CONTRITE HEARTS V HERMAN -BERNSTEIN CONTRITE HEARTS CONTRITE HEARTS BY HERMAN BERNSTEIN Author of " In the Gates of Israel " (/f broken and a CONTRITE HEART, O God, thou wilt not despise.. PSALMS, Chapter 51, verse 17.) NEW YORK A. WESSELS COMPANY Copyright, 1905, by A. WESSELS COMPANY New York The Plimpton Press Norwood Mass. Printed by Braumvorth & Co. Bookbindtrs and Prititcrs Brooklyn, N.Y. I DEDICATE THIS BOOK TO THE MEMORY OF MY FATHER 2134411 PREFATORY NOTE TO write of Jewish life is to handle a most delicate subject. There are so many ever-ready, though by no means ever-just fault- finders in Israel, there are so many different sections to be pleased and to please one is to displease the others that, I believe, if one were to adapt the treatment of his work to the various tastes he would necessarily fail to do justice to the subject for it is impossible to please all and yet be sincere. In this story of the Jews, as in my earlier stories, I have striven to present the life I know, with frankness and in the simplest terms at my command. HERMAN BERNSTEIN. CONTENTS PART I. CHAPTER PAGE I. THE STORM 3 II. FATHER AND DAUGHTER . . . 16 III. MENDEL AND ESTHER . ... 30 IV. IN THE HOUSE OF PRAYER ... 46 V. AFTER THE STORM 54 VI. NAPHTOLI THE WATCHMAKER . . 65 VII. THE DAY OF ATONEMENT ... 78 PART II. I. LETTERS HOME 91 II. GRANAT AND LAMPERT . . . . 101 III. THE VIOLINIST 108 IV. ANOTHER CALAMITY 119 V. THE ELOPEMENT 125 VI. THE AWAKENING OF MIRIAM . .132 VII. EPHRAIM'S RETURN 138 VIII. THE SHATTERED NEST . . . .143 PART III. I. THE SHOP 153 II. THE SISTERS 166 III. THE QUEST OF MIRIAM . . . .180 IV. THE BROTHERS 188 V. EPHRAIM AND MIRIAM . . . .193 VI. DAYS OF MOURNING 201 VII. THE LAND OF SURPRISES .211 PART i CONTRITE HEARTS CHAPTER I THE STORM IT was about eleven o'clock of a stormy night in 1890. A tall, broad-shouldered man walked briskly down Granat's hill overlooking the Dniepr. Despite the heavy rain, he carried no umbrella; his leather top- shoes squeaked jarringly. The rain was beat- ing into his large-boned face; it was streaking down his cloth cap, upon his hair and beard, and into his collar, but he did not seem to heed it in the least. Every little while he turned around, and paused in agitation. Then he stroked his beard and his mustaches nervously, and resumed his walk. "I will show her who I am!" he muttered to himself from time to time. "I'll teach her what it means to disobey me!" And mechan- [3] Contrite Hearts ically his right hand clutched the leather belt which girdled his waist. A quarter of an hour later he was returning home. In the daytime his little house looked like a black wart upon the face of the grass- covered hill. Now it was not discernible at all save for the two small windows which, like eyes, stared timidly into the darkness, the lights within blinked and trembled. The thun- dering and the lightnings were now growing duller and fainter, but the rain kept pattering forcibly and monotonously upon the shingle- covered roof, and the boisterous wind still swung the shutters back and forth with a deaf- ening noise. Israel Lampert, the tall man, had to bend his head when he entered the door of the hall- way. On the right side stood a huge, uncovered barrel filled with water; near the barrel lay a pile of birch for the stove. Towards the left was a small bucket, into which the rain was dripping noisily from a crack in the roof. In his haste Isroel overturned this bucket, and muttering something under his breath, he crossed the threshold, forgetting to kiss the [4] The Storm mezuzoh 1 which was fastened to the side-post in the doorