be a favorable +opportunity for prosecuting his love-affairs in Switzerland? And what +a pity to throw up his milk-cure! "<i>Enfin</i>, I wish you success, <i>mon +cher enfant</i>, though I will only put complete trust in my own eyes. In +feminine questions you have neither reason nor judgment."</p> + +<p>Lassalle's response was to enclose a pretty letter from Helene, +pleading humbly for the Countess's affection. Together let them nurse +the sick eagle. She herself was but a child, and would lend herself to +any childish follies to drive the clouds from his brow. She would try +to <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_411" id="Page_411">[411]</a></span>comprehend his magnificent soul, his giant mind, and in happiness +or in sorrow would remain faithful and firm at his side.</p> + +<p>The Countess knit her brow. Then Lassalle was already with this Helena +in Berne.</p> + +<br /> +<h4>XI</h4> + +<p>It was a week of delicious happiness, niched amid the eternal +mountains, fused with skies and waters.</p> + +<p>With an accommodating chaperon who knew no German, the couple could do +and say what they pleased. Lassalle, throwing off the heavy burdens of +prophet and politician, alternated between brilliant lover and +happy-hearted boy. It was almost a honeymoon. Now they were children +with all the overflowing endearments of plighted lovers. Now they were +on the heights of intellect, talking poetry and philosophy, and +reading Lassalle's works; now they were discussing Balzac's +<i>Physiologie du Mariage</i>. Anon Lassalle was a large dog, gambolling +before his capricious mistress. "Lie down, sir," she cried once, as he +was reading a poem to her. And with peals of Homeric laughter +Ferdinand declared she had found the only inoffensive way of silencing +him. "If ever I displease you in future, you have only to say, 'Lie +down, sir!'" And he began barking joyously.</p> + +<p>And in the glow of this happiness his sense of political defeat +evaporated. He burgeoned, expanded, flung back his head in the old, +imperial way. "By God!" he said, marching up and down the room +feverishly, "you have chosen no mean destiny. Have you any idea of +what Ferdinand Lassalle's wife will be? Look at me!" He stood still. +"Do I look a man to be content with the second <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_412" id="Page_412">[412]</a></span>rôle in the State? Do +you think I give the sleep of my nights, the marrow of my bones, the +strength of my lungs, to draw somebody else's chestnuts out of the +fire? Do I look like a political martyr? No! I wish to act, to fight, +and also to enjoy the crown of victory, to place it on your brow."</p> + +<p>A vision of the roaring streets and floral arches of the Rhenish +cities flashed past him. "Chief of the People, President of the German +Republic,—there's the only true sovereignty. That was what kings were +once—giants of brain and brawn. King—one who knows, one who can! +Headship is for the head. What is this mock dignity that stands on the +lying breaths of winking courtiers? What is this farcical, factitious +glamour that will not bear the light of day? The Grace of God? Ay, +give me god-like manhood, and I will bend the knee. But to ask me to +worship a stuffed purple robe on a worm-eaten throne! 'Tis an insult +to manhood and reason. Hereditary kingship! When you can breed souls +as you breed racehorses it will be time to consider that. Stand here +by my side before this mirror. Is not that a proud, a royal couple? +Did not Nature fashion these two creatures in a holiday mood of joy +and intoxication? <i>Vive la République</i> and its Queen with the golden +locks!"</p> + +<p>"<i>Vive la République</i> and its eagle King!" she cried, intoxicated, yet +with more of dramatic enjoyment than of serious conviction.</p> + +<p>"Bravo! You believe in our star! Since I met you I see it shining +clearer over the heights. We mount, we mount, peak beyond peak. We +have enemies enough now, thick as the serpents in tropic forests. +Well, let them soil with their impure slaver the hem of our garments. +But how they will crawl fangless when Ferdinand—the Elect of the +People—makes his solemn entry into Berlin. And at <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_413" id="Page_413">[413]</a></span>his side, drawn by +six white horses, his blonde darling, changed into the first woman of +Germany." He, too, though to him the fancy was real enough for the +moment, enjoyed it with a certain artistic aloofness.</p> + +<br /> +<h4>XII</h4> + +<p>In honor of the <i>fiancés</i>—for such they openly avowed themselves, +Geneva and Helene's family being sufficiently distant to be +temporarily forgotten—the American Consul at Berne gave a charming +dinner. There was a gallant old Frenchman, a honey-tongued Italian, a +pervasive air of complimentary congratulation. Helene returned to her +hotel, thrilling with pleasure and happy auguries. The night was soft +and warm. Before undressing she leaned out of the window of her room +on the ground floor, and gazed upon the eternal glaciers, sparkling +like silver under the full moon. Through every sense she drank in the +mystery and perfume of the night, till her spirit seemed at one with +the stars and the mountains. Suddenly she felt two mighty arms clasped +about her. Lassalle stood outside. Her heart throbbed violently.</p> + +<p>"Hush!" he said, "don't be frightened. I will stay outside here, good +and quiet, till you are tired and say, 'Lie down, sir!' Then I will +go!"</p> + +<p>"My gentle Romeo!" she whispered, and bent her fragrant lips to meet +his—the divine kiss of god and goddess in the divine night. "My +Ferdinand!" she breathed. "If we should be parted after all. I tremble +to think of it. My father will never consent."</p> + +<p>"He shall consent. And you don't even need his consent. You are of +age."</p> + +<p>"Then take me now, dear heart. I am yours—your <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_414" id="Page_414">[414]</a></span>creature, your thing. +Fly away with me, my beautiful eagle, to Paris, to Egypt, where you +will. Let us be happy Bohemians. We do not need the world. We have +ourselves, and the moonlight, and the mountains."</p> + +<p>She was maddening to-night, his <i>enfant du diable</i>. But he kept a last +desperate grip upon his common sense. What would his friends say if he +involved Helene in the scandal of an elopement? What would Holthoff +say, what Baron Korff? Surely this was not the conduct that would +commend itself to the chivalry and nobility of Berlin! And besides, +how could his political career survive a new scandal? He was already +sufficiently hampered by his old connection with the Countess, and not +even a public acquittal and twenty years had sufficed to lay that +accusation of instigating the stealing of a casket of papers from her +husband's mistress, which was perhaps the worst legacy of the great +Hatzfeldt case. No, he must win his bride honorably: the sanctities +and dignities of wedlock were seductive to the Bohemian in love.</p> + +<p>"We shall have ourselves and the world, too," he urged gently. "Let us +enter our realm with the six white horses, not in a coach with drawn +blinds. Your father shall give you to me, I tell you, in the eye of +day. What, am I an advertisement canvasser to be shown the door? Shall +my darling not have as honorable nuptials as her father's wife. Shall +the Elect of the People confess that a petty diplomatist didn't +consider him good enough for a son-in-law? Think how Bismarck would +chuckle. After all I have said to him!"</p> + +<p>Her confidence came back. Yes, one might build one's house on the rock +of such a Will! "What have you said to him?"</p> + +<p>He laughed softly. "I've let slip a secret, little girl."</p> + +<p>"Tell me."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_415" id="Page_415">[415]</a></span>"Incredible! That baby with her little fingers,"—he seized +them—"with her fairy paws, she plunges boldly into my most precious +secrets, into my heart's casket, picks out the costliest jewel, and +asks for it."</p> + +<p>"Well, do you like him? Is he an intellectual spirit?"</p> + +<p>"Hum! If he is, we are not. He is iron, and of iron we make steel, and +of steel pretty weapons; but one can make nothing but weapons. I +prefer gold. Gold like my darling's hair"—he caressed it—"like my +own magic power over men. You shall see, darling, how your gold and +mine will triumph."</p> + +<p>"But you also are always speaking of arms, of blood, of battles; and +Revolutions are scarcely forged without arms and iron."</p> + +<p>"Child, child," he answered, drawing her golden locks to his lips, +"why do you wish to learn all in this beautiful starry night? The +conquests of thousands of years, the results of profound studies, you +ask for as for toys. To speak of battles, to call to arms, is by no +means the same thing as to sabre one's fellow, one's brother, with icy +heart and bloodstained hand. Don't you understand, sly little thing, +of what arms I speak, of the golden weapons of the spirit, eloquence, +the love of humanity, the effort to raise to manly dignity the poor, +the unfortunate, the workers. Above all, I mean—Will. These noble +weapons, these truly golden weapons, I count higher and more useful +than the rusted swords of Mediævalism."</p> + +<p>Her eyes filled with tears. She felt herself upborne on waves of +religious emotion towards those shining stars. The temptation was +over.</p> + +<p>"Good-night, my love," she said humbly.</p> + +<p>He drew her face to his in passionate farewell, and seemed as if he +would never let her go. When her window closed he strode towards the +glaciers.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_416" id="Page_416">[416]</a></span>An adventure next day came to show the conquered Helena that her +spiritual giant was no less king of men physically. At the American +Consul's dinner an expedition on the Niessen had been arranged. But as +the party was returning at nightfall across the fields, and laughing +over Lassalle's sprightly anecdotes, suddenly a dozen diabolical +gnomes burst upon them with savage roars and incomprehensible +inarticulate jabberings, and began striking at hazard with their +short, solid cudgels, almost ere the startled picnickers could +recognize in these bestial creatures, with their enormously swollen +heads and horrible hanging goitres, the afflicted idiot peasants of +the valley. The gallant Frenchman and the honey-tongued Italian +screamed with the women, and made even less play with umbrellas and +straps; but Lassalle fell like a thunderbolt with his Robespierre +stick upon the whole band of cretins, and reduced them to howls and +bloodstained tears. It was only then that Lassalle was able to extract +from them that the party had trampled over the hay in their fields, +and that they demanded compensation. Being given money, they departed, +growling and waving their cudgels. When the excursionists looked at +one another they found themselves all in rags, and Lassalle's face +disfigured by two heavy blows. Helene ran to him with a cry.</p> + +<p>"You are wounded, bruised!"</p> + +<p>"No, only one of the towers of the Bastille," he said, ruefully +surveying the stick; "the brutes have dinted it."</p> + +<p>"And there are people who call him coward because he won't fight +duels," thought Helene adoringly.</p> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_417" id="Page_417">[417]</a></span><br /> +<h4>XIII</h4> + +<p>The drama shifted to Geneva, where heroine preceded hero by a few +hours, charged to be silent till her parents had personally +experienced Lassalle's fascinations. He had scarcely taken possession +of his room in the Pension Bovet when a maidservant brought in a +letter from Helene, and ere he had time to do more than break the +envelope, Helene herself burst in.</p> + +<p>"Take me away, take me away," she cried hysterically.</p> + +<p>He flew to support her.</p> + +<p>"What has happened?"</p> + +<p>"I cannot bear it. I cannot fight them. Save me, my king, my master. +Let us fly across the frontier—to Paris." She clung to him wildly.</p> + +<p>Sternness gathered on his brow.</p> + +<p>"Then you have disobeyed me!" he said. "Why?"</p> + +<p>"I have written you," she sobbed.</p> + +<p>He laid her gently on the bed, and ran his eye through the long, +hysteric letter.</p> + +<p>Unhappy coincidence! At Helene's arrival, her whole family had met her +joyously at the railway station, overbrimming with the happy news that +her little sister, Marguerite, had just been proposed to by Count +Kayserling.</p> + +<p>Helene had thought this a heaven-sent opportunity of breaking her own +happiness to her radiant mother, foolishly forgetting that the Count +Kayserling would be the last man in the world to endure a Jew and a +demagogue as a brother-in-law. Terrible scenes had followed—the +mother's tears, the father's thunders, the general family wail and +supplication, sisters trembling for their prospects, brothers +anticipating the sneers of club-land. What! exchange Prince Janko for +a thief!</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_418" id="Page_418">[418]</a></span>Cross-examined by Lassalle, Helene admitted her mother was not so +furious as her father, and had even, weeping on her bosom, promised to +try and smooth the Baron down. But she knew that was impossible—her +father considered nothing but his egoistic plans. And so, when the +dinner-bell was sounding, informed with a mad courage by the thought +of her hero's proximity, she had flown to him.</p> + +<p>Lassalle felt that the test-moment of his life had come, and the man +of action must rise to it. He scribbled three telegrams—one to his +mother, one to his sister, Frau Friedland, and one to the Countess, +asking all to come at once.</p> + +<p>"You must have a chaperon," he interjected. "And till one of the three +arrives, who is there here?"</p> + +<p>She sobbed out the address of Madame Rognon. Lassalle opened the door +to hand over the telegrams, and saw the woman who had brought Helene's +letter lingering uneasily, and he had the unhappiest yet not least +characteristic inspiration of his life. "These to the telegraph +office," he said aloud, and in a whisper: "Tell the Baroness von +Dönniges that we shall be at Madame Rognon's."</p> + +<p>For, with lightning rapidity, his brain had worked out a subtle piece +of heroic comedy. He would restore Helene to her mother, he would play +the grand seigneur, the spotless Bayard, he, the Jew, the thief, the +demagogue, the Don Juan; his chivalry would shame this little +diplomatist. In no case could they refuse him the girl, she was too +hopelessly compromised. All the Pension had seen her—the mother would +be shrewd enough to understand that. She must allow the renunciation +to remain merely verbal, but the words would sound how magnificent!</p> + +<p>The scene was duly played. The bewildered Helene, whom he left in the +dark, confused by the unexpected <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_419" id="Page_419">[419]</a></span>appearance of her mother, was thrown +into the last stage of dazed distress by being recklessly restored to +the maternal bosom. He kissed her good-bye, and she vanished from his +sight for ever.</p> + +<br /> +<h4>XIV</h4> + +<p>For he had reckoned without his Janko, always at hand to cover up a +scandal. The Will he had breathed into Helene had been exhausted in +the one supreme effort of her life. Sucked up again into the family +egotism, kept for weeks under a <i>régime</i> of terror and intercepted +letters, hurried away from Geneva; chagrined and outraged, too, by her +lover's incomprehensible repudiation of her, which only success could +have excused, and which therefore became more unpardonable as day +followed day without rescue from a giant, proved merely windbag; she +fell back with compunction into the tender keeping of the ever-waiting +Janko. The one letter her father permitted her to send formally +announced her eternal love and devotion for her former <i>fiancé</i>. +Profitless to tell the story of how the stricken giant, raving in +outer darkness, this Polyphemus who had gouged out his own eye, this +Hercules self-invested in the poisoned robe of Nessus, moved heaven +and earth to see her again. It was an earthquake, a tornado, a +nightmare. He had frenzies of tears, his nights were sleepless reviews +of his folly in throwing her away, and vain phantasms of her eyes and +lips. He poured out torrents of telegrams and letters, in which cries +of torture mingled with minute legal instructions. The correspondence +of the Working-Men's Union alone was neglected. He pressed everybody +and anybody into his feverish service—musicians, artists, soldiers, +antiquarians, aristocrats. Would not Wagner induce the King of Bavaria +to speak to von <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_420" id="Page_420">[420]</a></span>Dönniges? Would not the Catholic Bishop Ketteler help +him?—he would become a Catholic. And ever present an insane belief in +the reality of her faithlessness, mockingly accompanied by a terribly +lucid recognition of the instability of character that made it +certain. The "No"—her first word to him at their first +meeting—resounded in his ears, prophetically ominous. The sunrise, +hidden by rain and mist, added its symbolic gloom. But he felt her +lips on his in the marvellous moonlight; a thousand times she clung to +him crying, "Take me away!" And now she was to be another's. She +refused even to see him. Incredible! Monstrous! If he could only get +an interview with her face to face. Then they would see if she was +resisting him of her own free will or under pressure illegal for an +adult. It was impossible his will-power over her should fail.</p> + +<p>Helene evidently thought so too. By fair means and foul, by spies and +lawyers and friendly agents, Lassalle's frenzied energy had penetrated +through every defence to the inmost entrenchment where she sat +cowering. He had exacted the father's consent to an interview. Only +Helene's own consent was wanting. His friend Colonel Rustow brought +the sick Hercules the account of her refusal—a refusal which made +ridiculous his moving of mountains.</p> + +<p>"But surely you owe Lassalle some satisfaction," he had protested.</p> + +<p>"To what? To his wounded vanity?"</p> + +<p>It was the last straw.</p> + +<p>"Harlot!" cried Lassalle, and as in a volcanic jet, hurled her from +his burning heart.</p> + +<p>A terrible calm settled upon him. It was as if fire should become ice. +Yes, he understood at last what Destiny had always been trying to tell +him—that love and happiness were not for him. He was consecrate to +great <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_421" id="Page_421">[421]</a></span>causes: His Will, entangled with that of others, grew feeble, +fruitless. Women were truly <i>enfants du diable</i>. He had been within an +ace of abandoning his historical mission. Now he would arise, strong, +sublime: a mighty weapon forged by the gods, and tempered by fire and +tears.</p> + +<p>Only, one thing must first be done. The past must be wiped off. He +must recommence with a clean sheet. True, he had always refused duels. +But now he saw the fineness, the necessity of them. In a world of +chicanery and treachery the sword alone cut clean.</p> + +<p>He sent a challenge to the father, a message of goodwill to the lover. +But it was Janko who took up the challenge.</p> + +<p>The weapon chosen was the pistol.</p> + +<p>Lassalle's friends begged him to practise.</p> + +<p>"Useless! I know what is destined."</p> + +<p>Never had he been so colossal, so assured. His nerves seemed to have +regained their tone. The night before the duel he slept like a +tranquil child.</p> + +<p>In the early morn, on the way to the field outside Geneva, he begged +his second to arrange the duel on the French side of the frontier, so +that he might remain in Geneva and settle his account with the father. +At the word of command, "One!" Janko's shot rang out. Lassalle's was +not a second later, but he had already received his death-wound.</p> + +<p>He lay three days, dying in terrible agony, relieved only by copious +opium. Between the spasms, surprise possessed his mind that his Will +should have counted for nothing before the imperturbable march of the +universe. "There will never be Justice for the People," he thought +bitterly. "I was a dreamer. Heine was right. A mad world, my masters." +But sometimes he had a gleam of suspicion that it was he that had +lacked sanity. His Will had become <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_422" id="Page_422">[422]</a></span>mere wilfulness. In his love as in +his crusade he had shut his eyes to the brute facts; had precipitated +what could only be coaxed. "I die by my own hand," he said. If he had +only married Rosalie Zander, who still lived on, loving him! These +Russian and Bavarian minxes were neurotic, fickle, shifting as sand; +the daughters of Judæa were sane, cheerful, solid. Then he thought of +his own sister married to that vulgarian, Friedland. He saw her, a +rosy-cheeked girl, sitting at the Passover table, with its picturesque +ritual. How happy were those far-off pious days! And then he felt a +cold wind, remembering how Riekchen had hidden her face to laugh at +these mediæval mummeries, and to spit out the bitter herbs, so +meaningless to her.</p> + +<p>O terrible tragi-comedy of life, O strange, tangled world, in which +poor, petty man must walk, tripped by endless coils—religion, race, +sex, custom, wealth, poverty! World that from boyhood he had seemed to +see stretching so clearly before him, to be mapped out with lucid +logic, to be bestridden with triumphant foot by men become as gods, +knowing good and evil.</p> + +<p>Only one thing was left—to die unbroken.</p> + +<p>He had his lawyer brought to his bedside, went through his last +testament again, left money for the Union, recommended it to the +workers as their one sure path of salvation. Moses had only been +permitted to gaze upon the Promised Land, but the Chosen People—the +Germans—should yet luxuriate in its milk and honey.</p> + +<p>A month after his meeting with Helene on the Righi—a month after his +glad shout, "By all the gods of Greece, 'tis she!"—he was a corpse, +the magic voice silent for ever; while the woman he had sought was to +give herself to his slayer, and the movement he had all but abandoned +for her was to become a great power in the State, under the +ever-growing glamour of his memory.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_423" id="Page_423">[423]</a></span>The Countess bent over the body. A strange, grim joy mingled with her +rage and despair. None of all these women had the right to share in +her grief. He belonged to her—to her and the People. Yes, she would +bear the body of her <i>cher enfant</i> through the provinces of the +Rhine—he had been murdered by a cunning political plot, the People +who loved him should rise and avenge their martyred Messiah.</p> + +<p>And suddenly she remembered with a fresh pang the one woman who had a +right to share her grief, nay, to call him—in no figurative +sense—"<i>enfant</i>"; the wrinkled old Jewess, palsied and deaf and +peevish, who lived on in a world despoiled of his splendid fighting +strength, of his superb fore-visionings.</p> + +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<a name="THE_PRIMROSE_SPHINX" id="THE_PRIMROSE_SPHINX"></a><hr /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_424" id="Page_424">[424]</a></span><br /> + +<h3>THE PRIMROSE SPHINX<span class="totoc"><a href="#toc">ToC</a></span></h3> + +<br /> +<h4>I</h4> + +<p>In the choir of the old-fashioned church of Hughenden, that broods +amid the beautiful peace of English meadows, there stands, on the left +hand of the aisle, a black high-backed stall of polished oak, overhung +by the picturesque insignia of the Order of the Garter.</p> + +<p>In the pavement behind it gleams a square slab, dedicated by "his +grateful sovereign and friend" to her great Prime Minister, and heaped +in the spring with primroses.</p> + +<p>And on this white memorial is sculptured in bas-relief the profile of +the head of a Semitic Sphinx, round whose mute lips flickers in a +faint sardonic smile the wisdom of the ages.</p> + +<br /> +<h4>II</h4> + +<p>I see him, methinks, in life, Premier of England, Lord Privy Seal, +Earl Beaconsfield of Beaconsfield, Viscount Hughenden of Hughenden, +sitting in his knightly stall, listening impassibly to the country +parson's sermon. His head droops on his breast, but his coal-black +inscrutable eyes are open.</p> + +<p>It is the hour of his star.</p> + +<p>He is just back from the Berlin Congress, bringing <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_425" id="Page_425">[425]</a></span>"Peace with +Honor." The Continent has stood a-tiptoe to see the wonderful English +Earl pass and repass. He has been the lion of a congress that included +Bismarck. The laurels and the Oriental palm placed by his landlord on +the hotel-balcony have but faintly typified the feeling of Europe. His +feverous reception in England, from Dover pier onwards, has recalled +an earlier, a more romantic world. Fathers have brought their little +ones to imprint upon their memories the mortal features of this +immortal figure, who passes through a rain of flowers to his throne in +Downing Street. The London press, with scarce an exception, is in the +dust at his feet—with the proud English nobles and all that has ever +flouted or assailed him.</p> + +<p>The sunshine comes floridly through the stained-glass windows, and +lies upon the austere crucifix.</p> + +<br /> +<h4>III</h4> + +<p>By what devious ways has he wandered hither—from that warm old +Portuguese synagogue in Bevis Marks, whence his father withdrew under +the smart of a fine from "the gentlemen of the Mahamad?"</p> + +<p>But hark! The parson—as paradoxically—is reading a Jewish psalm.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0i">"'The Lord said unto my lord: Sit thou on my right hand,<br /></span> +<span class="i4i">until I make thine enemies thy footstool.<br /></span> +<span class="i0i">The Lord shall send the rod of thy power out of Zion: be<br /></span> +<span class="i4i">thou ruler in the midst of thine enemies.<br /></span> +<span class="i0i">In the day of thy power shall the people offer thee freewill<br /></span> +<span class="i4i">offerings with a holy worship: the dew of thy birth is of<br /></span> +<span class="i4i">the womb of the morning.'"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>The Earl remains impassive.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_426" id="Page_426">[426]</a></span>"Half Christendom worships a Jewess, and the other half a Jew."</p> + +<p>Whom does he worship?</p> + +<p>"Sensible men never tell."</p> + +<br /> +<h4>IV</h4> + +<p>Yet in that facial mask I seem to read all the tale of the long years +of desperate waiting, only half sweetened by premature triumphs of pen +and person; all the rancorous energies of political strife.</p> + +<p>And as I gaze, a sense of something shoddy oppresses me, of tinsel and +glitter and flamboyance: a feeling that here is no true greatness, no +sphinx-like sublimity. A shadow of the world and the flesh falls +across the brooding figure, a Napoleonic vulgarity coarsens the +features, there is a Mephistophelian wrinkle in the corner of the +lips.</p> + +<p>I think of his books, of his grandiose style, gorgeous as his early +waistcoats and gold chains, the prose often made up of bad blank +verse, leavings from his long coxcombical strain to be a poet; of his +false-sublime and his false-romantic, of his rococo personages, +monotonously magnificent; of his pseudo-Jewish stories, and his +braggart assertions of blood, played off against the insulting pride +of the proudest aristocracy in the world, and combined with a politic +perseverance to be more English than the English; of his naïve delight +in fine clothes and fine dishes and fine company; of his nice conduct +of a morning and evening cane; of his morbid self-consciousness of his +gifts and his genius; of his unscrupulous chase of personal success +and of Fame—that shadow which great souls cast, and little souls +pursue as substance; of his scrupulous personal rejection of +Love—Love, the one touch of true <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_427" id="Page_427">[427]</a></span>romance in his novels—and his +pecuniary marriage for his career's sake, after the manner of his +tribe; of his romanesque conception of the British aristocracy, which +he yet dominates, because he is not really rooted in the social +conceptions which give it its prestige, and so is able to manœuvre +it artistically from without, intellect detached from emotion: to play +English politics like a game of chess, moving proud peers like pawns, +with especial skill in handling his Queen; his very imperturbability +under attack, only the mediæval Jew's self-mastery before the +grosser-brained persecutor.</p> + +<p>I think these things and the Sphinx yields up his secret—the open +secret of the Ghetto parvenu.</p> + +<br /> +<h4>V</h4> + +<p>But as I look again upon his strange Eastern face, so deep-lined, so +haggard, something subtler and finer calls to me from the ruins of its +melancholy beauty.</p> + +<p>Into this heavy English atmosphere he brings not only the shimmer of +ideas and wit, but—a Heine of action—the fantasy of personal +adventure, and—when audacity has been crowned by empery—of dramatic +surprises of policy. A successful Lassalle, he flutters the stagnant +castes of aristocracy by the supremacy of the individual Will.</p> + +<p>To a country that lumbers on from precedent to precedent, and owes its +very constitution to the pinch of practical exigencies, he brings the +Jew's unifying sweep of idea. First, he is the encourager of the Young +England party, for, conceiving himself child of a race of aristocrats +whose mission is to civilize the world, he feels the duty of guidance +to which these young English squires and nobles are born. The +bourgeois he hates—only the pomp of <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_428" id="Page_428">[428]</a></span>sovereignty and the pathos of +poverty move his soul; his lifelong dream is of a Tory democracy, +wherein the nobles shall make happy the People that is exploited by +the middle classes. Product of a theocratic state, where the rich and +the poor are united in God, he is shocked by "the Two Nations" into +which, by the gradual break-up of the feudal world, this England is +split. The cry of the Chartists does not leave him cold. He is one in +revolt with Byron and Shelley against a Philistine world. And later, +to a mighty empire that has grown fortuitously, piecemeal, by the +individual struggles of independent pioneers or isolated filibusters, +he gives a unifying soul, a spirit, a mission. He perceives with Heine +that as Puritan Britain is already the heir of ancient Palestine, and +its State Church only the guardian of the Semitic principle, +popularized, so is it by its moral and physical energy, the destined +executant of the ideals of Zion; that it is planting the Law like a +great shady tree in the tropic deserts and arid wastes of barbarism. +That grandeur and romance of their empire, of which the English of his +day are only dimly aware, because like their constitution it has +evolved without a conscious principle, he, the outsider, sees. He is +caught by the fascination of its vastness, of its magnificent +possibilities. And in very deed he binds England closer to her +colonies, and restores her dwindled prestige in the Parliament of +Nations. He even proclaims her an Asiatic power.</p> + +<p>For his heart is always with his own people—its past glories, its +persistent ubiquitous potency, despite ubiquitous persecution. He sees +himself the appointed scion of a Chosen Race, the only race to which +God has ever spoken, and perhaps the charm of acquired Cyprus is its +propinquity to Palestine, the only soil on which God has ever deigned +to reveal Himself.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_429" id="Page_429">[429]</a></span>And, like his race, he has links with all the human panorama.</p> + +<p>He is in touch with the humors and graces of European courts and +cities, has rapport with the rich-dyed, unchanging, double-dealing +East, enjoys the picaresque life of the Spanish mountains: he feels +the tragedy of vanished Rome, the marble appeal of ancient Athens, the +mystery of the Pyramids, the futility of life; his books palpitate +with world-problems.</p> + +<p>And, as I think these things, his face is transfigured and he +becomes—beneath all his dazzle of deed—a Dreamer of the Ghetto.</p> + +<br /> +<h4>VI</h4> + +<p>So think I. But what—as the country parson's sermon drones on—thinks +the Sphinx?</p> + +<p>Who shall tell?</p> + +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<a name="DREAMERS_IN_CONGRESS" id="DREAMERS_IN_CONGRESS"></a><hr /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_430" id="Page_430">[430]</a></span><br /> + +<h3>DREAMERS IN CONGRESS<span class="totoc"><a href="#toc">ToC</a></span></h3> +<br /> + +<p>"By the rivers of Babylon, there we sat down; yea, we wept, when we +remembered Zion." By the river of Bâle we sit down, resolved to weep +no more. Not the German Rhine, but the Rhine ere it leaves the land of +liberty; where, sunning itself in a glory of blue sky and white cloud, +and overbrooded by the eternal mountains; it swirls its fresh green +waves and hurries its laden rafts betwixt the quaint old houses and +dreaming spires, and under the busy bridges of the Golden Gate of +Switzerland.</p> + +<p>In the shady courtyard of the Town Hall are sundry frescoes testifying +to the predominant impress on the minds of its citizens of the life +and thoughts of a little people that flourished between two and three +thousand years ago in the highlands of Asia Minor. But, amid these +suggestive illustrations of ancient Jewish history, the strangest +surely is that of Moses with a Table of the Law, on which are written +the words: "Who brought thee out of the land of Egypt, out of the +house of bondage."</p> + +<p>For here, after all this travail of the centuries, a very modern +Moses—in the abstract-concrete form of a Congress—is again +meditating the deliverance of Israel from the house of bondage.</p> + +<p>Not in the Town Hall, however, but in the Casino the Congress meets, +and, where Swiss sweethearts use to dance, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_431" id="Page_431">[431]</a></span>are debated the tragic +issues of an outcast nation. An oblong hall, of drab yellow, with cane +chairs neatly parted in the middle, and green-baized tables for +reporters, and a green-baized rostrum, and a green-baized platform, +over which rise the heads and festal shirt-fronts of the leaders.</p> + +<p>A strangely assorted set of leaders, but all with that ink-mark on the +brow which is as much on the Continent the badge of action, as it is +in England the symbol of sterility; all believing more or less naïvely +that the pen is mightier than the millionaire's gold.</p> + +<p>Only one of them hitherto has really stirred the world with his +pen-point—a prophet of the modern, preaching "Woe, woe" by +psycho-physiology; in himself a breezy, burly undegenerate, with a +great gray head marvellously crammed with facts and languages; now to +prove himself golden-hearted and golden-mouthed, an orator touching +equally to tears or laughter. In striking contrast with this +quasi-Teutonic figure shows the leonine head, with its tossing black +mane and shoulders, of the Russian leader, Apollo turned Berserker, +beautiful, overpowering, from whose resplendent mouth roll in mountain +thunder the barbarous Russian syllables.</p> + +<p>And even as no two of the leaders are alike, so do the rank and file +fail to resemble one another. Writers and journalists, poets and +novelists and merchants, professors and men of professions—types that +once sought to slough their Jewish skins, and mimic, on Darwinian +principles, the colors of the environment, but that now, with some +tardy sense of futility or stir of pride, proclaim their brotherhood +in Zion—they are come from many places; from far lands and from near, +from uncouth, unknown villages of Bukowina and the Caucasus, and from +the great European capitals; thickliest from the pales of persecution, +in rare units from the free realms of England and America—a <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_432" id="Page_432">[432]</a></span>strange +phantasmagoria of faces. A small, sallow Pole, with high cheek-bones; +a blond Hungarian, with a flaxen moustache; a brown, hatchet-faced +Roumanian; a fresh-colored Frenchman, with eye-glasses; a dark, +Marrano-descended Dutchman; a chubby German; a fiery-eyed Russian, +tugging at his own hair with excitement, perhaps in prescience of the +prison awaiting his return; a dusky Egyptian, with the close-cropped, +curly black hair, and all but the nose of a negro; a yellow-bearded +Swede; a courtly Viennese lawyer; a German student, with proud +duel-slashes across his cheek; a Viennese student, first fighter in +the University, with a colored band across his shirt-front; a dandy, +smelling of the best St. Petersburg circles; and one solitary +caftan-Jew, with ear-locks and skull-cap, wafting into the nineteenth +century the cabalistic mysticism of the Carpathian Messiah.</p> + +<p>Who speaks of the Jewish type? One can only say negatively that these +faces are not Christian. Is it the stamp of a longer, more complex +heredity? Is it the brand of suffering? Certainly a stern Congress, +the speeches little lightened by humor, the atmosphere of historic +tragedy too overbrooding for intellectual dalliance. Even the presence +of the gayer sex—for there are a few ladies among the delegates, and +more peep down from the crowded spectators' gallery that runs sideways +along the hall—only makes a few shots of visual brightness in the +sober scene. Seriousness is stamped everywhere; on the broad-bulging +temples of the Russian oculist, on the egg-shaped skull and lank white +hair of the Heidelberg professor, on the open countenance of the +Hungarian architect, on the weak, narrow lineaments of the neurotic +Hebrew poet; it gives dignity to red hair and freckles, tones down the +grossness of too-fleshy cheeks, and lends an added beauty to +finely-cut features.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_433" id="Page_433">[433]</a></span>Superficially, then, they have little in common, and if almost all +speak German—the language of the Congress—it is only because they +are all masters of three or four tongues. Yet some subtle instinct +links them each to each; presage, perhaps, of some brotherhood of +mankind, of which ingathered Israel—or even ubiquitous Israel—may +present the type.</p> + +<p>Through the closed red-curtained windows comes ever and anon the sharp +ting of the bell of an electric car, and the President, anxiously +steering the course of debate through difficult international +cross-roads, rings his bell almost as frequently.</p> + +<p>A majestic Oriental figure, the President's—not so tall as it appears +when he draws himself up and stands dominating the assembly with eyes +that brood and glow—you would say one of the Assyrian Kings, whose +sculptured heads adorn our Museums, the very profile of +Tiglath-Pileser. In sooth, the beautiful sombre face of a kingly +dreamer, but of a Jewish dreamer who faces the fact that flowers are +grown in dung. A Shelley "beats in the air his luminous wings in +vain"; our Jewish dreamer dreams along the lines of life; his dream +but discounts the future, his prophecy is merely fore-speaking, his +vision prevision. He talks agriculture, viticulture, subvention of the +Ottoman Empire, both by direct tribute and indirect enrichment; stocks +and shares, railroads, internal and to India; natural development +under expansion—all the jargon of our iron age. Let not his movement +be confounded with those petty projects for helping Jewish +agriculturists into Palestine. What! Improve the Sultan's land without +any political equivalent guaranteed in advance! Difficulty about the +holy places of Christianity and Islam? Pooh! extra-territorial.</p> + +<p>A practised publicist, a trained lawyer, a not <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_434" id="Page_434">[434]</a></span>unsuccessful comedy +writer, converted to racial self-consciousness by the "Hep, Hep" of +Vienna, and hurried into unforeseen action by his own paper-scheme of +a Jewish State, he has, perhaps, at last—and not unreluctantly—found +himself as a leader of men.</p> + +<p>In a Congress of impassioned rhetoricians he remains serene, moderate; +his voice is for the more part subdued; in its most emotional +abandonments there is a dry undertone, almost harsh. He quells +disorder with a look, with a word, with a sharp touch of the bell. The +cloven hoof of the Socialist peeps out from a little group. At once +"The Congress shall be captured by no party!" And the Congress is in +roars of satisfaction.</p> + +<p>'Tis the happy faculty of all idealists to overlook the visible—the +price they pay for seeing the unseen. Even our open-eyed Jewish +idealist has been blest with ignorance of the actual. But, in his very +ignorance of the people he would lead and the country he would lead +them to, lies his strength, just as in his admission that his Zionist +fervor is only that second-rate species produced by local +anti-Semitism, lies a powerful answer to the dangerous libel of local +unpatriotism. Of the real political and agricultural conditions of +Palestine he knows only by hearsay. Of Jews he knows still less. Not +for him the paralyzing sense of the humors of his race, the petty feud +of Dutchman and Pole, the mutual superiorities of Sephardi and +Ashkenazi, the grotesque incompatibility of Western and Eastern Jew, +the cynicism and snobbery of the prosperous, the materialism of the +uneducated adventurers in unexploited regions. He stands so high and +aloof that all specific colorings and markings are blurred for him +into the common brotherhood, and, if he is cynic enough to suspect +them, he is philosopher enough to recognize that all nations are +compact of incongruites, vitalized by warring elements. Nor has he any +sympathetic <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_435" id="Page_435">[435]</a></span>perception of the mystic religious hopes of generations +of zealots, of the great swirling spiritual currents of Ghetto life. +But in a national movement—which appears at first sight hopeless, +because it lacks the great magnetizer, religion—lies a chance denied +to one who should boldly proclaim himself the evangel of a modern +Judaism, the last of the Prophets. Political Zionism alone can +transcend and unite: any religious formula would disturb and dissever. +Along this line may all travel to Jerusalem. And, as the locomotive +from Jaffa draws all alike to the sacred city, and leaves them there +to their several matters, so may the pious concern themselves not at +all with the religion of the engineer.</p> + +<p>Not this the visionary figure created by the tear-dimmed yearning of +the Ghetto; no second Sabbataï Zevi, master of celestial secrets, +divine reincarnation, come with signs and wonders to lead back Israel +to the Promised Land. Still less the prophet prefigured by Christian +visionaries, some of whom, fevered nevertheless, press upon the +Congress itself complex collations of texts, or little cards with the +sign of the cross. Palestine, indeed, but an afterthought: an +aspiration of unsuspected strength, to be utilized—like all human +forces—by the maker of history. States are the expression of souls; +in any land the Jewish soul could express itself in characteristic +institutions, could shake off the long oppression of the ages, and +renew its youth in touch with the soil. Yet since there is this +longing for Palestine, let us make capital of it—capital that will +return its safe percentage. A rush to Palestine will mean all that +seething medley of human wants and activities out of which profits are +snatched by the shrewd—gold-rush and God-rush, they are both one in +their economic working. May not the Jews themselves take shares in so +promising a project? May not even their great bankers put their names +to such a prospectus? The shareholders <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_436" id="Page_436">[436]</a></span>incur no liability beyond the +extent of their shares; there shall be no call upon them to come to +Palestine—let them remain in their snug nests; the Jewish Company, +Limited, seeks a home only for the desolate dove that finds no rest +for the sole of her feet.</p> + +<p>And yet beneath all this statesmanlike prose, touched with the special +dryness of the jurist, lurk the romance of the poet and the purposeful +vagueness of the modern evolutionist; the fantasy of the Hungarian, +the dramatic self-consciousness of the literary artist, the heart of +the Jew.</p> + +<p>Is one less a poet because he regards the laws of reality, less +religious because he accepts them, less a Jew because he will live in +his own century? Our dreamer will have none of the Mediæval, is +enamoured of the Modern; has lurking admiration of the "over-man" of +Nietzsche, even to be overpassed by the coming Jerusalem Jew; the +psychical Eurasian, the link and interpreter between East and +West—nay, between antiquity and the modern spirit; the synthesis of +mankind, saturated with the culture of the nations, and now at last +turning home again, laden with the spiritual spoils of the world—for +the world's benefit. He shall found an ideal modern state, catholic in +creed, righteous in law, a centre of conscience—even +geographically—in a world relapsing to Pagan chaos. And its flag +shall be a "shield of David," with the Lion of Judah rampant, and +twelve stars for the Tribes. No more of the cringing and the +whispering in dark corners; no surreptitious invasion of Palestine. +The Jew shall demand right, not tolerance. Israel shall walk erect. +And he, Israel's spokesman, will not juggle with diplomatic +combinations—he will play cards on table. He has nothing to say to +the mob, Christian or Jewish, he will not intrigue with political +underlings. He is no demagogue; he will speak with kings in their +palaces, with prime ministers in their cabinets. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_437" id="Page_437">[437]</a></span>There is a touch of +the <span class="Greek" title="hubris">ὕβρις</span> of Lassalle, of the magnificence of Manasseh Bueno +Barzillai Azevedo Da Costa, King of the question-beggars.</p> + +<p>Do you object that the poor will be the only ones to immigrate to +Palestine? Why, it is just those that we want. Prithee, how else shall +we make our roads and plant our trees? No mention now of the Eurasian +exemplar, the synthetic "over-man." Perhaps he is only to evolve. Do +you suggest that an inner ennobling of scattered Israel might be the +finer goal, the truer antidote to anti-Semitism? Simple heart, do you +not see it is just for our good—not our bad—qualities that we are +persecuted? A jugglery—specious enough for the moment—with the word +"good"; forceful "struggle-for-life" qualities substituted for +spiritual, for ethical. And yet to doubt that the world would—and +does—respond sympathetically to the finer elements so abundantly in +Israel, is it not to despair of the world, of humanity? In such a +world, what guarantee against the pillage of the Third Temple? And in +such a world were life worth living at all? And, even with Palestine +for ultimate goal, do you counsel delay, a nursing of the Zionist +flame, a gradual education and preparation of the race for a great +conscious historic rôle in the world's future, a forty years' +wandering in the wilderness to organize or kill off the miscellaneous +rabble—then will you, dreamer, turn a deaf ear to the cry of millions +oppressed to-day? Would you ignore the appeals of these hundreds of +telegrams, of these thousands of petitions with myriads of signatures, +for the sake of some visionary perfection of to-morrow? Nay, nay, the +cartoon of the Congress shall bring itself to pass. Against the +picturesque wailers at the ruins of the Temple wall shall be set the +no less picturesque peasants sowing the seed, whose harvest is at once +waving grain and a regenerated Israel. The stains of sordid traffic +shall be <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_438" id="Page_438">[438]</a></span>cleansed by the dews and the rains. In the Jewish peasant +behold the ideal plebeian of the future; a son of the soil, yet also a +son of the spirit. And what fair floriage of art and literature may +not the world gain from this great purified nation, carrying in its +bosom the experience of the ages?</p> + +<p>Not all his own ideas, these; some perhaps only half-consciously +present to him, so that even in this very Congress the note of +jealousy is heard, the claim of an earlier prophet insisted on +fiercely. For a moment the dignified assembly, becomes a prey to +atavism, reproduces the sordid squabbles of the <i>Kahal</i>. As if every +movement was not fed by subterranean fires, heralded by obscure +rumblings, though 'tis only the earthquake or the volcanic jet which +leaps into history!</p> + +<p>But the President is finely impersonal. Not he, but the Congress. The +Bulgarians have a tradition that the Messiah will be born on August +29. He shares this belief. To-day the Messiah has been born—the +Congress. "In this Congress we procure for the Jewish people an organ +which till now it did not possess, and of which it was so sadly in +want. Our cause is too great for the ambition and wilfulness of a +single person. It must be lifted up to something impersonal if it is +to succeed. And our Congress shall be lasting, not only until we are +redeemed from the old state, but still more so afterwards ... serious +and lofty, a blessing for the unfortunate, noxious to none, to the +honor of all Jews, and worthy of a past, the glory of which is far +off, but everlasting."</p> + +<p>And, as he steps from the tribune, amid the roar of "Hochs," and the +thunder of hands and feet and sticks, and the flutter of +handkerchiefs, with men precipitating themselves to kiss his hand, and +others weeping and embracing, be sure that no private ambition +possesses him, be sure that his heart swells only with the +presentiment of great <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_439" id="Page_439">[439]</a></span>events and with uplifting thoughts of the +millions who will thrill to the distant echo of this sublime moment.</p> + +<p>What European parliament could glow with such a galaxy of intellect? +Is not each man a born orator, master of arts or sciences? Has not the +very caftan-Jew from the Carpathians published his poetry and his +philosophy, gallantly championing "The Master of the Name" against a +Darwinian world? Heine had figured the Jew as a dog, that at the +advent of the Princess Sabbath is changed back to a man. More potent +than the Princess, the Congress has shown the Jew's manhood to the +world. That old painter, whose famous Dance of Death drew for +centuries the curious to Bâle, could not picture the Jew save as the +gaberdined miser, only dropping his money-bag at Death's touch. Well, +here is another sight for him—could Death, that took him too, bring +him back for a moment—these scholars, thinkers, poets, from all the +lands of the Exile, who stand up in honor of the dead pioneers of +Zionism, and, raising their right hands to heaven, cry, "If I forget +thee, O Jerusalem, let my right hand forget its cunning!" Yes, the +dream still stirs at the heart of the mummied race, the fire quenched +two thousand years ago sleeps yet in the ashes. And if our President +forgets that the vast bulk of his brethren are unrepresented in his +Congress, that they are content with the civic rights so painfully +won, and have quite other conceptions of their creed's future, who +will grudge him this moment of fine rapture?</p> + +<p>Or, when at night, in the students' <i>Kommers</i>, with joyful weeping and +with brotherly kisses, sages and gray-beards join in the <i>gaudeamus +igitur</i>, who shall deny him grounds for his faith that <i>juvenes sumus</i> +yet, that the carking centuries have had no power over our immortal +nation. "Age cannot wither her, nor custom stale her infinite +variety."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_440" id="Page_440">[440]</a></span>The world in which prophecies are uttered cannot be the world in which +prophecies are fulfilled. And yet when—at the wind-up of this +memorable meeting—the Rabbi of Bâle, in the black skull-cap of +sanctity, ascending the tribune amid the deafening applause of a +catholic Congress, expresses the fears of the faithful, lest in the +new Jewish State the religious Jew be under a ban; and when the +President gravely gives the assurance, amid enthusiasm as frantic, +that Judaism has nothing to fear—Judaism, the one cause and +consolation of the ages of isolation and martyrdom—does no sense of +the irony of history intrude upon his exalted mood?</p> + +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<a name="THE_PALESTINE_PILGRIM" id="THE_PALESTINE_PILGRIM"></a><hr /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_441" id="Page_441">[441]</a></span><br /> + +<h3>THE PALESTINE PILGRIM<span class="totoc"><a href="#toc">ToC</a></span></h3> +<br /> + +<p>A vast, motley crowd of poor Jews and Jewesses swayed outside the +doors of the great Manchester synagogue, warmed against the winter +afternoon by their desperate squeezing and pushing. They stretched +from the broad-pillared portico down the steps and beyond the iron +railings, far into the street. The wooden benches of the sacred +building were already packed with a perspiring multitude, seated +indiscriminately, women with men, and even men in the women's gallery, +resentfully conscious—for the first time—of the grating. The hour of +the address had already struck, but the body of police strove in vain +to close the doors against the mighty human stream that pressed on and +on, frenzied with the fear of disappointment and the long wait.</p> + +<p>A policeman, worming his way in by the caretaker's entrance, bore to +the hero of the afternoon the superintendent's message that unless he +delayed his speech till the bulk of the disappointed could be got +inside, a riot could not be staved off. And so the stream continued to +force itself slowly forward, flowing into every nook and gangway, till +it stood solid and immovable, heaped like the waters of the Red Sea. +And when at last the doors were bolted, and thousands of swarthy +faces, illumined faintly by clusters of pendent gas-globes, were +turned towards the tall pulpit <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_442" id="Page_442">[442]</a></span>where the speaker stood, dominant, +against the mystic background of the Ark-curtain, it seemed as if the +whole Ghetto of Manchester—the entire population of Strange-ways and +Redbank—had poured itself into this one synagogue in a great tidal +wave, moved by one of those strange celestial influences which have +throughout all history disturbed the torpor of the Jewries.</p> + +<p>Of these poverty-stricken thousands, sucked hither by the fame of a +soldier rumored to represent a Messianic millionaire bent on the +restoration and redemption of Israel, Aaron the Pedlar was an +atom—ugly, wan, and stooping, with pious ear-locks, and a long, fusty +coat, little regarded even by those amid whom he surged and squeezed +for hours in patience. Aaron counted for less than nothing in a world +he helped to overcrowd, and of which he perceived very little. For, +although he did not fail to make a profit on his gilded goods, and +knew how to wheedle servants at side-doors, he was far behind his +fellows in that misapprehension of the human hurly-burly which makes +your ordinary Russian Jew a political oracle. Aaron's interest in +politics was limited to the wars of the Kings of Israel and the +misdeeds of Titus and Antiochus Epiphanes. To him the modern world was +composed of Jews and heathen; and society had two simple sections—the +rich and the poor.</p> + +<p>"Don't you enjoy travelling?" one of the former section once asked him +affably. "Even if it's disagreeable in winter you must pass through a +good deal of beautiful scenery in summer."</p> + +<p>"If I am on business," replied the pedlar, "how can I bother about the +beautiful?"</p> + +<p>And, flustered though he was by the condescension of the great person, +his naïve counter-query expressed a truth. He lived, indeed, in a +strange dream-world, and <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_443" id="Page_443">[443]</a></span>had no eyes for the real except in the shape +of cheap trinkets. He was happier in the squalid streets of +Strange-ways, where strips of Hebrew patched the windows of +cook-shops, and where a synagogue was ever at hand, than when striding +across the purple moors under an open blue sky, or resting with his +pack by the side of purling brooks. Stupid his enemies would have +called him, only he was too unimportant to have enemies, the roughs +and the children who mocked his passage being actuated merely by +impersonal malice. To his friends—if the few who were aware of his +existence could be called friends—he was a <i>Schlemihl</i> (a luckless +fool).</p> + +<p>"A man who earns a pound a week live without a wife!" complained the +<i>Shadchan</i> (marriage-broker) to a group of sympathetic cap-makers.</p> + +<p>"I suppose he's such a <i>Schlemihl</i> no father would ever look at him!" +said a father, with a bunch of black-eyed daughters.</p> + +<p>"Oh, but he <i>was</i> married in Russia," said another; "but just as he +sent his wife the money to come over, she died."</p> + +<p>"And yet you call him a <i>Schlemihl</i>!" cried Moshelé, the cynic.</p> + +<p>"Ah, but her family stuck to the money!" retorted the narrator, and +captured the laugh.</p> + +<p>It was true. After three years of terrible struggle and privation, +Aaron had prepared an English home for his Yenta, but she slept +instead in a Russian grave. Perhaps if his friends had known how he +had thrown away the chance of sending for her earlier, they would have +been still more convinced that he was a born <i>Schlemihl</i>. For within +eighteen months of his landing in London docks, Aaron, through his +rapid mastery of English and ciphering at the evening classes for +Hebrew adults, had found a post as book-keeper to a clothes-store in +Ratcliff Highway. But <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_444" id="Page_444">[444]</a></span>he soon discovered that he was expected to fake +the invoices, especially when drunken sailors came to rig themselves +up in mufti.</p> + +<p>"Well, we'll throw the scarf in," the genial salesman would concede +cheerily. "And the waistcoat? One-and-three—a good waistcoat, as +clean as new, and dirt cheap, so 'elp me."</p> + +<p>But when Aaron made out the bill he was nudged to put the +one-and-three in the column for pounds and shillings respectively, and +even, if the buyer were sufficiently in funds and liquor, to set down +the date of the month in the same pecuniary partitions, and to add it +up glibly with the rest, calendar and coin together. But Aaron, +although he was not averse from honestly misrepresenting the value of +goods, drew the line at trickery, and so he was kicked out. It took +him a year of nondescript occupations to amass a little stock of mock +jewellery wherewith to peddle, and Manchester he found a more +profitable centre than the metropolis. Yenta dead, profit and holy +learning divided his thoughts, and few of his fellows achieved less of +the former or more of the latter than our itinerant idealist.</p> + +<p>Such was one of the thousands of souls swarming that afternoon in the +synagogue, such was one despised unit of a congregation itself +accounted by the world a pitiable mass of superstitious poverty, and +now tossing with emotion in the dim spaces of the sacred building.</p> + +<p>The Oriental imagination of the hearers magnified the simple soldierly +sentences of the orator, touched them with color and haloed them with +mystery, till, as the deep gasps and sobs of the audience struck back +like blows on the speaker's chest, the contagion of their passion +thrilled him to responsive emotion. And, seen through tears, arose for +him and them a picture of Israel again enthroned in Palestine, the +land flowing once more with milk and honey, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_445" id="Page_445">[445]</a></span>rustling with corn and +vines planted by their own hands, and Zion—at peace with all the +world—the recognized arbitrator of the nations, making true the word +of the Prophet: "For from Zion shall go forth the Law, and the word of +God from Jerusalem."</p> + +<p>To Aaron the vision came like a divine intoxication. He stamped his +feet, clapped, cried, shouted. He felt tears streaming down his cheeks +like the rivers that watered Paradise. What! This hope that had +haunted him from boyhood, wafting from the pages of the holy books, +was not then a shadowy splendor on the horizon's rim. It was a +solidity, within sight, almost within touch. He himself might hope to +sit in peace under his own fig-tree, no more the butt of the street +boys. And the vague vision, though in becoming definite it had been +transformed to earthliness, was none the less grand for that. He had +always dimly expected Messianic miracles, but in that magic afternoon +the plain words of the soldier unsealed his eyes, and suddenly he saw +clearly that just as, in Israel, every man was his own priest, needing +no mediator, so every man was his own Messiah.</p> + +<p>And as he squeezed out of the synagogue, unconscious of the +chattering, jostling crowd, he saw himself in Zion, worshipping at the +Holy Temple, that rose spacious and splendid as the Manchester +Exchange. Yes; the Jews must return to Palestine, there must be a +great voluntary stream—great, if gradual. Slowly but surely the Jews +must win back their country; they must cease trafficking with the +heathen and return to the soil, sowing and reaping, so that the Feast +of the Ingathering might become a reality instead of a prayer-service. +Then should the atonement of Israel be accomplished, and the morning +stars sing together as at the first day.</p> + +<p>As he walked home along the squalid steeps of Fernie <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_446" id="Page_446">[446]</a></span>Street and +Verdon Street, and gazed in at the uncurtained windows of the +one-story houses, a new sense of their sordidness, as contrasted with +that bright vision, was borne in upon him. Instead of large families +in one ragged room, encumbered with steamy washing, he saw great farms +and broad acres; and all that beauty of the face of earth, to which he +had been half blind, began to appeal to him now that it was mixed up +with religion. In this wise did Aaron become a politician and a +modern.</p> + +<p>Passing through the poulterer's on his way to his room—the poulterer +and he divided the house between them, renting a room each—he paused +to talk with the group of women who were plucking the fowls, and told +them glad tidings of great fowl-rearing farms in Palestine. He sat +down on the bed, which occupied half the tiny shop, and became almost +eloquent upon the great colonization movement and the "Society of +Lovers of Zion," which had begun to ramify throughout the world.</p> + +<p>"Yes; but if all Israel has farms, who will buy my fowls?" said the +poulterer's wife.</p> + +<p>"You will not need to sell fowls," Aaron tried to explain.</p> + +<p>The poulterer shook his head. "The whole congregation is gone mad," he +said. "For my part I believe that when the Holy One, blessed be He, +brings us back to Palestine, it will be without any trouble of our +own. As it is written, I will bear thee upon eagles' wings."</p> + +<p>Aaron disputed this notion—which he had hitherto accepted as +axiomatic—with all the ardor of the convert. It was galling to find, +as he discussed the thing during the next few weeks, that many even of +those present at the speech read miracle into the designs of +Providence and the millionaire. But Aaron was able to get together a +little band of brother souls bent on emigrating together to +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_447" id="Page_447">[447]</a></span>Palestine, there to sow the seeds of the Kingdom, literally as well as +metaphorically. This enthusiasm, however, did not wear well. +Gradually, as the memory of the magnetic meeting faded, the pilgrim +brotherhood disintegrated, till at last only its nucleus—Aaron—was +left in solitary determination.</p> + +<p>"You have only yourself," pleaded the backsliders. "We have wife and +children."</p> + +<p>"I have more than myself," retorted Aaron bitterly. "I have faith."</p> + +<p>And, indeed, his faith in the vision was unshakable. Every man being +his own Messiah, he, at least, would not draw back from the +prospective plough to which he had put his hand. He had been saving up +for the great voyage and a little surplus wherewith to support him in +Palestine while looking about him. Once established in the Holy Land, +how forcibly he would preach by epistle to the men of little faith! +They would come out and join him. He—the despised Aaron—the least of +the House of Israel—would have played a part in the restoration of +his people.</p> + +<p>"You will come back," said the poulterer sceptically, when his +fellow-tenant bade him good-bye; and parodying the sacred +aspiration—"Next year in Manchester," he cried, in genial mockery. +The fowl-plucking females laughed heartily, agitating the feathery +fluff in the air.</p> + +<p>"Not so," said Aaron. "I cannot come back. I have sold the goodwill of +my round to Joseph Petowski, and have transferred to him all my +customers."</p> + +<p>Some of the recreant brotherhood, remorsefully admiring, cheered him +up by appearing on the platform of the station to wish him God-speed.</p> + +<p>"Next year in Jerusalem!" he prophesied for them, too, recouping +himself for the poulterer's profane scepticism.</p> + +<p>He went overland to Marseilles, thence by ship to Asia <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_448" id="Page_448">[448]</a></span>Minor. It was +a terrible journey. Piety forebade him to eat or drink with the +heathen, or from their vessels. His portmanteau held a little store of +provisions and crockery, and dry bread was all he bought on the route.</p> + +<p>Fleeced and bullied by touts and cabmen, he found himself at last on +board a cheap Mediterranean steamer which pitched and rolled through a +persistent spell of stormy weather. His berth was a snatched corner of +the bare deck, where heaps of earth's failures, of all races and +creeds and colors, grimily picturesque, slept in their clothes upon +such bedding as they had brought with them. There was a spawn of +babies, a litter of animals and fowls in coops, a swarm of human +bundles, scarcely distinguishable from bales except for a protruding +hand or foot. There were Bedouins, Armenians, Spaniards, a Turk with +several wives in an improvised tent, some Greek women, a party of +Syrians from Mount Lebanon. There were also several Jews of both +sexes. But Aaron did not scrape acquaintance with these at first—they +lay yards away, and he was half dead with sea-sickness and want of +food. He had counted on making tea in his own cup with his own little +kettle, but the cook would not trouble to supply him with hot water. +Only the great vision drawing hourly nearer and nearer sustained him.</p> + +<p>It was the attempt of a half-crazy Egyptian Jewess to leap overboard +with her new-born child that brought him into relation with the other +Jewish passengers. He learnt her story: the everyday story of a woman +divorced in New York, after the fashion of its Ghetto, and sent back +with scarcely a penny to her native Cairo, while still lightheaded +after childbirth. He heard also the story of the buxom, kind-hearted +Jewess who now shadowed her protectingly; the no less everyday story +of the good-looking girl inveigled by a rascally Jew to a situation in +Marseilles. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_449" id="Page_449">[449]</a></span>They contributed with the men, a Russian Jew from +Chicago, and a German from Brindisi, to give Aaron of Manchester a new +objective sense of the tragedy of wandering Israel, interminably +tossed betwixt persecution and poverty, perpetually tempted by both to +be false to themselves: the tragedy that was now—thank God!—to have +its end. Egyptians, Americans, Galicians, Englishmen, Russians, +Dutchmen, they had only one last migration before them—that which he, +Aaron, was now accomplishing. To his joy one of his new +acquaintances—the Russian—shared the dream of a Palestine flowing +once more with milk and honey and holy doctrine, was a member of a +"Lovers of Zion" society. He was a pasty-faced young man with gray +eyes and eyebrows and a reddish beard. He wore frowsy clothes, with an +old billy-cock and a dingy cotton shirt, but he combined all the lore +of the old-fashioned, hard-shell Jew with a living realization of what +his formulæ meant, and so the close of Aaron's voyage—till the +Russian landed at Alexandria—was softened and shortened by sitting +worshipfully at this idealist's feet, drinking in quotations from +Bachja's <i>Duties of the Heart</i> or Saadja Gaon's <i>Book of the Faith</i>. +There was not wanting some one to play Sancho Panza, for the German +Jew, while binding his arm piously with phylacteries in the publicity +of the swarming deck, loved to pose as a man of common sense, free +from superstition.</p> + +<p>"The only reason men go to Palestine," he maintained, "is because they +think, as the psalm says, the land forgives sin. And they believe, +too, that those bodies which are not burned in Palestine, when the +Messiah's last trump sounds, will have to roll under lands and seas to +get to Jerusalem. So they go to die there, so as to escape the +underground route. Besides, Maimonides says the Messianic period will +only last forty years. So perhaps they <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_450" id="Page_450">[450]</a></span>are afraid all the fun will be +over and the Leviathan eaten up before they arrive."</p> + +<p>"Fools there are always in the world," replied the Russian, "and their +piety cannot give them brains. These literal folk are the sort who +imagine that the Temple expanded miraculously, because the Talmud says +howsoever great a multitude flocked to worship therein, there was +always room for them. Do you not see what a fine metaphor that is! +Even so the Third Temple will be of the Spirit, not of Fire, as these +literal materialists translate the prophecy. As the prophet Joel says, +'I will pour out my Spirit. Your old men shall dream dreams, your +young men shall see visions,' And this Spirit is working to-day. But +through our own souls. No Messiah will ever come from a split heaven. +If a Christian does anything wrong, it is the individual; if a Jew, it +is the nation. Why? Because we have no country, and hence are set +apart in all countries. But a country we must and shall have. The fact +that we still dream of our land shows that it is to be ours again. +Without a country we are dead. Without us the land is dead. It has +been waiting for us. Why has no other nation possessed it and +cultivated it?"</p> + +<p>"Why? Why do the ducks go barefoot?" The German quoted the Yiddish +proverb with a sneer.</p> + +<p>"The land waits for us," replied the young Russian fervidly, "so that +we may complete our mission. Jerusalem—whose very name means the +heritage of double Peace—must be the watch-tower of Peace on earth. +The nations shall be taught to compete neither with steel weapons nor +with gold, but with truth and purity. Every man shall be taught that +he exists for another man, else were men as the beasts. And thus at +last 'the knowledge of God shall cover the earth as the waters cover +the sea.'"</p> + +<p>"If they would only remain covering the sea!" said the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_451" id="Page_451">[451]</a></span>German +irreverently, as the spray of a wave swept over his mattress.</p> + +<p>"Those who have lost this faith are no longer Jews," curtly replied +the Russian. "Without this hope the preservation of the Jewish race is +a superstition. Let the Jews be swallowed up in the nations—and me in +the sea. If I thought that Israel's hope was a lie I should jump +overboard."</p> + +<p>The German shrugged his shoulders good-humoredly. "You and the +Egyptian woman are a pair."</p> + +<p>At Alexandria, where some of the cargo and his Jewish +fellow-passengers were to be landed, Aaron was tantalized for days by +the quarantine, so that he must needs fret amid the musty odors long +after he had thought to tread the sacred streets of Jerusalem. But at +last he found himself making straight for the Holy Land; and one magic +day, the pilgrim, pallid and emaciated, gazed in pious joy upon the +gray line of rocks that changed gradually into terraces of red sloping +roofs overbrooded by a palm-tree. Jaffa! But a cruel, white sea still +rolled and roared betwixt him and these holy shores, guarded by the +rock of Andromeda and tumbling and leaping billows; and the ship lay +to outside the ancient harbor, while heavy boats rowed by stalwart +Arabs and Syrians, in red fez and girdle, clamored for the passengers. +Aaron was thrown unceremoniously over the ship's side at the favorable +moment when the boat leapt up to meet him; he fell into it, soused +with spray, but glowing at heart. As his boat pitched and tossed +along, a delicious smell of orange-blossom wafted from the +orange-groves, and seemed to the worn pilgrim a symbol of the marriage +betwixt him and Zion. The land of his fathers—there it lay at last, +and in a transport of happiness the wanderer had, for the first time +in his life, a sense of the restful dignity of an ancestral home. But +as the boat <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_452" id="Page_452">[452]</a></span>labored without apparent progress towards the channel +betwixt the black rocks, over which the spray flew skywards, a +foreboding tortured him that some ironic destiny would drown him in +sight of his goal. He prayed silently with shut eyes and his petition +changed to praise as the boat bumped the landing-stage and he opened +them on a motley Eastern crowd and the heaped barrels of a wharf. +Shouldering his portmenteau, which, despite his debilitated condition, +felt as light as the feathers at the poulterer's, he scrambled +ecstatically up some slippery steps on to the stone platform, and had +one foot on the soil of the Holy Land, when a Turkish official in a +shabby black uniform stopped him.</p> + +<p>"Your passport," he said, in Arabic. Aaron could not understand. +Somebody interpreted.</p> + +<p>"I have no passport," he answered, with a premonitory pang.</p> + +<p>"Where are you going?"</p> + +<p>"To live in Palestine."</p> + +<p>"Where do you come from?"</p> + +<p>"England," he replied triumphantly, feeling this was a mighty password +throughout the world.</p> + +<p>"You are not an Englishman?"</p> + +<p>"No-o," he faltered. "I have lived in England some—many years."</p> + +<p>"Naturalized?"</p> + +<p>"No," said Aaron, when he understood.</p> + +<p>"What countryman are you?"</p> + +<p>"Russian."</p> + +<p>"And a Jew, of course?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"No Russian Jews may enter Palestine."</p> + +<p>Aaron was hustled back into the boat and restored safely to the +steamer.</p> + +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<a name="THE_CONCILIATOR_OF_CHRISTENDOM" id="THE_CONCILIATOR_OF_CHRISTENDOM"></a><hr /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_453" id="Page_453">[453]</a></span><br /> + +<h3>THE CONCILIATOR OF CHRISTENDOM<span class="totoc"><a href="#toc">ToC</a></span></h3> + +<br /> +<h4>I</h4> + +<p>The Red Beadle shook his head. "There is nothing but Nature," he said +obstinately, as his hot iron polished the boot between his knees. He +was called the Red Beadle because, though his irreligious opinions had +long since lost him his synagogue appointment and driven him back to +his old work of bootmaking, his beard was still ruddy.</p> + +<p>"Yes, but who made Nature?" retorted his new employer, his strange, +scholarly face aglow with argument, and the flame of the lamp +suspended over his bench by strings from the ceiling. The other +clickers and riveters of the Spitalfields workshop, in their shocked +interest in the problem of the origin of Nature, ceased for an instant +breathing in the odors of burnt grease, cobbler's wax, and a coke fire +replenished with scraps of leather.</p> + +<p>"Nature makes herself," answered the Red Beadle. It was his +declaration of faith—or of war. Possibly it was the familiarity with +divine things which synagogue beadledom involves that had bred his +contempt for them. At any rate, he was not now to be coerced by +Zussmann Herz, even though he was fully alive to the fact that +Zussmann's unique book-lined workshop was the only one that had opened +to him, when the more pious shoemakers of the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_454" id="Page_454">[454]</a></span>Ghetto had professed to +be "full up." He was, indeed, surprised to find Zussmann a believer in +the Supernatural, having heard whispers that the man was as great an +"Epicurean" as himself. Had not Zussmann—ay, and his wigless wife, +Hulda, too—been seen emerging from the mighty Church that stood in +frowsy majesty amid its tall, neglected box-like tombs, and was to the +Ghetto merely a topographical point and the chronometric standard? And +yet, here was Zussmann an assiduous attendant at the synagogue of the +first floor—nay, a scholar so conversant with Hebrew, not to mention +European, lore, that the Red Beadle felt himself a Man-of-the-Earth, +only retaining his superiority by remembering that learning did not +always mean logic.</p> + +<p>"Nature make herself!" Zussmann now retorted, with a tolerant smile. +"As well say this boot made itself! The theory of Evolution only puts +the mystery further back, and already in the Talmud we find—"</p> + +<p>"<i>Nature</i> made the boot," interrupted the Red Beadle. "Nature made +you, and you made the boot. But nobody made Nature."</p> + +<p>"But what is Nature?" cried Zussmann. "The garment of God, as Goethe +says. Call Him Noumenon with Kant or Thought and Extension with +Spinoza—I care not."</p> + +<p>The Red Beadle was awed into temporary silence by these unknown names +and ideas, expressed, moreover, in German words foreign to his limited +vocabulary of Yiddish.</p> + +<p>The room in which Zussmann thought and worked was one of two that he +rented from the Christian corn-factor who owned the tall house—a +stout Cockney who spent his life book-keeping in a little office on +wheels, but whom the specimens of oats and dog-biscuits in his window +invested <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_455" id="Page_455">[455]</a></span>with an air of roseate rurality. This personage drew a +little income from the population of his house, whose staircases +exhibited strata of children of different social developments, and to +which the synagogue on the first floor added a large floating +population. Zussmann's attendance thereat was not the only thing in +him that astonished the Red Beadle. There was also a gentle deference +of manner not usual with masters, or with pious persons. His +consideration for his employés amounted, in the Beadle's eyes, to +maladministration, and the grave loss he sustained through one of his +hands selling off a crate of finished goods and flying to America was +deservedly due to confidence in another pious person.</p> + +<br /> +<h4>II</h4> + +<p>Despite the Red Beadle's Rationalism, which, basing itself on the +facts of life, was not to be crushed by high-flown German words, the +master-shoemaker showed him marked favor and often invited him to stay +on to supper. Although the Beadle felt this was but the due +recognition of one intellect by another, if an inferior intellect, he +was at times irrationally grateful for the privilege of a place to +spend his evenings in. For the Ghetto had cut him—there could be no +doubt of that. The worshippers in his old synagogue whom he had once +dominated as Beadle now passed him by with sour looks—"a dog one does +not treat thus," the Beadle told himself, tugging miserably at his red +beard.</p> + +<p>"It is not as if I were a Meshummad—a convert to Christianity." Some +hereditary instinct admitted <i>that</i> as a just excuse for execration. +"I can't make friends with the Christians, and so I am cut off from +both."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_456" id="Page_456">[456]</a></span>When after a thunderstorm two of the hands resigned their places at +Zussmann's benches on the avowed ground that atheism attracts +lightning, Zussmann's loyalty to the freethinker converted the +Beadle's gratitude from fitfulness into a steady glow.</p> + +<p>And, other considerations apart, those were enjoyable suppers after +the toil and grime of the day. The Beadle especially admired +Zussmann's hands when the black grease had been washed off them, the +fingers were so long and tapering. Why had his own fingers been made +so stumpy and square-tipped? Since Nature made herself, why was she so +uneven a worker? Nay, why could she not have given him white teeth +like Zussmann's wife? Not that these were ostentatious—you thought +more of the sweetness of the smile of which they were part. Still, as +Nature's irregularity was particularly manifest in his own teeth, he +could not help the reflection.</p> + +<p>If the Red Beadle had not been a widower, the unfeigned success of the +Herz union might have turned his own thoughts to that happy state. As +it was, the sight of their happiness occasionally shot through his +breast renewed pangs of vain longing for his Leah, whose death from +cancer had completed his conception of Nature. Lucky Zussmann, to have +found so sympathetic a partner in a pretty female! For Hulda shared +Zussmann's dreams, and was even copying out his great work for the +press, for business was brisk and he would soon have saved up enough +money to print it. The great work, in the secret of which the Red +Beadle came to participate, was written in Hebrew, and the elegant +curves and strokes would have done honor to a Scribe. The Beadle +himself could not understand it, knowing only the formal alphabet such +as appears in books and scrolls, but the first peep at it which the +proud Zussmann permitted him removed his last disrespect for the +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_457" id="Page_457">[457]</a></span>intellect of his master, without, however, removing the mystery of +that intellect's aberrations.</p> + +<p>"But you dream with the eyes open," he said, when the theme of the +work was explained to him.</p> + +<p>"How so?" asked Hulda gently, with that wonderful smile of hers.</p> + +<p>"Reconcile the Jews and the Christians! <i>Meshuggas</i>—madness." He +laughed bitterly. "Do you forget what we went through in Poland? And +even here in free England, can you walk in the street without every +little <i>shegetz</i> calling after you and asking, 'Who killed Christ?'"</p> + +<p>"Yes, but herein my husband explains that it was not the Jews who +killed Christ, but Herod and Pilate."</p> + +<p>"As it says in Corinthians," broke in Zussmann eagerly: "'We speak the +wisdom of God in a mystery, which none of the princes of this world +knew; for had they known it, they would not have crucified the Lord of +Glory.'"</p> + +<p>"So," said the Red Beadle, visibly impressed.</p> + +<p>"Assuredly," affirmed Hulda. "But, as Zussmann explains here, they +threw the guilt upon the Jews, who were too afraid of the Romans to +deny it."</p> + +<p>The Beadle pondered.</p> + +<p>"Once the Christians understand that," said Zussmann, pursuing his +advantage, "they will stretch out the hand to us."</p> + +<p>The Beadle had a flash. "But how will the Christians read you? No +Christian understands Hebrew."</p> + +<p>Zussmann was taken momentarily aback. "But it is not so much for the +Christians," he explained. "It is for the Jews—that they should +stretch out the hand to the Christians."</p> + +<p>The Red Beadle stared at him in shocked silent amaze. "Still greater +madness!" he gasped at length. "They will treat you worse than they +treat me."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_458" id="Page_458">[458]</a></span>"Not when they read my book."</p> + +<p>"Just when they read your book."</p> + +<p>Hulda was smiling serenely. "They can do nothing to my husband; he is +his own master, God be thanked; no one can turn him away."</p> + +<p>"They can insult him."</p> + +<p>Zussmann shook his head gently. "No one can insult me!" he said +simply. "When a dog barks at me I pity it that it does not know I love +it. Now draw to the table. The pickled herring smells well."</p> + +<p>But the Red Beadle was unconvinced. "Besides, what should we make it +up with the Christians for—the stupid people?" he asked, as he +received his steaming coffee cup from Frau Herz.</p> + +<p>"It is a question of the Future of the World," said Zussmann gravely, +as he shared out the herring, which had already been cut into many +thin slices by the vendor and pickler. "This antagonism is a +perversion of the principles of both religions. Shall we allow it to +continue for ever?"</p> + +<p>"It will continue till they both understand that Nature makes +herself," said the Red Beadle.</p> + +<p>"It will continue till they both understand my husband's book," +corrected Hulda.</p> + +<p>"Not while Jews live among Christians. Even here they say we take the +bread out of the mouths of the Christian shoemakers. If we had our own +country now—"</p> + +<p>"Hush!" said Zussmann. "Do you share that materialistic dream? Our +realm is spiritual. Nationality—the world stinks with it! Germany for +the Germans, Russia for the Russians. Foreigners to the devil—pah! +Egomania posing as patriotism. Human brotherhood is what we stand for. +Have you forgotten how the Midrash explains the verse in the Song of +Solomon: 'I charge you, O ye <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_459" id="Page_459">[459]</a></span>daughters of Jerusalem, by the roes, and +by the hinds of the field, that ye stir not up, nor awake my love till +he please'?"</p> + +<p>The Red Beadle, who had never read a line of the Midrash, did not deny +that he had forgotten the explanation, but persisted: "And even if we +didn't kill Christ, what good will it do to tell the Jews so? It will +only make them angry."</p> + +<p>"Why so?" said Zussmann, puzzled.</p> + +<p>"They will be annoyed to have been punished for nothing."</p> + +<p>"But they have not been punished for nothing!" cried Zussmann, setting +down his fork in excitement. "They have denied their greatest son. +For, as He said in Matthew, 'I come to fulfil the Law of Moses,' Did +not all the Prophets, His predecessors, cry out likewise against mere +form and sacrifice? Did not the teachers in Israel who followed Him +likewise insist on a pure heart and a sinless soul? Jesus must be +restored to His true place in the glorious chain of Hebrew Prophets. +As I explain in my chapter on the Philosophy of Religion, which I have +founded on Immanuel Kant, the ground-work of Reason is—"</p> + +<p>But here the Red Beadle, whose coffee had with difficulty got itself +sucked into the right channel, gasped—"You have put that into your +book?"</p> + +<p>The wife touched the manuscript with reverent pride. "It all stands +here," she said.</p> + +<p>"What! Quotations from the New Testament?"</p> + +<p>"From our Jewish Apostles!" said Zussmann. "Naturally! On every page!"</p> + +<p>"Then God help you!" said the Red Beadle.</p> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_460" id="Page_460">[460]</a></span><br /> +<h4>III</h4> + +<p><i>The Brotherhood of the Peoples</i> was published. Though the bill was +far heavier than the Hebrew printer's estimate—there being all sorts +of mysterious charges for corrections, which took away the last +<i>Groschen</i> of their savings, Hulda and her husband were happy. They +had sown the seed, and waited in serene faith the ingathering, the +reconciliation of Israel with the Gentiles.</p> + +<p>The book, which was in paper covers, was published at a shilling; five +hundred copies had been struck off for the edition. After six months +the account stood thus: Sales, eighty-four copies; press notices, two +in the jargon papers (printed in the same office as his book and thus +amenable to backstairs influence). The Jewish papers written in +English, which loomed before Zussmann's vision as world-shaking, did +not even mention its appearance; perhaps it had been better if the +jargon papers had been equally silent, for, though less than one +hundred copies of <i>The Brotherhood of the Peoples</i> were in +circulation, the book was in everybody's mouth—like a piece of pork +to be spat out again shudderingly. The Red Beadle's instinct had been +only too sound. The Ghetto, accustomed by this time to insidious +attacks on its spiritual citadel, feared writers even bringing Hebrew. +Despite the Oriental sandal which the cunning shoemaker had fashioned, +his fellow-Jews saw the cloven hoof. They were not to be deceived by +the specious sanctity which Darwin and Schopenhauer—probably Bishops +of the Established Church—borrowed from their Hebrew lettering. Why, +that was the very trick of the Satans who sprinkled the sacred tongue +freely about handbills inviting souls that sought for light to come +and find it in the Whitechapel Road between three and seven. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_461" id="Page_461">[461]</a></span>It had +been abandoned as hopeless even by the thin-nosed gentlewomen who had +begun by painting a Hebrew designation over their bureau of +beneficence. But the fact that the Ghetto was perspicacious did not +mitigate the author's treachery to his race and faith. Zussmann was +given violently to understand that his presence in the little +synagogue would lead to disturbances in the service. "The Jew needs no +house of prayer," he said; "his life is a prayer, his workshop a +temple."</p> + +<p>His workmen deserted him one by one as vacancies occurred elsewhere.</p> + +<p>"We will get Christians," he said.</p> + +<p>But the work itself began to fail. He was dependent upon a large firm +whose head was Parnass of a North London congregation, and when one of +Zussmann's workers, anxious to set up for himself, went to him with +the tale, the contract was transferred to him, and Zussmann's +security-deposit returned. But far heavier than all these blows was +Hulda's sudden illness, and though the returned trust-money came in +handy to defray the expense of doctors, the outlook was not cheerful. +But "I will become a hand myself," said Zussmann cheerfully. "The +annoyance of my brethren will pass away when they really understand my +Idea; meantime it is working in them, for even to hate an Idea is to +meditate upon it."</p> + +<p>The Red Beadle grunted angrily. He could hear Hulda coughing in the +next room, and that hurt his chest.</p> + +<p>But it was summer now, and quite a considerable strip of blue sky +could be seen from the window, and the mote-laden sun-rays that +streamed in encouraged Hulda to grow better. She was soon up and about +again, but the doctor said her system was thoroughly upset and she +aught to have sea air. But that, of course, was impossible now. Hulda +herself declared there was much better air to be got higher up, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_462" id="Page_462">[462]</a></span>in +the garret, which was fortunately "to let." It is true there was only +one room there. Still, it was much cheaper. The Red Beadle's heart was +heavier than the furniture he helped to carry upstairs. But the +unsympathetic couple did not share his gloom. They jested and laughed, +as light of heart as the excited children on the staircases who +assisted at the function. "My Idea has raised me nearer heaven," said +Zussmann. That night, after the Red Beadle had screwed up the +four-poster, he allowed himself to be persuaded to stay to supper. He +had given up the habit as soon as Zussmann's finances began to fail.</p> + +<p>By way of house-warming, Hulda had ordered in baked potatoes and liver +from the cook-shop, and there were also three tepid slices of +plum-pudding.</p> + +<p>"Plum-pudding!" cried Zussmann in delight, as his nostrils scented the +dainty. "What a good omen for the Idea!"</p> + +<p>"How an omen?" inquired the Red Beadle.</p> + +<p>"Is not plum-pudding associated with Christmas, with peace on earth?"</p> + +<p>Hulda's eyes flashed. "Yes, it is a sign—the Brotherhood of the +Peoples! The Jew will be the peace-messenger of the world." The Red +Beadle ate on sceptically. He had studied <i>The Brotherhood of the +Peoples</i> to the great improvement of his Hebrew but with little +edification. He had even studied it in Hulda's original manuscript, +which he had borrowed and never intended to return. But still he could +not share his friends' belief in the perfectibility of mankind. +Perhaps if they had known how he had tippled away his savings after +his wife's death, they might have thought less well of humanity and +its potentialities of perfection. After all, Huldas were too rare to +make the world sober, much less fraternal. And, charming as they were, +honesty demanded one should not curry favor with them by fostering +their delusions.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_463" id="Page_463">[463]</a></span>"What put such an idea into your head, Zussmann!" he cried +unsympathetically. Zussmann answered naïvely, as if to a question—</p> + +<p>"I have had the idea from a boy. I remember sitting stocking-footed on +the floor of the synagogue in Poland on the Fast of Ab, wondering why +we should weep so over the destruction of Jerusalem, which scattered +us among the nations as fertilizing seeds. How else should the mission +of Israel be fulfilled? I remember"—and here he smiled pensively—"I +was awakened from my day-dream by a <i>Patsch</i> (smack) in the face from +my poor old father, who was angry because I wasn't saying the +prayers."</p> + +<p>"There will be always somebody to give you that <i>Patsch</i>," said the +Red Beadle gloomily. "But in what way is Israel dispersed? It seems to +me our life is everywhere as hidden from the nations as if we were all +together in Palestine."</p> + +<p>"You touch a great truth! Oh, if I could only write in English! But +though I read it almost as easily as the German, I can write it as +little. You know how one has to learn German in Poland—by +stealth—the Christians jealous on one hand, the Jews suspicious on +the other. I could not risk the Christians laughing at my bad +German—that would hurt my Idea. And English is a language like the +Vale of Siddim—full of pits."</p> + +<p>"We ought to have it translated," said Hulda. "Not only for the +Christians, but for the rich Jews, who are more liberal-minded than +those who live in our quarter."</p> + +<p>"But we cannot afford to pay for the translating now," said Zussmann.</p> + +<p>"Nonsense; one has always a jewel left," said Hulda.</p> + +<p>Zussmann's eyes grew wet. "Yes," he said, drawing her to his breast, +"one has always a jewel left."</p> + +<p>"More <i>meshuggas!</i>" cried the Red Beadle huskily. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_464" id="Page_464">[464]</a></span>"Much the English +Jews care about ideas! Did they even acknowledge your book in their +journals? But probably they couldn't read it," he added with a laugh. +"A fat lot of Hebrew little Sampson knows! You know little Sampson—he +came to report the boot-strike for <i>The Flag of Judah</i>. I got into +conversation with him—a rank pork-gorger. He believes with me that +Nature makes herself."</p> + +<p>But Zussmann was scarcely eating, much less listening.</p> + +<p>"You have given me a new scheme, Hulda," he said, with exaltation. "I +will send my book to the leading English Jews—yes, especially to the +ministers. They will see my Idea, they will spread it abroad, they +will convert first the Jews and then the Christians."</p> + +<p>"Yes, but they will give it as their own Idea," said Hulda.</p> + +<p>"And what then? He who has faith in an Idea, his Idea it is. How great +for me to have had the Idea first! Is not that enough to thank God +for? If only my Idea gets spread in English! English! Have you ever +thought what that means, Hulda? The language of the future! Already +the language of the greatest nations, and the most on the lips of men +everywhere—in a century it will cover the world." He murmured in +Hebrew, uplifting his eyes to the rain-streaked sloping ceiling. "And +in that day God shall be One and His name One."</p> + +<p>"Your supper is getting cold," said Hulda gently.</p> + +<p>He began to wield his knife and fork as hypnotized by her suggestion, +but his vision was inwards.</p> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_465" id="Page_465">[465]</a></span><br /> +<h4>IV</h4> + +<p>Fifty copies of <i>The Brotherhood of the Peoples</i> went off by post the +next day to the clergy and gentry of the larger Jewry. In the course +of the next fortnight seventeen of the recipients acknowledged the +receipt with formal thanks, four sent the shilling mentioned on the +cover, and one sent five shillings. This last depressed Zussmann more +than all the others. "Does he take me for a <i>Schnorrer</i>?" he said, +almost angrily, as he returned the postal order.</p> + +<p>He did not forsee the day when, a <i>Schnorrer</i> indeed, he would have +taken five shillings from anybody who could afford it: had no +prophetic intuition of that long, slow progression of penurious days +which was to break down his spirit. For though he managed for a time +to secure enough work to keep himself and the Red Beadle going, his +ruin was only delayed. Little by little his apparatus was sold off, +his benches and polishing-irons vanished from the garret, only one +indispensable set remaining, and master and man must needs quest each +for himself for work elsewhere. The Red Beadle dropped out of the +ménage, and was reduced to semi-starvation. Zussmann and Hulda, by the +gradual disposition of their bits of jewellery and their Sabbath +garments, held out a little longer, and Hulda also got some sewing of +children's under-garments. But with the return of winter, Hulda's +illness returned, and then the beloved books began to leave bare the +nakedness of the plastered walls. At first, Hulda, refusing to be +visited by doctors who charged, struggled out bravely through rain and +fog to a free dispensary, where she was jostled by a crowd of +head-shawled Polish crones, and where a harassed Christian physician, +tired of jargon-speaking Jewesses, bawled and bullied. But at last +Hulda grew too ill to stir <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_466" id="Page_466">[466]</a></span>out, and Zussmann, still out of +employment, was driven to look about him for help. Charities enough +there were in the Ghetto, but to charity, as to work, one requires an +apprenticeship. He knew vaguely that there were persons who had the +luck to be ill and to get broths and jellies. To others, also, a board +of guardian angels doled out payments, though some one had once told +him you had scant chance unless you were a Dutchman. But the +inexperienced in begging are naturally not so successful as those +always at it. 'Twas vain for Zussmann to kick his heels among the +dismal crowd in the corridor, the whisper of his misdeeds had been +before him, borne by some competitor in the fierce struggle for +assistance. What! help a hypocrite to sit on the twin stools of +Christendom and Judaism, fed by the bounty of both! In this dark hour +he was approached by the thin-nosed gentlewomen, who had got wind of +his book and who scented souls. Zussmann wavered. Why, indeed, should +he refuse their assistance? He knew their self-sacrificing days, their +genuine joy in salvation. On their generosities he was far better +posted than on Jewish—the lurid legend of these Mephistophelian +matrons included blankets, clothes, port wine, and all the delicacies +of the season. He admitted that Hulda had indeed been brought low, and +permitted them to call. Then he went home to cut dry bread for the +bedridden, emaciated creature who had once been beautiful, and to +comfort her—for it was Friday evening—by reading the Sabbath +prayers; winding up, "A virtuous woman who can find? For her price is +far above rubies."</p> + +<p>On the forenoon of the next day arrived a basket, scenting the air +with delicious odors of exquisite edibles.</p> + +<p>Zussmann received it with delight from the boy who bore it. "God bless +them!" he said. "A chicken—grapes—wine. Look, Hulda!"</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_467" id="Page_467">[467]</a></span>Hulda raised herself in bed; her eyes sparkled, a flush of color +returned to the wan cheeks.</p> + +<p>"Where do these come from?" she asked.</p> + +<p>Zussmann hesitated. Then he told her they were the harbingers of a +visit from the good sisters.</p> + +<p>The flush in her cheek deepened to scarlet.</p> + +<p>"My poor Zussmann!" she cried reproachfully. "Give them back—give +them back at once! Call after the boy."</p> + +<p>"Why?" stammered Zussmann.</p> + +<p>"Call after the boy!" she repeated imperatively. "Good God! If the +ladies were to be seen coming up here, it would be all over with your +Idea. And on the Sabbath, too! People already look upon you as a tool +of the missionaries. Quick! quick!"</p> + +<p>His heart aching with mingled love and pain, he took up the basket and +hurried after the boy. Hulda sank back on her pillow with a sigh of +relief.</p> + +<p>"Dear heart!" she thought, as she took advantage of his absence to +cough freely. "For me he does what he would starve rather than do for +himself. A nice thing to imperil his Idea—the dream of his life! When +the Jews see he makes no profit by it, they will begin to consider it. +If he did not have the burden of me he would not be tempted. He could +go out more and find work farther afield. This must end—I must die or +be on my feet again soon."</p> + +<p>Zussmann came back, empty-handed and heavy-hearted.</p> + +<p>"Kiss me, my own life!" she cried. "I shall be better soon."</p> + +<p>He bent down and touched her hot, dry lips. "Now I see," she +whispered, "why God did not send us children. We thought it was an +affliction, but lo! it is that your Idea shall not be hindered."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_468" id="Page_468">[468]</a></span>"The English Rabbis have not yet drawn attention to it," said Zussmann +huskily.</p> + +<p>"All the better," replied Hulda. "One day it will be translated into +English—I know it, I feel it here." She touched her chest, and the +action made her cough.</p> + +<p>Going out later for a little fresh air, at Hulda's insistence, he was +stopped in the broad hall on which the stairs debouched by Cohen, the +ground-floor tenant, a black-bearded Russian Jew, pompous in Sabbath +broadcloth.</p> + +<p>"What's the matter with my milk?" abruptly asked Cohen, who supplied +the local trade besides selling retail. "You might have complained, +instead of taking your custom out of the house. Believe me, I don't +make a treasure heap out of it. One has to be up at Euston to meet the +trains in the middle of the night, and the competition is so +cut-throat that one has to sell at eighteen pence a barn gallon. And +on Sabbath one earns nothing at all. And then the analyst comes poking +his nose into the milk."</p> + +<p>"You see—my wife—my wife—is ill," stammered Zussmann. "So she +doesn't drink it."</p> + +<p>"Hum!" said Cohen. "Well, <i>you</i> might oblige me then. I have so much +left over every day, it makes my reputation turn quite sour. Do, do me +a favor and let me send you up a can of the leavings every night. For +nothing, of course; would I talk business on the Sabbath? I don't like +to be seen pouring it away. It would pay me to pay <i>you</i> a penny a +pint," he wound up emphatically.</p> + +<p>Zussmann accepted unsuspiciously, grateful to Providence for enabling +him to benefit at once himself and his neighbor. He bore a can +upstairs now and explained the situation to the shrewder Hulda, who, +however, said nothing but, "You see the Idea commences to work. When +the book first came out, didn't he—though he sells secretly to the +trade on Sabbath mornings—call you an Epicurean?"</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_469" id="Page_469">[469]</a></span>"Worse," said Zussmann joyously, with a flash of recollection.</p> + +<p>He went out again, lightened and exalted. "Yes, the Idea works," he +said, as he came out into the gray street. "The Brotherhood of the +Peoples will come, not in my time, but it will come." And he murmured +again the Hebrew aspiration: "In that day shall God be One and His +name One."</p> + +<p>"Whoa, where's your —— eyes?"</p> + +<p>Awakened by the oath, he just got out of the way of a huge Flemish +dray-horse dragging a brewer's cart. Three ragged Irish urchins, who +had been buffeting each other with whirling hats knotted into the ends +of dingy handkerchiefs, relaxed their enmities in a common rush for +the projecting ladder behind the dray and collided with Zussmann on +the way. A one-legged, misery-eyed hunchback offered him penny +diaries. He shook his head in impotent pity, and passed on, pondering.</p> + +<p>"In time God will make the crooked straight," he thought.</p> + +<p>Jews with tall black hats and badly made frock-coats slouched along, +their shoulders bent. Wives stood at the open doors of the old houses, +some in Sabbath finery, some flaunting irreligiously their every-day +shabbiness, without troubling even to arrange their one dress +differently, as a pious Rabbi recommended. They looked used-up and +haggard, all these mothers in Israel. But there were dark-eyed damsels +still gay and fresh, with artistic bodices of violet and green picked +out with gold arabesque.</p> + +<p>He turned a corner and came into a narrow street that throbbed with +the joyous melody of a piano-organ. His heart leapt up. The roadway +bubbled with Jewish children, mainly girls, footing it gleefully in +the graying light, inventing complex steps with a grace and an abandon +that <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_470" id="Page_470">[470]</a></span>lit their eyes with sparkles and painted deeper flushes on their +olive cheeks. A bounding little bow-legged girl seemed unconscious of +her deformity; her toes met each other as though in merry dexterity.</p> + +<p>Zussmann's eyes were full of tears. "Dance on, dance on," he murmured. +"God shall indeed make the crooked straight."</p> + +<p>Fixed to one side of the piano-organ on the level of the handle he saw +a little box, in which lay, as in a cradle, what looked like a monkey, +then like a doll, but on closer inspection turned into a tiny live +child, flaxen-haired, staring with wide gray eyes from under a blue +cap, and sucking at a milk-bottle with preternatural placidity, +regardless of the music throbbing through its resting-place.</p> + +<p>"Even so shall humanity live," thought Zussmann, "peaceful as a babe, +cradled in music. God hath sent me a sign."</p> + +<p>He returned home, comforted, and told Hulda of the sign.</p> + +<p>"Was it an Italian child?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"An English child," he answered. "Fair-eyed and fair-haired."</p> + +<p>"Then it is a sign that through the English tongue shall the Idea move +the world. Your book will be translated into English—I shall live to +see it."</p> + +<br /> +<h4>V</h4> + +<p>A few afternoons later the Red Beadle, his patched garments +pathetically spruced up, came to see his friends, goaded by the news +of Hulda's illness. There was no ruddiness in his face, the lips of +which were pressed together in defiance of a cruel and credulous +world. That <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_471" id="Page_471">[471]</a></span>Nature in making herself should have produced creatures +who attributed their creation elsewhere, and who refused to allow her +one acknowledger to make boots, was indeed a proof, albeit vexatious, +of her blind workings.</p> + +<p>When he saw what she had done to Hulda and to Zussmann, his lips were +pressed tighter, but as much to keep back a sob as to express extra +resentment.</p> + +<p>But on parting he could not help saying to Zussmann, who accompanied +him to the dark spider-webbed landing, "Your God has forgotten you."</p> + +<p>"Do you mean that men have forgotten Him?" replied Zussmann. "If I am +come to poverty, my suffering is in the scheme of things. Do you not +remember what the Almighty says to Eleazar ben Pedos, in the Talmud, +when the Rabbi complains of poverty? 'Wilt thou be satisfied if I +overthrow the universe, so that perhaps thou mayest be created again +in a time of plenty?' No, no, my friend, we must trust the scheme."</p> + +<p>"But the fools enjoy prosperity," said the Red Beadle.</p> + +<p>"It is only a fool who <i>would</i> enjoy prosperity," replied Zussmann. +"If the righteous sometimes suffer and the wicked sometimes flourish, +that is just the very condition of virtue. What! would you have +righteousness always pay and wickedness always fail! Where then would +be the virtue in virtue? It would be a mere branch of commerce. Do you +forget what the Chassid said of the man who foreknew in his lifetime +that for him there was to be no heaven? 'What a unique and enviable +chance that man had of doing right without fear of reward!'"</p> + +<p>The Red Beadle, as usual, acquiesced in the idea that he had forgotten +these quotations from the Hebrew, but to acquiesce in their teachings +was another matter. "A man who had no hope of heaven would be a fool +not to enjoy himself," he said doggedly, and went downstairs, his +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_472" id="Page_472">[472]</a></span>heart almost bursting. He went straight to his old synagogue, where he +knew a <i>Hesped</i> or funeral service on a famous <i>Maggid</i> (preacher) was +to be held. He could scarcely get in, so dense was the throng. Not a +few eyes, wet with tears, were turned angrily on him as on a mocker +come to gloat, but he hastened to weep too, which was easy when he +thought of Hulda coughing in her bed in the garret. So violently did +he weep that the <i>Gabbai</i> or treasurer—one of the most pious +master-bootmakers—gave him the "Peace" salutation after the service.</p> + +<p>"I did not expect to see you weeping," said he.</p> + +<p>"Alas!" answered the Red Beadle. "It is not only the fallen Prince in +Israel that I weep; it is my own transgressions that are brought home +to me by his sudden end. How often have I heard him thunder and +lighten from this very pulpit!" He heaved a deep sigh at his own +hypocrisy, and the <i>Gabbai</i> sighed in response. "Even from the grave +the <i>Tsaddik</i> (saint) works good," said the pious master-bootmaker. +"May my latter end be like his!"</p> + +<p>"Mine, too!" suspired the Red Beadle. "How blessed am I not to have +been cut off in my sin, denying the Maker of Nature!" They walked +along the street together.</p> + +<p>The next morning, at the luncheon-hour, a breathless Beadle, with a +red beard and a very red face, knocked joyously at the door of the +Herz garret.</p> + +<p>"I am in work again," he explained.</p> + +<p>"<i>Mazzeltov!</i>" Zussmann gave him the Hebrew congratulation, but +softly, with finger on lip, to indicate Hulda was asleep. "With whom?"</p> + +<p>"Harris the <i>Gabbai</i>."</p> + +<p>"Harris! What, despite your opinions?"</p> + +<p>The Red Beadle looked away.</p> + +<p>"So it seems!"</p> + +<p>"Thank God!" said Hulda. "The Idea works."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_473" id="Page_473">[473]</a></span>Both men turned to the bed, startled to see her sitting up with a rapt +smile.</p> + +<p>"How so?" said the Red Beadle uneasily. "I am not a <i>Goy</i> (Christian) +befriended by a <i>Gabbai</i>."</p> + +<p>"No, but it is the brotherhood of humanity."</p> + +<p>"Bother the brotherhood of humanity, Frau Herz!" said the Red Beadle +gruffly. He glanced round the denuded room. "The important thing is +that you will now be able to have a few delicacies."</p> + +<p>"<i>I?</i>" Hulda opened her eyes wide.</p> + +<p>"Who else? What I earn is for all of us."</p> + +<p>"God bless you!" said Zussmann; "but you have enough to do to keep +yourself."</p> + +<p>"Indeed he has!" said Hulda. "We couldn't dream of taking a farthing!" +But her eyes were wet.</p> + +<p>"I insist!" said the Red Beadle.</p> + +<p>She thanked him sweetly, but held firm.</p> + +<p>"I will advance the money on loan till Zussmann gets work."</p> + +<p>Zussmann wavered, his eyes beseeching her, but she was inflexible.</p> + +<p>The Red Beadle lost his temper. "And this is what you call the +brotherhood of humanity!"</p> + +<p>"He is right, Hulda. Why should we not take from one another? Pride +perverts brotherhood."</p> + +<p>"Dear husband," said Hulda, "it is not pride to refuse to rob the +poor. Besides, what delicacies do I need? Is not this a land flowing +with milk?"</p> + +<p>"You take Cohen's milk and refuse my honey!" shouted the Red Beadle +unappeased.</p> + +<p>"Give me of the honey of your tongue and I shall not refuse it," said +Hulda, with that wonderful smile of hers which showed the white teeth +Nature had made; the smile which, as always, melted the Beadle's mood. +That smile <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_474" id="Page_474">[474]</a></span>could repair all the ravages of disease and give back her +memoried face.</p> + +<p>After the Beadle had been at work a day or two in the <i>Gabbai's</i> +workshop, he broached the matter of a fellow-penitent, one Zussmann +Herz, with no work and a bedridden wife.</p> + +<p>"That <i>Meshummad!</i>" (apostate) cried the <i>Gabbai</i>." He deserves all +that God has sent him."</p> + +<p>Undaunted, the Red Beadle demonstrated that the man could not be of +the missionary camp, else had he not been left to starve, one +converted Jew being worth a thousand pounds of fresh subscriptions. +Moreover he, the Red Beadle, had now convinced the man of his +spiritual errors, and <i>The Brotherhood of the Peoples</i> was no longer +on sale. Also, being unable to leave his wife's bedside, Zussmann +would do the work at home below the Union rates prevalent in public. +So, trade being brisk, the <i>Gabbai</i> relented and bargained, and the +Red Beadle sped to his friend's abode and flew up the four flights of +stairs.</p> + +<p>"Good news!" he cried. "The <i>Gabbai</i> wants another hand, and he is +ready to take you."</p> + +<p>"Me?" Zussmann was paralyzed with joy and surprise.</p> + +<p>"Now will you deny that the Idea works?" cried Hulda, her face flushed +and her eyes glittering. And she fell a-coughing.</p> + +<p>"You are right, Hulda; you are always right," cried Zussmann, in +responsive radiance. "Thank God! Thank God!"</p> + +<p>"God forgive me," muttered the Red Beadle.</p> + +<p>"Go at once, Zussmann," said Hulda. "I shall do very well here—this +has given me strength. I shall be up in a day or two."</p> + +<p>"No, no, Zussmann," said the Beadle hurriedly. "There is no need to +leave your wife. I have arranged it all. The <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_475" id="Page_475">[475]</a></span><i>Gabbai</i> does not want +you to come there or to speak to him, because, though the Idea works +in him, the other 'hands' are not yet so large-minded: I am to bring +you the orders, and I shall come here to fetch them."</p> + +<p>The set of tools to which Zussmann clung in desperate hope made the +plan both feasible and pleasant.</p> + +<p>And so the Red Beadle's visits resumed their ancient frequency even as +his Sabbath clothes resumed their ancient gloss, and every week's-end +he paid over Zussmann's wages to him—full Union rate.</p> + +<p>But Hulda, although she now accepted illogically the Red Beadle's +honey in various shapes, did not appear to progress as much as the +Idea, or as the new book which she stimulated Zussmann to start for +its further propagation.</p> + +<br /> +<h4>VI</h4> + +<p>One Friday evening of December, when miry snow underfoot and grayish +fog all around combined to make Spitalfields a malarious marsh, the +Red Beadle, coming in with the week's wages, found to his horror a +doctor hovering over Hulda's bed like the shadow of death.</p> + +<p>From the look that Zussmann gave him he saw a sudden change for the +worse had set in. The cold of the weather seemed to strike right to +his heart. He took the sufferer's limp chill hand.</p> + +<p>"How goes it?" he said cheerily.</p> + +<p>"A trifle weak. But I shall be better soon."</p> + +<p>He turned away. Zussmann whispered to him that the doctor who had been +called in that morning had found the crisis so threatening that he was +come again in the evening.</p> + +<p>The Red Beadle, grown very white, accompanied the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_476" id="Page_476">[476]</a></span>doctor downstairs, +and learned that with care the patient might pull through.</p> + +<p>The Beadle felt like tearing out his red beard. "And to think that I +have not yet arranged the matter!" he thought distractedly.</p> + +<p>He ran through the gray bleak night to the office of <i>The Flag of +Judah</i>; but as he was crossing the threshold he remembered that it was +the eve of the Sabbath, and that neither little Sampson nor anybody +else would be there. But little Sampson <i>was</i> there, working busily.</p> + +<p>"Hullo! Come in," he said, astonished.</p> + +<p>The Red Beadle had already struck up a drinking acquaintanceship with +the little journalist, in view of the great negotiation he was +plotting. Not in vain did the proverbial wisdom of the Ghetto bid one +beware of the red-haired.</p> + +<p>"I won't keep you five minutes," apologized little Sampson. "But, you +see, Christmas comes next week, and the compositors won't work. So I +have to invent the news in advance."</p> + +<p>Presently little Sampson, lighting an unhallowed cigarette by way of +Sabbath lamp, and slinging on his shabby cloak, repaired with the Red +Beadle to a restaurant, where he ordered "forbidden" food for himself +and drinks for both.</p> + +<p>The Red Beadle felt his way so cautiously and cunningly that the +negotiation was unduly prolonged. After an hour or two, however, all +was settled. For five pounds, paid in five monthly instalments, little +Sampson would translate <i>The Brotherhood of the Peoples</i> into English, +provided the Beadle would tell him what the Hebrew meant. This the +Beadle, from his loving study of Hulda's manuscript, was now prepared +for. Little Sampson also promised to run the translation through <i>The +Flag of Judah</i>, and <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_477" id="Page_477">[477]</a></span>thus the Beadle could buy the plates cheap for +book purposes, with only the extra cost of printing such passages, if +any, as were too dangerous for <i>The Flag of Judah</i>. This unexpected +generosity, coupled with the new audience it offered the Idea, +enchanted the Red Beadle. He did not see that the journalist was +getting gratuitous "copy," he saw only the bliss of Hulda and +Zussmann, and in some strange exaltation, compact of whisky and +affection, he shared in their vision of the miraculous spread of the +Idea, once it had got into the dominant language of the world.</p> + +<p>In his gratitude to little Sampson he plied him with fresh whisky; in +his excitement he drew the paper-covered book from his pocket, and +insisted that the journalist must translate the first page then and +there, as a hansel. By the time it was done it was near eleven +o'clock. Vaguely the Red Beadle felt that it was too late to return to +Zussmann's to-night. Besides, he was liking little Sampson very much. +They did not separate till the restaurant closed at midnight.</p> + +<p>Quite drunk, the Red Beadle staggered towards Zussmann's house. He +held the page of the translation tightly in his hand. The Hebrew +original he had forgotten on the restaurant table, but he knew in some +troubled nightmare way that Zussmann and Hulda must see that paper at +once, that he had been charged to deliver it safely, and must die +sooner than disobey.</p> + +<p>The fog had lifted, but the heaps of snow were a terrible hindrance to +his erratic progression. The cold air and the shock of a fall lessened +his inebriety, but the imperative impulse of his imaginary mission +still hypnotized him. It was past one before he reached the tall +house. He did not think it at all curious that the great outer portals +should be open; nor, though he saw the milk-cart at the door, and +noted Cohen's uncomfortable look, did he remember <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_478" id="Page_478">[478]</a></span>that he had +discovered the milk-purveyor nocturnally infringing the Sabbath. He +stumbled up the stairs and knocked at the garret door, through the +chinks of which light streamed. The thought of Hulda smote him almost +sober. Zussmann's face, when the door opened, restored him completely +to his senses. It was years older.</p> + +<p>"She is not dead?" the visitor whispered hoarsely.</p> + +<p>"She is dying, I fear—she cannot rouse herself." Zussmann's voice +broke in a sob.</p> + +<p>"But she must not die—I bring great news—<i>The Flag of Judah</i> has +read your book—it will translate it into English—it will print it in +its own paper—and then it will make a book of it for you. See, here +is the beginning!"</p> + +<p>"Into English!" breathed Zussmann, taking the little journalist's +scrawl. His whole face grew crimson, his eye shone as with madness. +"Hulda! Hulda!" he cried, "the Idea works! God be thanked! English! +Through the world! Hulda! Hulda!" He was bending over her, raising her +head.</p> + +<p>She opened her eyes.</p> + +<p>"Hulda! the Idea wins. The book is coming out in English. The great +English paper will print it. In that day God shall be One and His name +One. Do you understand?" Her lips twitched faintly, but only her eyes +spoke with the light of love and joy. His own look met hers, and for a +moment husband and wife were one in a spiritual ecstasy.</p> + +<p>Then the light in Hulda's eyes went out, and the two men were left in +darkness.</p> + +<p>The Red Beadle turned away and left Zussmann to his dead, and, with +scalding tears running down his cheek, pulled up the cotton window +blind and gazed out unseeing into the night.</p> + +<p>Presently his vision cleared: he found himself watching <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_479" id="Page_479">[479]</a></span>the milk-cart +drive off, and, following it towards the frowsy avenue of Brick Lane, +he beheld what seemed to be a drunken fight in progress. He saw a +policeman, gesticulating females, the nondescript nocturnal crowd of +the sleepless city. The old dull hopelessness came over him. "Nature +makes herself," he murmured in despairing resignation.</p> + +<p>Suddenly he became aware that Zussmann was beside him, looking up at +the stars.</p> + +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<a name="THE_JOYOUS_COMRADE" id="THE_JOYOUS_COMRADE"></a><hr /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_480" id="Page_480">[480]</a></span><br /> + +<h3>THE JOYOUS COMRADE<span class="totoc"><a href="#toc">ToC</a></span></h3> +<br /> + +<p>"Well, what are you gaping at? Why the devil don't you say something?" +And all the impatience of the rapt artist at being interrupted by +anything but praise was in the outburst.</p> + +<p>"Holy Moses!" I gasped. "Give a man a chance to get his breath. I fall +through a dark antechamber over a bicycle, stumble round a screen, +and—smack! a glare of Oriental sunlight from a gigantic canvas, the +vibration and glow of a group of joyous figures, reeking with life and +sweat! You the Idealist, the seeker after Nature's beautiful moods and +Art's beautiful patterns!"</p> + +<p>"Beautiful moods!" he echoed angrily. "And why isn't this a beautiful +mood? And what more beautiful pattern than this—look! this line, this +sweep, this group here, this clinging of the children round this +mass—all in a glow—balanced by this mass of cool shadow. The meaning +doesn't interfere with the pattern, you chump!"</p> + +<p>"Oh, so there <i>is</i> a meaning! You've become an anecdotal painter."</p> + +<p>"Adjectives be hanged! I can't talk theory in the precious daylight. +If you can't see—!"</p> + +<p>"I can see that you are painting something <i>you</i> haven't seen. You +haven't been in the East, have you?"</p> + +<p>"If I had, I haven't got time to jaw about it now. Come <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_481" id="Page_481">[481]</a></span>and have an +absinthe at the Café Victor—in memory of old Paris days—Sixth +Avenue—any of the boys will tell you. Let me see, daylight till +six—half-past six. <i>Au 'voir, au 'voir.</i>"</p> + +<p>As I went down the steep, dark stairs, "Same old Dan," I thought. "Who +would imagine I was a stranger in New York looking up an old +fellow-struggler on his native heath? If I didn't know better, I might +fancy his tremendous success had given him the same opinion of himself +that America has of him. But no, nothing will change him; the same +furious devotion to his canvas once he has quietly planned his +picture, the same obstinate conviction that he is seeing something in +the only right way. And yet something <i>has</i> changed him. Why has his +brush suddenly gone East? Why this new kind of composition crowded +with figures—ancient Jews, too? Has he been taken with piety, and is +he going henceforward ostentatiously to proclaim his race? And who is +the cheerful central figure with the fine, open face? I don't +recollect any such scene in Jewish history, or anything so joyous. +Perhaps it's a study of modern Jerusalem Jews, to show their life is +not all Wailing Wall and Jeremiah. Or perhaps it's only decorative. +America is great on decoration just now. No; he said the picture had a +meaning. Well, I shall know all about it to-night. Anyhow, it's a +beautiful thing."</p> + +<p>"Same old Dan!" I thought even more decisively as, when I opened the +door of the little café, a burly, black-bearded figure with audacious +eyes came at me with a grip and a slap and a roar of welcome, and +dragged me to the quiet corner behind the billiard tables.</p> + +<p>"I've just been opalizing your absinthe for you," he laughed, as we +sat down. "But what's the matter? You look kind o' scared."</p> + +<p>"It's your Inferno of a city. As I turned the corner of <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_482" id="Page_482">[482]</a></span>Sixth Avenue, +an elevated train came shrieking and rumbling, and a swirl of wind +swept screeching round and round, enveloping me in a whirlpool of +smoke and steam, until, dazed and choked in what seemed the scalding +effervescence of a collision, I had given up all hope of ever learning +what your confounded picture meant."</p> + +<p>"Aha!" He took a complacent sip. "It stayed with you, did it?" And the +light of triumph, flushing for an instant his rugged features, showed +when it waned how pale and drawn they were by the feverish tension of +his long day's work.</p> + +<p>"Yes it did, old fellow," I said affectionately. "The joy and the glow +of it, and yet also some strange antique simplicity and restfulness +you have got into it, I know not how, have been with me all day, +comforting me in the midst of the tearing, grinding life of this +closing nineteenth century after Christ."</p> + +<p>A curious smile flitted across Dan's face. He tilted his chair back, +and rested his head against the wall.</p> + +<p>"There's nothing that takes me so much out of the nineteenth century +after Christ," he said dreamily, "as this little French café. It wafts +me back to my early student days, that lie somewhere amid the +enchanted mists of the youth of the world; to the zestful toil of the +studios, to the careless trips in quaint, gray Holland or flaming, +devil-may-care Spain. Ah! what scenes shift and shuffle in the twinkle +of the gas-jet in this opalescent liquid; the hot shimmer of the arena +at the Seville bull-fight, with its swirl of color and movement; the +torchlight procession of pilgrims round the church at Lourdes, with +the one black nun praying by herself in a shadowy corner; the lovely +valley of the Tauba, where the tinkle of the sheep-bells mingles with +the Lutheran hymn blown to the four winds from the old church tower; +wines that were red—sunshine <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_483" id="Page_483">[483]</a></span>that was warm—mandolines—!" His voice +died away as in exquisite reverie.</p> + +<p>"And the East?" I said slily.</p> + +<p>A good-natured smile dissipated his delicious dream.</p> + +<p>"Ah, yes," he said. "My East was the Tyrol."</p> + +<p>"The Tyrol? How do you mean?"</p> + +<p>"I see you won't let me out of that story."</p> + +<p>"Oh, there's a story, is there?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, well, perhaps not what you literary chaps would call a story! No +love-making in it, you know."</p> + +<p>"Then it can wait. Tell me about your picture."</p> + +<p>"But that's mixed up with the story."</p> + +<p>"Didn't I say you had become an anecdotal artist?"</p> + +<p>"It's no laughing matter," he said gravely. "You remember when we +parted at Munich, a year ago last spring, you to go on to Vienna and I +to go back to America. Well, I had a sudden fancy to take one last +European trip all by myself, and started south through the Tyrol, with +a pack on my back. The third day out I fell and bruised my thigh +severely, and could not make my little mountain town till moonlight. +And I tell you I was mighty glad when I limped across the bridge over +the rushing river and dropped on the hotel sofa. Next morning I was +stiff as a poker, but I struggled up the four rickety flights to the +local physician, and being assured I only wanted rest, I resolved to +take it with book and pipe and mug in a shady beer-garden on the +river. I had been reading for about an hour when five or six Tyrolese, +old men and young, in their gray and green costumes and their little +hats, trooped in and occupied the large table near the inn-door. +Presently I was startled by the sound of the zither; they began to +sing songs; the pretty daughter of the house came and joined in the +singing. I put down my book.</p> + +<p>"The old lady who served me with my <i>Maass</i> of beer, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_484" id="Page_484">[484]</a></span>seeing my +interest, came over and chatted about her guests. Oh no, they were not +villagers; they came from four hours away. The slim one was a +school-teacher, and the <i>dicker</i> was a tenor, and sang in the chorus +of the <i>Passion-Spiel</i>; the good-looking young man was to be the St. +John. Passion play! I pricked up my ears. When? Where? In their own +village, three days hence; only given once every ten years—for +hundreds and hundreds of years. Could strangers see it? What should +strangers want to see it for? But <i>could</i> they see it? <i>Gewiss</i>. This +was indeed a stroke of luck. I had always rather wanted to see the +Passion play, but the thought of the fashionable Ober-Ammergau made me +sick. Would I like to be <i>vorgestellt</i>? Rather! It was not ten minutes +after this introduction before I had settled to stay with St. John, +and clouds of good American tobacco were rising from six Tyrolese +pipes, and many an "Auf Ihr Wohl" was busying the pretty <i>Kellnerin</i>. +They trotted out all their repertory of quaint local songs for my +benefit. It sounded bully, I tell you, out there with the sunlight, +and the green leaves, and the rush of the river; and in this aroma of +beer and brotherhood I blessed my damaged thigh. Three days hence! +Just time for it to heal. A providential world, after all.</p> + +<p>"And it was indeed with a buoyant step and a gay heart that I set out +over the hills at sunrise on that memorable morning. The play was to +begin at ten, and I should just be on time. What a walk! Imagine it! +Clear coolness of dawn, fresh green, sparkling dew, the road winding +up and down, round hills, up cliffs, along valleys, through woods, +where the green branches swayed in the morning wind and dappled the +grass fantastically with dancing sunlight. And as fresh as the +morning, was, I felt, the artistic sensation awaiting me. I swung +round the last hill-shoulder; saw the quaint gables of the first house +peeping <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_485" id="Page_485">[485]</a></span>through the trees, and the church spire rising beyond, then +groups of Tyrolese converging from all the roads; dipped down the +valley, past the quiet lake, up the hills beyond; found myself caught +in a stream of peasants, and, presto! was sucked from the radiant day +into the deep gloom of the barn-like theatre.</p> + +<p>"I don't know how it is done in Ober-Ammergau, but this Tyrolese thing +was a strange jumble of art and <i>naïveté</i>, of talent and stupidity. +There was a full-fledged stage and footlights, and the scenery, some +one said, was painted by a man from Munich. But the players were badly +made up; the costumes, if correct, were ill-fitting; the stage was +badly lighted, and the flats didn't 'jine.' Some of the actors had +gleams of artistic perception. St. Mark was beautiful to look on, +Caiaphas had a sense of elocution, the Virgin was tender and sweet, +and Judas rose powerfully to his great twenty minutes' soliloquy. But +the bulk of the players, though all were earnest and fervent, were +clumsy or self-conscious. The crowds were stiff and awkward, painfully +symmetrical, like school children at drill. A chorus of ten or twelve +ushered in each episode with song, and a man further explained it in +bald narrative. The acts of the play proper were interrupted by +<i>tableaux vivants</i> of Old Testament scenes, from Adam and Eve onwards. +There was much, you see, that was puerile, even ridiculous; and every +now and then some one would open the door of the dusky auditorium, and +a shaft of sunshine would fly in from the outside world to remind me +further how unreal was all this gloomy make-believe. Nay, during the +<i>entr'acte</i> I went out, like everybody else, and lunched off sausages +and beer.</p> + +<p>"And yet, beneath all this critical consciousness, beneath even the +artistic consciousness that could not resist jotting down a face or a +scene in my sketch-book, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_486" id="Page_486">[486]</a></span>something curious was happening in the +depths of my being. The play exercised from the very first a strange +magnetic effect on me; despite all the primitive humors of the +players, the simple, sublime tragedy that disengaged itself from their +uncouth but earnest goings-on, began to move and even oppress my soul. +Christ had been to me merely a theme for artists; my studies and +travels had familiarized me with every possible conception of the Man +of Sorrows. I had seen myriads of Madonnas nursing Him, miles of +Magdalens bewailing Him. Yet the sorrows I had never felt. Perhaps it +was my Jewish training, perhaps it was that none of the Christians I +lived with had ever believed in Him. At any rate, here for the first +time the Christ story came home to me as a real, living +fact—something that had actually happened. I saw this simple son of +the people—made more simple by my knowledge that His representative +was a baker—moving amid the ancient peasant and fisher life of +Galilee; I saw Him draw men and women, saints and sinners, by the +magic of His love, the simple sweetness of His inner sunshine; I saw +the sunshine change to lightning as He drove the money-changers from +the Temple; I watched the clouds deepen as the tragedy drew on; I saw +Him bid farewell to His mother; I heard suppressed sobs all around me. +Then the heavens were overcast, and it seemed as if earth held its +breath waiting for the supreme moment. They dragged Him before Pilate; +they clothed Him in scarlet robe, and plaited His crown of thorns, and +spat on Him; they gave Him vinegar to drink mixed with gall; and He so +divinely sweet and forgiving through all. A horrible oppression hung +over the world. I felt choking; my ribs pressed inwards, my heart +seemed contracted. He was dying for the sins of the world, He summed +up the whole world's woe and pitifulness—the two ideas throbbed <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_487" id="Page_487">[487]</a></span>and +fused in my troubled soul. And I, a Jew, had hitherto ignored Him. +What would they say, these simple peasants sobbing all around, if they +knew that I was of that hated race? Then something broke in me, and I +sobbed too—sobbed with bitter tears that soon turned sweet in strange +relief and glad sympathy with my rough brothers and sisters." He +paused a moment, and sipped silently at his absinthe. I did not break +the silence. I was moved and interested, though what all this had to +do with his glowing, joyous picture I could only dimly surmise. He +went on—</p> + +<p>"When it was all over, and I went out into the open air, I did not see +the sunlight. I carried the dusk of the theatre with me, and the gloom +of Golgotha brooded over the sunny afternoon. I heard the nails driven +in; I saw the blood spurting from the wounds—there was realism in the +thing, I tell you. The peasants, accustomed to the painful story, had +quickly recovered their gaiety, and were pouring boisterously down the +hill-side, like a glad, turbulent mountain stream, unloosed from the +dead hand of frost. But I was still ice-bound and fog-wrapped. Outside +the <i>Gasthaus</i> where I went to dine, gay groups assembled, an organ +played, some strolling Italian girls danced gracefully, and my +artistic self was aware of a warmth and a rush. But the inmost Me was +neck-deep in gloom, with which the terribly pounded steak they gave +me, fraudulently overlaid with two showy fried eggs, seemed only in +keeping. St. John came in, and Christ and the schoolmaster—who had +conducted the choir—and the thick tenor and some supers, and I +congratulated them one and all with a gloomy sense of dishonesty. +When, as evening fell, I walked home with St. John, I was gloomily +glad to find the valley shrouded in mist and a starless heaven sagging +over a blank earth. It seemed an endless <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_488" id="Page_488">[488]</a></span>uphill drag to my lodging, +and though my bedroom was unexpectedly dainty, and a dear old +woman—St. John's mother—metaphorically tucked me in, I slept ill +that night. Formless dreams tortured me with impalpable tragedies and +apprehensions of horror. In the morning—after a cold sponging—the +oppression lifted a little from my spirit, though the weather still +seemed rather gray. St. John had already gone off to his field-work, +his mother told me. She was so lovely, and the room in which I ate +breakfast so neat and demure with its whitewashed walls—pure and +stainless like country snow—that I managed to swallow everything but +the coffee. O that coffee! I had to nibble at a bit of chocolate I +carried to get the taste of it out of my mouth. I tried hard not to +let the blues get the upper hand again. I filled my pipe and pulled +out my sketch-book. My notes of yesterday seemed so faint, and the +morning to be growing so dark, that I could scarcely see them. I +thought I would go and sit on the little bench outside. As I was +sauntering through the doorway, my head bending broodingly over the +sketch-book, I caught sight out of the corner of my eye of a little +white match-stand fixed up on the wall. Mechanically I put out my left +hand to take a light for my pipe. A queer, cold wetness in my fingers +and a little splash woke me to the sense of some odd mistake, and in +another instant I realized with horror that I had dipped my fingers +into holy water and splashed it over that neat, demure, spotless, +whitewashed wall."</p> + +<p>I could not help smiling. "Ah, I know; one of those porcelain things +with a crucified Saviour over a little font. Fancy taking heaven for +brimstone!"</p> + +<p>"It didn't seem the least bit funny at the time. I just felt awful. +What would the dear old woman say to this profanation? Why the dickens +did people have <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_489" id="Page_489">[489]</a></span>whitewashed walls on which sacrilegious stains were +luridly visible? I looked up and down the hall like Moses when he slew +that Egyptian, trembling lest the old woman should come in. How could +I make her understand I was so ignorant of Christian custom as to +mistake a font for a matchbox? And if I said I was a Jew, good +heavens! she might think I had done it of fell design. What a wound to +the gentle old creature who had been so sweet to me! I could not stay +in sight of that accusing streak, I must walk off my uneasiness. I +threw open the outer door; then I stood still, paralyzed. Monstrous +evil-looking gray mists were clumped at the very threshold. Sinister +formless vapors blotted out the mountain; everywhere vague, drifting +hulks of malarious mist. I sought to pierce them, to find the +landscape, the cheerful village, the warm human life nesting under +God's heaven, but saw only—way below—as through a tunnel cut betwixt +mist and mountain, a dead, inverted world of houses and trees in a +chill, gray lake. I shuddered. An indefinable apprehension possessed +me, something like the vague discomfort of my dreams; then, almost +instantly, it crystallized into the blood-curdling suggestion: What if +this were divine chastisement? what if all the outer and inner +dreariness that had so steadily enveloped me since I had witnessed the +tragedy were punishment for my disbelief? what if this water were +really holy, and my sacrilege had brought some grisly Nemesis?"</p> + +<p>"You believed that?"</p> + +<p>"Not really, of course. But you, as an artist, must understand how one +dallies with an idea, plays with a mood, works oneself up +imaginatively into a dramatic situation. I let it grow upon me till, +like a man alone in the dark, afraid of the ghosts he doesn't believe +in, I grew horribly nervous."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_490" id="Page_490">[490]</a></span>"I daresay you hadn't wholly recovered from your fall, and your nerves +were unstrung by the blood and the nails, and that steak had disagreed +with you, and you had had a bad night, and you were morbidly uneasy +about annoying the old woman, and all those chunks of mist got into +your spirits. You are a child of the sun!"</p> + +<p>"Of course I knew all that, down in the cellars of my being, but +upstairs, all the same, I had this sense of guilt and expiation, this +anxious doubt that perhaps all that great, gloomy, mediæval business +of saints and nuns, and bones, and relics, and miracles, and icons, +and calvaries, and cells, and celibacy, and horsehair shirts, and +blood, and dirt, and tears, was true after all! What if the world of +beauty I had been content to live in was a Satanic show, and the real +thing was that dead, topsy-turvy world down there in the cold, gray +lake under the reeking mists? I sneaked back into the house to see if +the streak hadn't dried yet; but no! it loomed in tell-tale +ghastliness, a sort of writing on the wall announcing the wrath and +visitation of heaven. I went outside again and smoked miserably on the +little bench. Gradually I began to feel warmer, the mists seemed +clearing. I rose and stretched myself with an ache of luxurious +languor. Encouraged, I stole within again to peep at the streak. It +was dry—a virgin wall, innocently white, met my delighted gaze. I +opened the window; the draggling vapors were still rising, rising, the +bleakness was merging in a mild warmth. I refilled my pipe, and +plunged down the yet gray hill. I strode past the old saw-mill, +skirted the swampy border of the lake, came out on the firm green, +when bing! zim! br-r-r! a heavenly bolt of sunshine smashed through +the raw mists, scattering them like a bomb to the horizon's rim; then +with sovereign calm the sun came out full, flooding hill and dale with +luminous joy; the lake shimmered and <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_491" id="Page_491">[491]</a></span>flashed into radiant life, and +gave back a great white cloud-island on a stretch of glorious blue, +and all that golden warmth stole into my veins like wine. A little +goat came skipping along with tinkling bell, a horse at grass threw up +its heels in ecstasy, an ox lowed, a dog barked. Tears of exquisite +emotion came into my eyes; the beautiful soft warm light that lay over +all the happy valley seemed to get into them and melt something. How +unlike those tears of yesterday, wrung out of me as by some serpent +coiled round my ribs! Now my ribs seemed expanding—to hold my +heart—and all the divine joy of existence thrilled me to a religious +rapture. And with the lifting of the mists all that ghastly mediæval +nightmare was lifted from my soul; in that sacred moment all the lurid +tragedy of the crucified Christ vanished, and only Christ was left, +the simple fellowship with man and beast and nature, the love of life, +the love of love, the love of God. And in that yearning ecstasy my +picture came to me—The Joyous Comrade. Christ—not the tortured God, +but the joyous comrade, the friend of all simple souls; the joyous +comrade, with the children clinging to him, and peasants and fishers +listening to his chat; not the theologian spinning barren subtleties, +but the man of genius protesting against all forms and dogmas that +would replace the direct vision and the living ecstasy; not the man of +sorrows loving the blankness of underground cells and scourged backs +and sexless skeletons, but the lover of warm life, and warm sunlight, +and all that is fresh and simple and pure and beautiful."</p> + +<p>"Every man makes his God in his own image," I thought, too touched to +jar him by saying it aloud.</p> + +<p>"And so—ever since—off and on—I have worked at this human picture +of him—The Joyous Comrade—to restore the true Christ to the world."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_492" id="Page_492">[492]</a></span>"Which you hope to convert?"</p> + +<p>"My business is with work, not with results. 'Whatsoever thy hand +findeth to do, do with all thy might.' What can any single hand, even +the mightiest, do in this great weltering world? Yet, without the hope +and the dream, who would work at all? And so, not without hope, yet +with no expectation of a miracle, I give the Jews a Christ they can +now accept, the Christians a Christ they have forgotten. I rebuild for +my beloved America a type of simple manhood, unfretted by the feverish +lust for wealth or power, a simple lover of the quiet moment, a sweet +human soul never dispossessed of itself, always at one with the +essence of existence. Who knows but I may suggest the great question: +What shall it profit a nation to gain the whole world and lose its own +soul?"</p> + +<p>His voice died away solemnly, and I heard only the click of the +billiard-balls and the rumble and roar of New York.</p> + +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<a name="CHAD_GADYA" id="CHAD_GADYA"></a><hr /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_493" id="Page_493">[493]</a></span><br /> + +<h3>CHAD GADYA<span class="totoc"><a href="#toc">ToC</a></span></h3> + +<div class="block2"><p>"And it shall be when thy son asketh thee in time to come, +saying: What is this? that thou shalt say unto him, By strength +of hand the Lord brought us out from Egypt, from the house of +bondage. And ... the Lord slew all the first-born in the land of +Egypt, ... but all the first-born of my children I +redeem."—<span class="sc">Exodus</span> xiii. 14, 15.</p></div> +<br /> + +<p><i>Chad Gadya! Chad Gadya! One only kid of the goat.</i></p> + +<p>At last the Passover family service was drawing to an end. His father +had started on the curious Chaldaic recitative that wound it up:</p> + +<p><i>One only kid, one only kid, which my father bought for two zuzim. +Chad Gadya! Chad Gadya!</i></p> + +<p>The young man smiled faintly at the quaintness of an old gentleman in +a frock-coat, a director of the steamboat company in modern Venice, +talking Chaldaic, wholly unconscious of the incongruity, rolling out +the sonorous syllables with unction, propped up on the prescribed +pillows.</p> + +<p><i>And a cat came and devoured the kid which my father bought for two +zuzim. Chad Gadya! Chad Gadya!</i></p> + +<p>He wondered vaguely what his father would say to him when the service +was over. He had only come in during the second part, arriving from +Vienna with his usual unquestioned unexpectedness, and was quite +startled to find it was Passover night, and that the immemorial +service was going on just as when he was a boy. The rarity of his +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_494" id="Page_494">[494]</a></span>visits to the old folks made it a strange coincidence to have stumbled +upon them at this juncture, and, as he took his seat silently in the +family circle without interrupting the prayers by greetings, he had a +vivid artistic perception of the possibilities of existence—the witty +French novel that had so amused him in the train, making him feel +that, in providing raw matter for <i>esprit</i>, human life had its joyous +justification; the red-gold sunset over the mountains; the floating +homewards down the Grand Canal in the moonlight, the well-known +palaces as dreamful and mysterious to him as if he had not been born +in the city of the sea; the gay reminiscences of Goldmark's new opera +last night at the Operntheater that had haunted his ear as he ascended +the great staircase; and then this abrupt transition to the East, and +the dead centuries, and Jehovah bringing out His chosen people from +Egypt, and bidding them celebrate with unleavened bread throughout the +generations their hurried journey to the desert.</p> + +<p>Probably his father was distressed at this glaring instance of his +son's indifference to the traditions he himself held so dear; though +indeed the old man had realized long ago the bitter truth that his +ways were not his son's ways, nor his son's thoughts his thoughts. He +had long since known that his first-born was a sinner in Israel, an +"Epikouros," a scoffer, a selfish sensualist, a lover of bachelor +quarters and the feverish life of the European capitals, a scorner of +the dietary laws and tabus, an adept in the forbidden. The son thought +of himself through his father's spectacles, and the faint smile +playing about the sensitive lips became bitterer. His long white +fingers worked nervously.</p> + +<p>And yet he thought kindly enough of his father; admired the +perseverance that had brought him wealth, the generosity with which he +expended it, the fidelity that <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_495" id="Page_495">[495]</a></span>resisted its temptations and made this +<i>Seder</i> service, this family reunion, as homely and as piously simple +as in the past when the Ghetto Vecchio, and not this palace on the +Grand Canal, had meant home. The beaker of wine for the prophet Elijah +stood as naïvely expectant as ever. His mother's face, too, shone with +love and goodwill. Brothers and sisters—shafts from a full +quiver—sat around the table variously happy and content with +existence. An atmosphere of peace and restfulness and faith and piety +pervaded the table.</p> + +<p><i>And a dog came and bit the cat which had devoured the kid which my +father bought for two zuzim. Chad Gadya! Chad Gadya!</i></p> + +<p>And suddenly the contrast of all these quietudes with his own restless +life overwhelmed him in a great flood of hopelessness. His eyes filled +with salt tears. <i>He</i> would never sit at the head of his own table, +carrying on the chain of piety that linked the generations each to +each; never would his soul be lapped in this atmosphere of faith and +trust; no woman's love would ever be his; no children would rest their +little hands in his; he would pass through existence like a wraith, +gazing in at the warm firesides with hopeless eyes, and sweeping +on—the wandering Jew of the world of soul. How he had suffered—he, +modern of moderns, dreamer of dreams, and ponderer of problems! +<i>Vanitas Vanitatum! Omnia Vanitas!</i> Modern of the moderns? But it was +an ancient Jew who had said that, and another who had said "Better is +the day of a man's death than the day of a man's birth." Verily an +ironical proof of the Preacher's own maxim that there is nothing new +under the sun. And he recalled the great sentences:</p> + +<div class="block"><p>"Vanity of vanities, saith the Preacher, vanity of vanities; all +is vanity.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_496" id="Page_496">[496]</a></span>"One generation passeth away and another generation cometh: but +the earth abideth for ever.</p> + +<p>"All the rivers run into the sea; yet the sea is not full; unto +the place from whence the rivers come, thither they return +again.</p> + +<p>"The thing that hath been, it is that which shall be; and that +which is done is that which shall be done: and there is no new +thing under the sun.</p> + +<p>"That which is crooked cannot be made straight; and that which +is wanting cannot be numbered.</p> + +<p>"For in much wisdom is much grief; and he that increaseth +knowledge increaseth sorrow."</p></div> + +<p>Yes, it was all true, all true. How the Jewish genius had gone to the +heart of things, so that the races that hated it found comfort in its +Psalms. No sense of form, the end of Ecclesiastes a confusion and a +weak repetition like the last disordered spasms of a prophetic +seizure. No care for art, only for reality. And yet he had once +thought he loved the Greeks better, had from childhood yearned after +forbidden gods, thrilled by that solitary marble figure of a girl that +looked in on the Ghetto alley from a boundary wall. Yes; he had +worshipped at the shrine of the Beautiful; he had prated of the +Renaissance. He had written—with the multiform adaptiveness of his +race—French poems with Hellenic inspiration, and erotic lyrics—half +felt, half feigned, delicately chiselled. He saw now with a sudden +intuition that he had never really expressed himself in art, save +perhaps in that one brutal Italian novel written under the influence +of Zola, which had been so denounced by a world with no perception of +the love and the tears that prompted the relentless unmasking of life.</p> + +<p><i>And a staff came and smote the dog which had bitten the cat, which +had devoured the kid, which my father bought for two zuzim. Chad +Gadya! Chad Gadya!</i></p> + +<p>Yes, he was a Jew at heart. The childhood in the Ghetto, the long +heredity, had bound him in emotions and <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_497" id="Page_497">[497]</a></span>impulses as with +phylacteries. Chad Gadya! Chad Gadya! The very melody awakened +associations innumerable. He saw in a swift panorama the intense inner +life of a curly-headed child roaming in the narrow cincture of the +Ghetto, amid the picturesque high houses. A reflex of the child's old +joy in the Festivals glowed in his soul. How charming this quaint +sequence of Passover and Pentecost, New Year and Tabernacles; this +survival of the ancient Orient in modern Europe, this living in the +souls of one's ancestors, even as on Tabernacles one lived in their +booths. A sudden craving seized him to sing with his father, to wrap +himself in a fringed shawl, to sway with the rhythmic passion of +prayer, to prostrate himself in the synagogue. Why had his brethren +ever sought to emerge from the joyous slavery of the Ghetto? His +imagination conjured it up as it was ere he was born: the one campo, +bordered with a colonnade of shops, the black-bearded Hebrew merchants +in their long robes, the iron gates barred at midnight, the keepers +rowing round and round the open canal-sides in their barca. The yellow +cap? The yellow O on their breasts? Badges of honor; since to be +persecuted is nobler than to persecute. Why had they wished for +emancipation? Their life was self-centred, self-complete. But no; they +were restless, doomed to wander. He saw the earliest streams pouring +into Venice at the commencement of the thirteenth century, German +merchants, then Levantines, helping to build up the commercial capital +of the fifteenth century. He saw the later accession of Peninsular +refugees from the Inquisition, their shelter beneath the lion's wing +negotiated through their fellow-Jew, Daniel Rodrigues, Consul of the +Republic in Dalmatia. His mind halted a moment on this Daniel +Rodrigues, an important skeleton. He thought of the endless shifts of +the Jews to evade the harsher <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_498" id="Page_498">[498]</a></span>prescriptions, their subtle, passive +refusal to live at Mestre, their final relegation to the Ghetto. What +well-springs of energy, seething in those paradoxical progenitors of +his, who united the calm of the East with the fever of the West; those +idealists dealing always with the practical, those lovers of ideas, +those princes of combination, mastering their environment because they +never dealt in ideas except as embodied in real concrete things. +Reality! Reality!</p> + +<p>That was the note of Jewish genius, which had this affinity at least +with the Greek. And he, though to him his father's real world was a +shadow, had yet this instinctive hatred of the cloud-spinners, the +word-jugglers, his idealisms needed solid substance to play around. +Perhaps if he had been persecuted, or even poor, if his father had not +smoothed his passage to a not unprosperous career in letters, he might +have escaped this haunting sense of the emptiness and futility of +existence. He, too, would have found a joy in outwitting the Christian +persecutor, in piling ducat on ducat. Ay, even now he chuckled to +think how these <i>strazzaroli</i>—these forced vendors of second-hand +wares—had lived to purchase the faded purple wrappings of Venetian +glory.</p> + +<p>He remembered reading in the results of an ancient census: Men, women, +children, monks, nuns—and Jews! Well, the Doges were done with, +Venice was a melancholy ruin, and the Jew—the Jew lived sumptuously +in the palaces of her proud nobles. He looked round the magnificent +long-stretching dining-room, with its rugs, oil-paintings, frescoed +ceiling, palms; remembered the ancient scutcheon over the stone +portal—a lion rampant with an angel volant—and thought of the old +Latin statute forbidding the Jews to keep schools of any kind in +Venice, or to teach anything in the city, under penalty of fifty +ducats' fine and six <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_499" id="Page_499">[499]</a></span>months' imprisonment. Well, the Jews had taught +the Venetians something after all—that the only abiding wealth is +human energy. All other nations had had their flowering time and had +faded out. But Israel went on with unabated strength and courage. It +was very wonderful. Nay, was it not miraculous? Perhaps there was, +indeed, "a mission of Israel," perhaps they were indeed God's "chosen +people." The Venetians had built and painted marvellous things and +died out and left them for tourists to gaze at. The Jews had created +nothing for ages, save a few poems and a few yearning synagogue +melodies; yet here they were, strong and solid, a creation in flesh +and blood more miraculous and enduring than anything in stone and +bronze. And what was the secret of this persistence and strength? What +but a spiritual? What but their inner certainty of God, their +unquestioning trust in Him, that He would send His Messiah to rebuild +the Temple, to raise them to the sovereignty of the peoples? How +typical his own father—thus serenely singing Chaldaic—a modern of +moderns without, a student and saint at home! Ah, would that he, too, +could lay hold on this solid faith! Yes, his soul was in sympathy with +the brooding immovable East; even with the mysticisms of the +Cabalists, with the trance of the ascetic, nay, with the fantastic +frenzy-begotten ecstasy of the Dervishes he had seen dancing in +Turkish mosques,—that intoxicating sense of a satisfying meaning in +things, of a unity with the essence of existence, which men had +doubtless sought in the ancient Eleusinian mysteries, which the +Mahatmas of India had perhaps found, the tradition of which ran down +through the ages, misconceived by the Western races, and for lack of +which he could often have battered his head against a wall, as in +literal beating against the baffling mystery of existence. Ah! there +was the hell of it! His soul was of <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_500" id="Page_500">[500]</a></span>the Orient, but his brain was of +the Occident. His intellect had been nourished at the breast of +Science, that classified everything and explained nothing. But +explanation! The very word was futile! Things were. To explain things +was to state A in terms of B, and B in terms of A. Who should explain +the explanation? Perhaps only by ecstasy could one understand what lay +behind the phenomena. But even so the essence had to be judged by its +manifestations, and the manifestations were often absurd, unrighteous, +and meaningless. No, he could not believe. His intellect was +remorseless. What if Israel was preserved? Why should the empire of +Venice be destroyed?</p> + +<p><i>And a fire came and burnt the staff, which had smitten the dog, which +had bitten the cat, which had devoured the kid, which my father bought +for two zuzim. Chad Gadya! Chad Gadya!</i></p> + +<p>He thought of the energy that had gone to build this wonderful city; +the deep sea-soaked wooden piles hidden beneath; the exhaustless art +treasures—churches, pictures, sculptures—no less built on obscure +human labor, though a few of the innumerable dead hands had signed +names. What measureless energy petrified in these palaces! Carpaccio's +pictures floated before him, and Tintoretto's—record of dead +generations; and then, by the link of size, those even vaster +paintings—in gouache—of Vermayen in Vienna: old land-fights with +crossbow, spear, and arquebus, old sea-fights with inter-grappling +galleys. He thought of galley-slaves chained to their oar—the sweat, +the blood that had stained history. "So I returned and considered all +the oppressions that are done under the sun: and behold the tears of +such as were oppressed, and they had no comforter." And then he +thought of a modern picture with a beautiful nude female figure that +had cost the happiness of a family; the artist now dead and immortal, +the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_501" id="Page_501">[501]</a></span>woman, once rich and fashionable, on the streets. The futility of +things—love, fame, immortality! All roads lead nowhere! What profit +shall a man have from all his labor which he hath done under the sun?</p> + +<p>No; it was all a flux—there was nothing but flux. +<span class="Greek" title="Panta rhei">Πάντα ῥεῖ</span>. The wisest had always seen that. The cat which devoured the +kid, and the dog which bit the cat, and the staff which smote the dog, +and the fire which burnt the staff, and so on endlessly. Did not the +commentators say that that was the meaning of this very parable—the +passing of the ancient empires, Egypt, Assyria, Persia, Greece, Rome? +Commentators! what curious people! What a making of books to which +there was no end! What a wilderness of waste logic the Jewish +intellect had wandered in for ages! The endless volumes of the Talmud +and its parasites! The countless codes, now obsolescent, over which +dead eyes had grown dim! As great a patience and industry as had gone +to build Venetian art, and with less result. The chosen people, +indeed! And were they so strong and sane? A fine thought in his brain, +forsooth!</p> + +<p>He, worn out by the great stress of the centuries, such long +in-breeding, so many ages of persecution, so many manners and +languages adopted, so many nationalities taken on! His soul must be +like a palimpsest with the record of nation on nation. It was uncanny, +this clinging to life; a race should be content to die out. And in him +it had perhaps grown thus content. He foreshadowed its despair. He +stood for latter-day Israel, the race that always ran to extremes, +which, having been first in faith, was also first in scepticism, +keenest to pierce to the empty heart of things; like an orphan wind, +homeless, wailing about the lost places of the universe. To know all +to be illusion, cheat—itself the most cheated of races; lured on to a +career of sacrifice and contempt. If he could only keep the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_502" id="Page_502">[502]</a></span>hope that +had hallowed its sufferings. But now it was a viper—not a divine +hope—it had nourished in its bosom. He felt so lonely; a great +stretch of blackness, a barren mere, a gaunt cliff on a frozen sea, a +pine on a mountain. To be done with it all—the sighs and the sobs and +the tears, the heart-sinking, the dull dragging days of wretchedness +and the nights of pain. How often he had turned his face to the wall, +willing to die.</p> + +<p>Perhaps it was this dead city of stones and the sea that wrought so on +his spirit. Tourgénieff was right; only the young should come here, +not those who had seen with Virgil the tears of things. And then he +recalled the lines of Catullus—the sad, stately plaint of the classic +world, like the suppressed sob of a strong man:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Soles occidere et redire possunt,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nobis cum semel occidit brevis lux,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nox est perpetuo una dormienda."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="noin">And then he thought again of Virgil, and called up a Tuscan landscape +that expressed him, and lines of cypresses that moved on majestic like +hexameters. He saw the terrace of an ancient palace, and the grotesque +animals carven on the balustrade; the green flicker of lizards on the +drowsy garden-wall; the old-world sun-dial and the grotto and the +marble fountain, and the cool green gloom of the cypress-grove with +its delicious dapple of shadows. An invisible blackbird fluted +overhead. He walked along the great walk under the stone eyes of +sculptured gods, and looked out upon the hot landscape taking its +siesta under the ardent blue sky—the green sunlit hills, the white +nestling villas, the gray olive-trees. Who had paced these cloistral +terraces? Mediæval princesses, passionate and scornful, treading +delicately, with trailing silks and faint perfumes. He would make a +poem of it. Oh, the loveliness of life! <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_503" id="Page_503">[503]</a></span>What was it a local singer +had carolled in that dear soft Venetian dialect?</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Belissimo xe el mondo<br /></span> +<span class="i0">perchè l' è molto vario.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">nè omo ghe xe profondo<br /></span> +<span class="i0">che dir possa el contrario."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>Yes, the world was indeed most beautiful and most varied. Terence was +right: the comedy and pathos of things was enough. We are a sufficient +spectacle to one another. A glow came over him; for a moment he +grasped hold on life, and the infinite tentacles of things threw +themselves out to entwine him.</p> + +<p><i>And a water came and extinguished the fire, which had burnt the +staff, which had smitten the dog, which had bitten the cat, which had +devoured the kid, which my father bought for two zuzim. Chad Gadya! +Chad Gadya!</i></p> + +<p>But the glow faded, and he drew back sad and hopeless. For he knew now +what he wanted. Paganism would not suffice. He wanted—he hungered +after—God. The God of his fathers. The three thousand years of belief +could not be shaken off. It was atavism that gave him those sudden +strange intuitions of God at the scent of a rose, the sound of a +child's laughter, the sight of a sleeping city; that sent a warmth to +his heart and tears to his eyes, and a sense of the infinite beauty +and sacredness of life. But he could not have the God of his fathers. +And his own God was distant and dubious, and nothing that modern +science had taught him was yet registered in his organism. Could he +even transmit it to descendants? What was it Weismann said about +acquired characteristics? No, certain races put forth certain beliefs, +and till you killed off the races, you could never kill off the +beliefs. Oh, it was a cruel tragedy, this Western culture grafted on +an Eastern <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_504" id="Page_504">[504]</a></span>stock, untuning the chords of life, setting heart and +brain asunder. But then Nature <i>was</i> cruel. He thought of last year's +grape-harvest ruined by a thunderstorm, the frightful poverty of the +peasants under the thumb of the padrones. And then the vision came up +of a captured cuttle-fish he had seen gasping, almost with a human +cough, on the sands of the Lido. It had spoilt the sublimity of that +barren stretch of sand and sea, and the curious charm of the white +sails that seemed to glide along the very stones of the great +breakwater. His soul demanded justice for the uncouth cuttle-fish. He +did not understand how people could live in a self-centred spiritual +world that shut out the larger part of creation. If suffering +purified, what purification did overdriven horses undergo, or starved +cats? The miracle of creation—why was it wrought for puppies doomed +to drown? No; man had imposed morality on a non-moral universe, +anthropomorphizing everything, transferring into the great remorseless +mechanism the ethical ideals that governed the conduct of man to man. +Religion, like art, focussed the universe round man, an unimportant +by-product: it was bad science turned into good art. And it was his +own race that had started the delusion! "And Abraham said unto God: +'Shall not the Judge of all the earth do right?'" Formerly the gods +had meant might, but man's soul had come to crave for right. From the +welter of human existence man had abstracted the idea of goodness and +made a god of it, and then foolishly turned round and asked why it +permitted the bad without which the idea of it could never have been +formed. And because God was goodness, therefore He was oneness—he +remembered the acute analysis of Kuenen. No, the moral law was no more +the central secret of the universe than color or music. Religion was +made for man, not man for religion. Even justice was a meaningless +concept in the last analysis: What <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_505" id="Page_505">[505]</a></span>was, was. The artist's view of +life was the only true one: the artist who believes in everything and +in nothing.</p> + +<p>The religions unconsciously distorted everything. Life itself was +simple enough: a biological phenomenon that had its growth, its +maturity, its decay. Death was no mystery, pain no punishment, nor sin +anything but the survival of lower attributes from a prior phase of +evolution, or not infrequently the legitimate protest of the natural +self against artificial social ethics. It was the creeds that tortured +things out of their elemental simplicity. But for him the old craving +persisted. That alone would do. God, God—he was God-intoxicated, +without Spinoza's calm or Spinoza's certainty. Justice, Pity, +Love—something that understood. He knew it was sheer blind heredity +that spoilt his life for him—oh, the irony of it—and that, if he +could forget his sense of futility, he could live beautifully unto +himself. The wheels of chance had ground well for him. But his soul +rejected all the solutions and self-equations of his friends—the +all-sufficiency of science, of art, of pleasure, of the human +spectacle; saw with inexorable insight through the phantasmal +optimisms, refused to blind itself with Platonisms and Hegelisms, +refused the positions of æsthetes and artists and self-satisfied +German savants, equally with the positions of conventional preachers, +demanded justice for the individual down to the sparrow, two of which +were sold in the market-place for a farthing, and a significance and a +purpose in the secular sweep of destiny; yet knew all the while that +Purpose was as anthropomorphic a conception of the essence of things +as justice or goodness. But the world without God was a beautiful, +heartless woman—cold, irresponsive. He needed the flash of soul. He +had experimented in Nature—as color, form, mystery—what had he not +experimented in? But there was a want, a void. He had loved <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_506" id="Page_506">[506]</a></span>Nature, +had come very near finding peace in the earth-passion, in the +intoxicating smell of grass and flowers, in the scent and sound of the +sea, in the rapture of striking through the cold, salt waves, tossing +green and white-flecked; ill exchanged for any heaven. But the passion +always faded and the old hunger for God came back.</p> + +<p>He had found temporary peace with Spinoza's God: the eternal +infinite-sided Being, of whom all the starry infinities were but one +poor expression, and to love whom did not imply being loved in return. +'Twas magnificent to be lifted up in worship of that supernal +splendor. But the splendor froze, not scorched. He wanted the eternal +Being to be conscious of his existence; nay, to send him a whisper +that He was not a metaphysical figment. Otherwise he found himself +saying what Voltaire has made Spinoza say: "Je crois, entre nous, que +vous n'existez pas." Obedience? Worship? He could have prostrated +himself for hours on the flags, worn out his knees in prayer. O +Luther, O Galileo, enemies of the human race! How wise of the Church +to burn infidels, who would burn down the spirit's home—the home warm +with the love and treasures of the generations—and leave the poor +human soul naked and shivering amid the cold countless worlds. O +Napoleon, arch-fiend, who, opening the Ghettos, where the Jews +crouched in narrow joy over the Sabbath fire, let in upon them the +weight of the universe.</p> + +<p><i>And an ox came and drank the water, which had extinguished the fire, +which had burnt the staff, which had smitten the dog, which had bitten +the cat, which had devoured the kid, which my father bought for two +zuzim. Chad Gadya! Chad Gadya!</i></p> + +<p>In Vienna, whence he had come, an Israelite, on whom the modern +universe pressed, yet dreamed the old dream of a Jewish State—a +modern State, incarnation of all the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_507" id="Page_507">[507]</a></span>great principles won by the +travail of the ages. The chameleon of races should show a specific +color: a Jewish art, a Jewish architecture would be born, who knew? +But he, who had worked for Mazzini, who had seen his hero achieve that +greatest of all defeats, victory, <i>he</i> knew. He knew what would come +of it, even if it came. He understood the fate of Christ and of all +idealists, doomed to see themselves worshipped and their ideas +rejected in a religion or a State founded like a national monument to +perpetuate their defeat. But the Jewish State would not even come. He +had met his Viennese brethren but yesterday; in the Leopoldstadt, +frowsy with the gaberdines and side-curls of Galicia; in the Prater, +arrogantly radiant in gleaming carriages with spick-and-span +footmen—that strange race that could build up cities for others but +never for itself; that professed to be both a religion and a +nationality, and was often neither. The grotesquerie of history! +Moses, Sinai, Palestine, Isaiah, Ezra, the Temple, Christ, the Exile, +the Ghettos, the Martyrdoms—all this to give the Austrian comic +papers jokes about stockbrokers with noses big enough to support +unheld opera—glasses. And even supposing another miraculous link came +to add itself to that wonderful chain, the happier Jews of the new +State would be born into it as children to an enriched man, +unconscious of the struggles, accepting the luxuries, growing +big-bellied and narrow-souled. The Temple would be rebuilt. <i>Et +après?</i> The architect would send in the bill. People would dine and +dig one another in the ribs and tell the old smoking-room stories. +There would be fashionable dressmakers. The synagogue would persecute +those who were larger than it, the professional priests would prate of +spiritualities to an applausive animal world, the press would be run +in the interests of capitalists and politicians, the little writers +would grow spiteful against those who did not call them <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_508" id="Page_508">[508]</a></span>great, the +managers of the national theatre would advance their mistresses to +leading parts. Yes, the ox would come and drink the water, and +Jeshurun would wax fat and kick. "For that which is crooked cannot be +made straight." Menander's comedies were fresh from the mint, the Book +of Proverbs as new as the morning paper. No, he could not dream. Let +the younger races dream; the oldest of races knew better. The race +that was first to dream the beautiful dream of a Millennium was the +first to discard it. Nay, was it even a beautiful dream? Every man +under his own fig-tree, forsooth, obese and somnolent, the spirit +disintegrated! <i>Omnia Vanitas</i>, this too was vanity.</p> + +<p><i>And the slaughterer came and slaughtered the ox, which had drunk the +water, which had extinguished the fire, which had burnt the staff, +which had smitten the dog, which had bitten the cat, which had +devoured the kid, which my father bought for two zuzim. Chad Gadya! +Chad Gadya!</i></p> + +<p>Chad Gadya! Chad Gadya! He had never thought of the meaning of the +words, always connected them with the finish of the ceremony. "All +over! All over!" they seemed to wail, and in the quaint music there +seemed a sense of infinite disillusion, of infinite rest; a +winding-up, a conclusion, things over and done with, a fever subsided, +a toil completed, a clamor abated, a farewell knell, a little folding +of the hands to sleep.</p> + +<p>Chad Gadya! Chad Gadya! It was a wail over the struggle for existence, +the purposeless procession of the ages, the passing of the ancient +empires—as the commentators had pointed out—and of the modern +empires that would pass on to join them, till the earth itself—as the +scientists had pointed out—passed away in cold and darkness. Flux and +reflux, the fire and the water, the water and the fire! He thought of +the imperturbable skeletons <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_509" id="Page_509">[509]</a></span>that still awaited exhumation in Pompeii, +the swaddled mummies of the Pharaohs, the undiminished ashes of +forgotten lovers in old Etruscan tombs. He had a flashing sense of the +great pageant of the Mediæval—popes, kings, crusaders, friars, +beggars, peasants, flagellants, schoolmen; of the vast modern life in +Paris, Vienna, Rome, London, Berlin, New York, Chicago; the brilliant +life of the fashionable quarters, the babble of the Bohemias, the poor +in their slums, the sick on their beds of pain, the soldiers, the +prostitutes, the slaveys in lodging-houses, the criminals, the +lunatics; the vast hordes of Russia, the life pullulating in the +swarming boats on Chinese rivers, the merry butterfly life of Japan, +the unknown savages of mid-Africa with their fetishes and war-dances, +the tribes of the East sleeping in tents or turning uneasily on the +hot terraces of their houses, the negro races growing into such a +terrible problem in the United States, and each of all these peoples, +nay, each unit of any people, thinking itself the centre of the +universe, and of its love and care; the destiny of the races no +clearer than the destiny of the individuals and no diviner than the +life of insects, and all the vast sweep of history nothing but a spasm +in the life of one of the meanest of an obscure group of worlds, in an +infinity of vaster constellations. Oh, it was too great! He could not +look on the face of his own God and live. Without the stereoscopic +illusions which made his father's life solid, he could not continue to +exist. His point of view was hopelessly cosmic. All was equally great +and mysterious? Yes; but all was equally small and commonplace. Kant's +<i>Starry Infinite Without?</i> Bah! Mere lumps of mud going round in a +tee-totum dance, and getting hot over it; no more than the spinning of +specks in a drop of dirty water. Size was nothing in itself. There +were mountains and seas in a morsel of wet mud, picturesque <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_510" id="Page_510">[510]</a></span>enough +for microscopic tourists. A billion billion morsels of wet mud were no +more imposing than one. Geology, chemistry, astronomy—they were all +in the splashes of mud from a passing carriage. Everywhere one law and +one futility. The human race? Strange marine monsters crawling about +in the bed of an air-ocean, unable to swim upwards, oddly tricked out +in the stolen skins of other creatures. As absurd, impartially +considered, as the strange creatures quaintly adapted to curious +environments one saw in aquaria. Kant's <i>Moral Law Within!</i> Dissoluble +by a cholera germ, a curious blue network under the microscope, not +unlike a map of Venice. Yes, the cosmic and the comic were one. Why be +bullied into the Spinozistic awe? Perhaps Heine—that other Jew—saw +more truly, and man's last word on the universe into which he had been +projected unasked, might be a mockery of that which had mocked him, a +laugh with tears in it.</p> + +<p>And he, he foreshadowed the future of all races, as well as of his +own. They would all go on struggling, till they became self-conscious; +then, like children grown to men, the scales falling from their eyes, +they would suddenly ask themselves what it was all about, and, +realizing that they were being driven along by blind forces to labor +and struggle and strive, they too would pass away; the gross childish +races would sweep them up, Nature pouring out new energies from her +inexhaustible fount. For strength was in the unconscious, and when a +nation paused to ask of itself its right to Empire, its Empire was +already over. The old Palestine Hebrew, sacrificing his sheep to +Yahweh, what a granite figure compared with himself, infinitely subtle +and mobile! For a century or two the modern world would take pleasure +in seeing itself reflected in literature and art by its most decadent +spirits, in vibrating to the pathos and picturesqueness of all the +periods of man's mysterious <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_511" id="Page_511">[511]</a></span>existence on this queer little planet; +while the old geocentric ethics, oddly clinging on to the changed +cosmogony, would keep life clean. But all that would pall—and then +the deluge!</p> + +<p>There was a waft of merry music from without. He rose and went +noiselessly to the window and looked out into the night. A full moon +hung in the heavens, perpendicularly and low, so that it seemed a +terrestrial object in comparison with the stars scattered above, glory +beyond glory, and in that lucent Italian atmosphere making him feel +himself of their shining company, whirling through the infinite void +on one of the innumerable spheres. A broad silver green patch of +moonlight lay on the dark water, dwindling into a string of dancing +gold pieces. Adown the canal the black gondolas clustered round a +barca lighted by gaily colored lanterns, whence the music came. +<i>Funiculi, Funicula</i>—it seemed to dance with the very spirit of +joyousness. He saw a young couple holding hands. He knew they were +English, that strange, happy, solid, conquering race. Something +vibrated in him. He thought of bridegrooms, youth, strength; but it +was as the hollow echo of a far-off regret, some vague sunrise of gold +over hills of dream. Then a beautiful tenor voice began to sing +Schubert's Serenade. It was as the very voice of hopeless passion; the +desire of the moth for the star, of man for God. Death, death, at any +cost, death to end this long ghastly creeping about the purlieus of +life. Life even for a single instant longer, life without God, seemed +intolerable. He would find peace in the bosom of that black water. He +would glide downstairs now, speaking no word.</p> + +<p><i>And the Angel of Death came and slew the slaughterer, which had +slaughtered the ox, which had drunk the water, which had extinguished +the fire, which had burnt the staff, which had smitten the dog, which +had bitten the cat, which <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_512" id="Page_512">[512]</a></span>had devoured the kid, which my father +bought for two zuzim. Chad Gadya! Chad Gadya!</i></p> + +<p>When they should find him accidentally drowned, for how could the +world understand, the world which yet had never been backward to judge +him, that a man with youth, health, wealth, and a measure of fame +should take his own life; his people would think, perhaps, that it was +a ghost that had sat at the <i>Seder</i> table so silent and noiseless. +And, indeed, what but a ghost? One need not die to hover outside the +warm circle of life, stretching vain arms. A ghost? He had always been +a ghost. From childhood those strange solid people had come and talked +and walked with him, and he had glided among them, an unreal spirit, +to which they gave flesh-and-blood motives like their own. As a child +death had seemed horrible to him; red worms crawling over white flesh. +Now his thoughts always stopped at the glad moment of giving up the +ghost. More lives beyond the grave? Why, the world was not large +enough for one life. It had to repeat itself incessantly. Books, +newspapers, what tedium! A few ideas deftly re-combined. For there was +nothing new under the sun. Life like a tale told by an idiot, full of +sound and fury, and signifying nothing. Shakespeare had found the +supreme expression for it as for everything in it.</p> + +<p>He stole out softly through the half-open door, went through the vast +antechamber, full of tapestry and figures of old Venetians in armor, +down the wide staircase, into the great courtyard that looked strange +and sepulchral when he struck a match to find the water-portal, and +saw his shadow curving monstrous along the ribbed roof, and leering at +the spacious gloom. He opened the great doors gently, and came out +into the soft spring night air. All was silent now. The narrow +side-canal had a glimmer of moonlight, the opposite palace was black, +with one spot of <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_513" id="Page_513">[513]</a></span>light where a window shone: overhead in the narrow +rift of dark-blue sky a flock of stars flew like bright birds through +the soft velvet gloom. The water lapped mournfully against the marble +steps, and a gondola lay moored to the posts, gently nodding to its +black shadow in the water.</p> + +<p>He walked to where the water-alley met the deeper Grand Canal, and let +himself slide down with a soft, subdued splash. He found himself +struggling, but he conquered the instinctive will to live.</p> + +<p>But as he sank for the last time, the mystery of the night and the +stars and death mingled with a strange whirl of childish memories +instinct with the wonder of life, and the immemorial Hebrew words of +the dying Jew beat outwards to his gurgling throat: "Hear, O Israel, +the Lord our God, the Lord is One."</p> + +<p>Through the open doorway floated down the last words of the hymn and +the service:—</p> + +<p><i>And the Holy One came, blessed be He, and slew the Angel of Death, +who had slain the slaughterer, who had slaughtered the ox, which had +drunk the water, which had extinguished the fire, which had burnt the +staff, which had smitten the dog, which had bitten the cat, which had +devoured the kid, which my father bought for two zuzim. Chad Gadya! +Chad Gadya!</i></p> + +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<a name="EPILOGUE" id="EPILOGUE"></a><hr /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_514" id="Page_514">[514]</a></span><br /> + +<h3>EPILOGUE</h3> + +<h3>A MODERN SCRIBE IN JERUSALEM<span class="totoc"><a href="#toc">ToC</a></span></h3> + +<br /> +<h4>I</h4> + +<p>Outside the walls of Jerusalem, on the bleak roadless way to the Mount +of Olives, within sight of the domes and minarets of the sacred city, +and looking towards the mosque of Omar—arrogantly a-glitter on the +site of Solomon's Temple—there perches among black, barren rocks a +colony of Arabian Jews from Yemen.</p> + +<p>These all but cave-dwellers, grimy caftaned figures, with swarthy +faces, coal-black ringlets, and hungry eyes, have for sole public +treasure a synagogue, consisting of a small room, furnished only with +an Ark, and bare even of seats.</p> + +<p>In this room a Scribe of to-day, humblest in Israel, yet with the gift +of vision, stood turning over the few old books that lay about, +strange flotsam and jetsam of the great world-currents that have +drifted Israel to and fro. And to him bending over a copy of the +mystic <i>Zohar</i>,—that thirteenth century Cabalistic classic, forged in +Chaldaic by a Jew of Spain, which paved the way for the Turkish +Messiah—was brought a little child.</p> + +<p>A little boy in his father's arms, his image in miniature, with a +miniature grimy caftan and miniature coal-black <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_515" id="Page_515">[515]</a></span>ringlets beneath his +little black skull-cap. A human curiosity brought to interest the +stranger and increase his <i>bakhshísh</i>.</p> + +<p>For lo! the little boy had six fingers on his right hand! The child +held it shyly clenched, but the father forcibly parted the fingers to +exhibit them.</p> + +<p>And the child lifted up his voice and wept bitterly.</p> + +<p>And so, often in after days when the Scribe thought of Jerusalem, it +was not of what he had been told he would think; not of Prophets and +Angels and Crusaders—only of the crying of that little six-fingered +Jewish child, washed by the great tides of human history on to the +black rocks near the foot of the Mount of Olives.</p> + +<br /> +<h4>II</h4> + +<p>Jerusalem—centre of pilgrimage to three great religions—unholiest +city under the sun!</p> + +<p>"For from Zion the Law shall go forth and the Word of God from +Jerusalem." Gone forth of a sooth, thought the Scribe, leaving in +Jerusalem itself only the swarming of sects about the corpse of +Religion.</p> + +<p>No prophetic centre, this Zion, even for Israel; only the stagnant, +stereotyped activity of excommunicating Rabbis, and the capricious +distribution of the paralyzing <i>Chalukah</i>, leaving an appalling +multitudinous poverty agonizing in the steep refuse-laden alleys. The +faint stirrings of new life, the dim desires of young Israel to +regenerate at once itself and the soil of Palestine, the lofty +patriotism of immigrant Dreamers as yet unable to overcome the long +lethargy of holy study and of prayers for rain. A city where men go to +die, but not to live.</p> + +<p>An accursèd city, priest-ridden and pauperized, with <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_516" id="Page_516">[516]</a></span>cripples +dragging about its shrines and lepers burrowing at the Zion gate; but +a city infinitely pathetic, infinitely romantic withal, a centre +through which pass all the great threads of history, ancient and +mediæval, and now at last quivering with the telegraphic thread of the +modern, yet only the more charged with the pathos of the past and the +tears of things; symbol not only of the tragedy of the Christ, but of +the tragedy of his people, nay of the great world-tragedy.</p> + +<br /> +<h4>III</h4> + +<p>On the Eve of the Passover and Easter, the Scribe arrived at the outer +fringe of the rainbow-robed, fur-capped throng that shook in +passionate lamentation before that Titanic fragment of Temple Wall, +which is the sole relic of Israel's national glories. Roaring billows +of hysterical prayer beat against the monstrous, symmetric blocks, +quarried by King Solomon's servants and smoothed by the kisses of the +generations. A Fatherland lost eighteen hundred years ago, and still +this strange indomitable race hoped on!</p> + +<p>"Hasten, hasten, O Redeemer of Zion."</p> + +<p>And from amid the mourners, one tall, stately figure, robed in purple +velvet, turned his face to the Scribe, saying, with out-stretched hand +and in a voice of ineffable love—</p> + +<p>"<i>Shalom Aleichem.</i>"</p> + +<p>And the Scribe was shaken, for lo! it was the face of the Christ.</p> + +<br /> +<h4>IV</h4> + +<p>Did he haunt the Wailing Wall, then, sharing the woe of his brethren? +For in the Church of the Holy Sepulchre the Scribe found him not.</p> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_517" id="Page_517">[517]</a></span><br /> +<h4>V</h4> + +<p>The Scribe had slipt in half disguised: no Jew being allowed even in +the courtyard or the precincts of the sacred place. His first open +attempt had been frustrated by the Turkish soldiers who kept the +narrow approach to the courtyard. "<i>Rüh! Emshi!</i>" they had shouted +fiercely, and the Scribe recklessly refusing to turn back had been +expelled by violence. A blessing in disguise, his friends had told +him, for should the Greek-Church fanatics have become aware of him, he +might have perished in a miniature Holy War. And as he fought his way +through the crowd to gain the shelter of a balcony, he felt indeed +that one ugly rush would suffice to crush him.</p> + +<br /> +<h4>VI</h4> + +<p>In the sepulchral incense-laden dusk of the uncouth Church, in the +religious gloom punctuated by the pervasive twinkle of a thousand +hanging lamps of silver, was wedged and blent a suffocating mass of +palm-bearing humanity of all nations and races, the sumptuously +clothed and the ragged, the hale and the unsightly; the rainbow colors +of the East relieved by the white of the shrouded females, toned down +by the sombre shabbiness of the Russian <i>moujiks</i> and peasant-women, +and pierced by a vivid circular line of red fezzes on the unbared, +unreverential heads of the Turkish regiment keeping order among the +jostling jealousies of Christendom, whose rival churches swarm around +the strange, glittering, candle-illumined Rotunda that covers the tomb +of Christ. Not an inch of free space anywhere under this shadow of +Golgotha: a <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_518" id="Page_518">[518]</a></span>perpetual sway to and fro of the human tides, seething +with sobs and quarrels; flowing into the planless maze of chapels and +churches of all ages and architectures, that, perched on rocks or hewn +into their mouldy darkness, magnificent with untold +church-treasure—Armenian, Syrian, Coptic, Latin, Greek, +Abyssinian—add the resonance of their special sanctities and the +oppression of their individual glories of vestment and ceremonial to +the surcharged atmosphere palpitant with exaltation and prayer and +mystic bell-tinklings; overspreading the thirty-seven sacred spots, +and oozing into the holy of holies itself, towards that impassive +marble stone, goal of the world's desire in the blaze of the ever +burning lamps; and overflowing into the screaming courtyard, amid the +flagstone stalls of chaplets and crosses and carven-shells, and the +rapacious rabble of cripples and vendors.</p> + +<p>And amid the frenzied squeezing and squabbling, way was miraculously +made for a dazzling procession of the Only Orthodox Church, moving +statelily round and round, to the melting strains of unseen singing +boys and preceded by an upborne olive-tree; seventy priests in +flowering damask, carrying palms or swinging censers, boys in green, +uplifting silken banners richly broidered with sacred scenes, +archimandrites attended by deacons, and bearing symbolic trinitarian +candlesticks, bishops with mitres, and last and most gorgeous of all, +the sceptred Patriarch bowing to the tiny Coptic Church in the corner, +as his priests wheel and swing their censers towards it—all the +elaborately jewelled ritual evolved by alien races from the simple +life and teaching of Jesus of Nazareth.</p> + +<p>"O Jesus, brother in Israel, perhaps only those excluded from this +sanctuary of thine can understand thee!"</p> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_519" id="Page_519">[519]</a></span><br /> +<h4>VII</h4> + +<p>So thought the Scribe, as from the comparative safety of an upper +monastery where no Jewish foot had ever trod, he looked down upon the +glowing, heaving mass. The right emotion did not come to him. He was +irritated; the thought of entering so historic and so Jewish a shrine +only at peril of his life, recalled the long intolerance of mediæval +Christendom, the Dark Ages of the Ghettos. His imagination conjured up +an ironic vision of himself as the sport of that seething mob, saw +himself seeking a last refuge in the Sepulchre, and falling dead +across the holy tomb. And then the close air charged with all those +breaths and candles and censers, the jewelled pageantry flaunted in +that city of squalor and starvation, the military line of contemptuous +Mussulmen complicating the mutual contempt of the Christian sects, and +reminding him of the obligation on a new Jewish State, if it ever +came, to safeguard these divine curios; the grotesque incongruity of +all this around the tomb of the Prince of Peace, the tomb itself of +very dubious authenticity, to say nothing of the thirty-six +parasitical sanctities!...</p> + +<p>He thought of the even more tumultuous scene about to be enacted here +on the day of the Greek fire: when in the awful darkness of +extinguished lamps, through a rift in the Holy Sepulchre within which +the Patriarch prayed in solitude and darkness, a tongue of heavenly +flame would shoot, God's annual witness to the exclusive rightness of +the Greek Church, and the poor foot-sore pilgrims, mad with ecstasy, +would leap over one another to kindle their candles and torches at it, +while a vessel now riding at anchor would haste with its freight of +sacred flame to kindle the church-lamps of Holy Russia.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_520" id="Page_520">[520]</a></span>And then the long historic tragi-comedy of warring sects swept before +him, the Greek Church regarding the Roman as astray in the sacraments +of Baptism and the Lord's Supper; at one with the Protestant only in +not praying to the Virgin; every new misreading of human texts +sufficing to start a new heresy.</p> + +<br /> +<h4>VIII</h4> + +<p>He hated Palestine: the Jordan, the Mount of Olives, the holy bazaars, +the geographical sanctity of shrines and soils, the long torture of +prophetic texts and apocalyptic interpretations, all the devotional +maunderings of the fool and the Philistine. He would have had the +Bible prohibited for a century or two, till mankind should be able to +read it with fresh vision and true profit. He wished that Christ had +crucified the Jews and defeated the plan for the world's salvation. O +happy Christ, to have died without foresight of the Crusades or the +Inquisition!</p> + +<br /> +<h4>IX</h4> + +<p>Irritation passed into an immense pity for humanity, crucified upon +the cross whose limbs are Time and Space. Those poor Russian pilgrims +faring foot-sore across the great frozen plains, lured on by this +mirage of blessedness, sleeping by the wayside, and sometimes never +waking again! Poor humanity, like a blind Oriental beggar on the +deserted roadway crying <i>Bakhshísh</i> to vain skies, from whose hollow +and futile spaces floats the lone word, <i>Mâfísh</i>—"there is nothing." +At least let it be ours to cover the poorest life with that human love +and pity which is God's vicegerent on earth, and to pass it gently +into the unknown.</p> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_521" id="Page_521">[521]</a></span><br /> +<h4>X</h4> + +<p>But since Christianity already covered these poor lives with love and +pity, let them live in the beautiful illusion, so long as the ugly +facts did not break through! What mattered if these sites were true or +false—the believing soul had made them true. All these stones were +holy, if only with the tears of the generations. The Greek fire might +be a shameless fraud, but the true heavenly flame was the faith in it. +The Christ story might be false, but it had idealized the basal +things—love, pity, self-sacrifice, purity, motherhood. And if any +divine force worked through history, then must the great common +illusions of mankind also be divine. And in a world—itself an +illusion—what truths could there be save working truths, established +by natural selection in the spiritual world, varying for different +races, and maintaining themselves by correspondence with the changing +needs of the spirit?</p> + +<br /> +<h4>XI</h4> + +<p>Absolute religious truth? How could there be such a thing? As well say +German was truer than French, or that Greek was more final than +Arabic. Its religion like its speech was the way the deepest instincts +of a race found expression, and like a language a religion was dead +when it ceased to change. Each religion gave the human soul something +great to love, to live by, and to die for. And whosoever lived in +joyous surrender to some greatness outside himself had religion, even +though the world called him atheist. The finest souls too easily +abandoned the best words to the stupidest people.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_522" id="Page_522">[522]</a></span>The time had come for a new religious expression, a new language for +the old everlasting emotions, in terms of the modern cosmos; a +religion that should contradict no fact and check no inquiry; so that +children should grow up again with no distracting divorce from their +parents and their past, with no break in the sweet sanctities of +childhood, which carry on to old age something of the freshness of +early sensation, and are a fount of tears in the desert of life.</p> + +<p>The ever-living, darkly-laboring Hebraic spirit of love and righteous +aspiration, the Holy Ghost that had inspired Judaism and Christianity, +and moved equally in Mohammedanism and Protestantism, must now quicken +and inform the new learning, which still lay dead and foreign, outside +humanity.</p> + +<br /> +<h4>XII</h4> + +<p>If Evolution was a truth, what mystic force working in life! From the +devil-fish skulking towards his prey to the Christian laying down his +life for his fellow, refusing the reward of the stronger; from the +palpitating sac—all stomach—of embryonic life to the poet, the +musician, the great thinker. The animality of average humanity made +for hope rather than for despair, when one remembered from what it had +developed. It was for man in this laboring cosmos to unite himself +with the stream that made for goodness and beauty.</p> + +<br /> +<h4>XIII</h4> + +<p>A song came to him of the true God, whose name is one with Past, +Present, and Future.</p> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_523" id="Page_523">[523]</a></span><br /> + +<h4>YAHWEH</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I sing the uplift and the upwelling,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I sing the yearning towards the sun,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the blind sea that lifts white hands of prayer.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I sing the wild battle-cry of warriors and the sweet whispers of lovers,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The dear word of the hearth and the altar,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Aspiration, Inspiration, Compensation,<br /></span> +<span class="i14">God!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The hint of beauty behind the turbid cities,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The eternal laws that cleanse and cancel,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The pity through the savagery of nature,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The love atoning for the brothels,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Master-Artist behind his tragedies,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Creator, Destroyer, Purifier, Avenger,<br /></span> +<span class="i14">God!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Come into the circle of Love and Justice,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Come into the brotherhood of Pity,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of Holiness and Health!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Strike out glad limbs upon the sunny waters,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or be dragged down amid the rotting weeds,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The festering bodies.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Save thy soul from sandy barrenness,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Let it blossom with roses and gleam with the living waters.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Blame not, nor reason of, your Past,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor explain to Him your congenital weakness,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But come, for He is remorseless,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Call Him unjust, but come,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Do not mock or defy Him, for he will prevail.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He regardeth not you, He hath swallowed the worlds and the nations,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He hath humor, too: disease and death for the smugly prosperous.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">For such is the Law, stern, unchangeable, shining;<br /></span><span class='pn'><a name="Page_524" id="Page_524">[524]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Making dung from souls and souls from dung;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thrilling the dust to holy, beautiful spirit,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And returning the spirit to dust.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Come and ye shall know Peace and Joy.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Let what ye desire of the Universe penetrate you,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Let Loving-kindness and Mercy pass through you,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And Truth be the Law of your mouth.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For so ye are channels of the divine sea,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which may not flood the earth but only steal in<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Through rifts in your souls.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<br /> +<br /> +<h4>THE END</h4> + +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<hr /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> + +<h2>R.D. BLACKMORE'S NOVELS.</h2> +<br /> + +<div class="block"><p class="hang">PERLYCROSS. A Novel. 12mo, Cloth, Ornamental, $1 75.</p> +</div> + +<div class="block2"><p>Told with delicate and delightful art. Its pictures of rural +English scenes and characters will woo and solace the reader.... +It is charming company in charming surroundings. Its pathos, its +humor, and its array of natural incidents are all satisfying. +One must feel thankful for so finished and exquisite a story.... +Not often do we find a more impressive piece of work.—<i>N.Y. +Sun.</i></p> + +<p>A new novel from the pen of R.D. Blackmore is as great a treat +to the fastidious and discriminating novel-reader as a new and +rare dish is to an epicure.... A story to be lingered over with +delight.—<i>Boston Beacon.</i></p></div> + +<div class="block"><p class="hang">SPRINGHAVEN. Illustrated, 12mo, Cloth, $1 50; 4to, Paper, 25 +cents.</p> + +<p class="hang">LORNA DOONE. Illustrated. 12mo, Cloth, $1 00; 8vo, Paper, 40 +cents.</p> + +<p class="hang">KIT AND KITTY. 12mo, Cloth, $1 25; Paper, 35 cents.</p> + +<p class="hang">CHRISTOWELL. 4to, Paper, 20 cents.</p> + +<p class="hang">CRADOCK NOWELL. 8vo, Paper, 60 cents.</p> + +<p class="hang">EREMA; <span class="sc">or, My Father's Sin</span>. 8vo, Paper, 50 cents.</p> + +<p class="hang">MARY ANERLEY. 16mo, Cloth, $1 00; 4to, Paper, 15 cents.</p> + +<p class="hang">TOMMY UPMORE. 16mo, Cloth, 50 cents; Paper, 35 cents; 4to, Paper, +20 cents.</p></div> + +<div class="block2"><p>His descriptions are wonderfully vivid and natural. His pages +are brightened everywhere with great humor; the quaint, dry +turns of thought remind you occasionally of Fielding.—<i>London +Times.</i></p> + +<p>His tales, all of them, are pre-eminently meritorious. They are +remarkable for their careful elaboration, the conscientious +finish of their workmanship, their affluence of striking +dramatic and narrative incident, their close observation and +general interpretation of nature, their profusion of picturesque +description, and their quiet and sustained humor.—<i>Christian +Intelligencer</i>, N.Y.</p></div> + +<h4><span class="sc">Published by</span> HARPER & BROTHERS, <span class="sc">New York</span>.</h4> + +<div class="block3"><p class="hang"><img src="images/finger.gif" align="bottom" width="23" height="10" alt="arrow" /> <i>The above works are for sale by all booksellers, or will be +sent by the publishers, postage prepaid, to any part of the United +States, Canada, or Mexico, on receipt of the price.</i></p></div> + +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<hr /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> + +<h2>WILLIAM BLACK'S NOVELS.</h2> +<br /> + +<div style="margin-left: 30%;"> +<p class="noin">A DAUGHTER OF HETH.<br /> +A PRINCESS OF THULE.<br /> +DONALD ROSS OF HEIMRA.<br /> +GREEN PASTURES AND PICCADILLY.<br /> +IN FAR LOCHABER.<br /> +IN SILK ATTIRE.<br /> +JUDITH SHAKESPEARE. Illustrated by <span class="sc">Abbey</span>.<br /> +KILMENY.<br /> +MACLEOD OF DARE. Illustrated.<br /> +MADCAP VIOLET.<br /> +PRINCE FORTUNATUS. Ill'd.<br /> +SABINA ZEMBRA.<br /> +SHANDON BELLS. Illustrated.<br /> +STAND FAST, CRAIG-ROYSTON! Illustrated.<br /> +SUNRISE.<br /> +THAT BEAUTIFUL WRETCH. Illustrated.<br /> +THE MAGIC INK, AND OTHER STORIES. Illustrated.<br /> +THE STRANGE ADVENTURES OF A HOUSE-BOAT. Ill'd.<br /> +THE STRANGE ADVENTURES OF A PHAETON.<br /> +THREE FEATHERS.<br /> +WHITE HEATHER.<br /> +WHITE WINGS. Illustrated.<br /> +YOLANDE. Illustrated.</p> +</div> + +<p class="cen">12mo, Cloth, $1 25 per volume.<br /> +<br /> +WOLFENBERG.—THE HANDSOME HUMES.<br /> +Illustrated. 12mo, Cloth, $1 50 each.<br /> +<br /> +BRISEIS.—HIGHLAND COUSINS.<br /> +Illustrated. 12mo, Cloth, Ornamental, $1 75 each.<br /> +Complete Sets, 27 Volumes, Cloth, $31 50; Half Calf, $60 00.</p> + +<br /> + +<div class="block2"> +<p class="cen">EDITIONS IN PAPER COVERS:</p> + +<p class="noin"><i>Donald Ross of Heimra.</i> 8vo, 50 cents.—<i>Sabina Zembra.</i> 4to, +20 cents.—<i>Judith Shakespeare.</i> 4to, 20 cents.—<i>That Beautiful +Wretch.</i> Illustrated. 4to, 20 cents.—<i>Sunrise.</i> 4to, 20 +cents.—<i>Macleod of Dare.</i> Illustrated. 8vo, 60 cents. +Illustrated. 4to, 15 cents.—<i>Green Pastures and Piccadilly.</i> +8vo, 50 cents.—<i>Madcap Violet.</i> 8vo, 50 cents.—<i>A Daughter of +Heth.</i>—8vo, 35 cents.—<i>An Adventure in Thule.</i> 4to, 10 +cents.—<i>In Silk Attire.</i> 8vo, 35 cents.—<i>Kilmeny.</i> 8vo, 35 +cents.—<i>The Strange Adventures of a Phaeton.</i> 8vo, 50 +cents.—<i>The Maid of Killeena, the Marriage of Moira Fergus, and +Other Stories.</i> 8vo, 40 cents.—<i>The Monarch of Mincing-Lane.</i> +Illustrated. 8vo, 50 cents.—<i>The Strange Adventures of a +House-Boat.</i> Illustrated. 8vo, 50 cents.—<i>In Far Lochâber.</i> +8vo, 40 cents.—<i>Prince Fortunatus.</i> Illustrated. 8vo, 50 +cents.-<i>Stand Fast, Craig-Royston!</i> 8vo, 50 cents.</p></div> + +<h4><span class="sc">Published by</span> HARPER & BROTHERS, <span class="sc">New York</span>.</h4> + +<div class="block3"><p class="hang"><img src="images/finger.gif" align="bottom" width="23" height="10" alt="arrow" /> <i>The above works are for sale by all booksellers, or will be +sent by the publishers, postage prepaid, on receipt of the price.</i></p></div> + +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<hr /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> + +<h2>BY THOMAS HARDY</h2> +<br /> + +<div class="block2"><p>Hardy has an exquisite vein of humor. His style is so lucid that +the outlines of a character in one of his books are unmistakable +from first to last. He has a reserve force, so to speak, of +imagination, of invention, which keeps the interest undiminished +always, though the personages in the drama may be few and their +adventures unremarkable. But most of all he has shown the pity +and the beauty of human life, most of all he has enlarged the +boundaries of sympathy and charity. His has been no barren +labor, for he makes his reader think less of himself and more of +mankind, he teaches the glory of renunciation, the dignity of +pain, and the transfiguring power of unblemished love.—<i>N.Y. +Tribune.</i></p></div> + +<div class="block"> +<p class="cen"><i>UNIFORM EDITION:</i></p> + +<p class="noin" style="padding-left: 15%;"> +<span class="sc">The Well-Beloved.</span> $1 50.<br /> +<span class="sc">Jude the Obscure.</span> Illustrated. $1 50.<br /> +<span class="sc">Under the Greenwood-Tree.</span> $1 50.<br /> +<span class="sc">Wessex Tales.</span> $1 50.<br /> +<span class="sc">Desperate Remedies.</span> $1 50.<br /> +<span class="sc">A Laodicean.</span> $1 50.<br /> +<span class="sc">The Hand of Ethelberta.</span> $1 50.<br /> +<span class="sc">The Woodlanders.</span> $1 50.<br /> +<span class="sc">The Trumpet-Major.</span> $1 50.<br /> +<span class="sc">Far from the Madding Crowd.</span> $1 50.<br /> +<span class="sc">The Mayor of Casterbridge.</span> $1 50.<br /> +<span class="sc">A Pair of Blue Eyes.</span> $1 50.<br /> +<span class="sc">Two on a Tower.</span> $1 50.<br /> +<span class="sc">Return of the Native.</span> $1 50.<br /> +<span class="sc">Tess of the D'Urbervilles.</span> Illustrated. $1 50.</p> +</div> + +<div class="block"><p class="hang"><span class="sc">Life's Little Ironies.</span> A Set of Tales; with some +Colloquial Sketches entitled A Few Crusted Characters. Post +8vo, Cloth, Ornamental, $1 25.</p> + +<p class="hang"><span class="sc">A Group of Noble Dames.</span> Illustrated. 12mo, Cloth, +Ornamental, $1 25; Post 8vo, Paper, 75 cents.</p> + +<p class="hang"><span class="sc">The Woodlanders.</span> 16mo, Cloth, 75 cents.</p> + +<p class="hang"><span class="sc">Fellow-Townsmen.</span> 32mo, Paper, 20 cents.</p></div> + +<h4><span class="sc">Published by</span> HARPER & BROTHERS, <span class="sc">New York</span>.</h4> + +<div class="block3"><p class="hang"><img src="images/finger.gif" align="bottom" width="23" height="10" alt="arrow" /> <i>The above works are for sale by all booksellers, or will be +sent by the publishers, postage prepaid, on receipt of the price.</i></p></div> + +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<hr /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> + +<h2>BY DAVID CHRISTIE MURRAY.</h2> +<br /> + +<div class="block2"><p>Mr. Christie Murray is a kindly satirist who evidently delights +in the analysis of character, and who deals shrewdly but gently +with the frailties of our nature.... The pages are perpetually +brightened by quaintly humorous touches. Often in describing +some character or something that is commonplace enough, a droll +fancy seems to strike the author, and forthwith he gives us the +benefit of it. Consequently there is a spontaneity in his pen +which is extremely fascinating.... We can only say generally +that Mr. Murray's plot is sufficiently original and worked up +with enough of skill to satisfy any but the most exacting +readers. We found ourselves getting duly excited before the +denouement.... Readers of Mr. Christie Murray's novels will +know that he belongs to the school of Mr. Charles Reade. And it +is no small praise to say that he has caught a fair share of the +vigor and rapidity of that romancer. His characters, too, belong +to the same category as those that figure in Mr. Reade's +stories. They are drawn with a sufficient resemblance to nature +to take a complete appearance of vitality so long as we are in +the whirl of the plot, which is also what we feel about the +characters of a good modern drama while we are watching its +representation.... There is a certain alertness and vigor in the +author's portraits which make them pleasant to meet +with.—<i>Saturday Review</i>, London.</p></div> + +<div class="block"> +<p class="noin" style="padding-left: 15%;">THE MARTYRED FOOL. Post 8vo, Cloth, Ornamental, $1 25.<br /> +IN DIREST PERIL. Post 8vo, Cloth, Ornamental, $1 25.<br /> +TIME'S REVENGES. Post 8vo, Cloth, Ornamental, $1 25.<br /> +A DANGEROUS CATSPAW. 8vo, Paper, 30 cents.<br /> +A LIFE'S ATONEMENT. 4to, Paper, 20 cents.<br /> +VAL STRANGE. 4to, Paper, 20 cents.<br /> +A MODEL FATHER. 4to, Paper, 10 cents.<br /> +HEARTS. 4to, Paper, 20 cents.<br /> +A WASTED CRIME. 8vo, Paper, 50 cents.<br /> +THE WEAKER VESSEL. 8vo, Paper, 50 cents.<br /> +BY THE GATE OF THE SEA. 4to, Paper, 15 cents; 12mo, Paper, 20 cents.<br /> +THE WAY OF THE WORLD. 4to, Paper, 20 cents.<br /> +CYNIC FORTUNE. 12mo, Paper, 25 cents.<br /> +AUNT RACHEL. 12mo, Paper, 25 cents.<br /> +RAINBOW GOLD. 4to, Paper, 20 cents.</p> +</div> + +<h4><span class="sc">Published by</span> HARPER & BROTHERS, <span class="sc">New York</span>.</h4> + +<div class="block3"><p class="hang"><img src="images/finger.gif" align="bottom" width="23" height="10" alt="arrow" /> <i>The above works are for sale by all booksellers, or will be +sent by the publishers, postage prepaid, to any part of the United +States, Canada, or Mexico, on receipt of the price.</i></p></div> + +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<hr /> +<br /> + +<div class="tr"> +<p class="cen"><a name="TN" id="TN"></a>Typographical errors corrected in text:</p> +<br /> + +Page 72: Explusion replaced with Expulsion<br /> +Page 265: doctines replaced with doctrines<br /> +Page 267: 'How know we we are not' replaced with 'How know we are not'<br /> +Page 301: suprised replaced with surprised<br /> +Page 310: Christain replaced with Christian<br /> +Page 203: 'to the the ruling religion' replaced with 'to the ruling religion'<br /> +<br /> + +<p class="cen">Unusual words:</p> + +Page 183: astonied is an obsolete word for bewildered, dazed, astounded.<br /> +Page 195: certes means certainly; truly.<br /> +Page 197: vrouw means housewife; woman.<br /> +Page 229: versts is an obsolete Russian unit of length.<br /> +Page 400: the Richi is a mountain on the Lake of Lucerne.<br /> +</div> + +<br /> +<hr /> +<br /> + + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Dreamers of the Ghetto, by I. 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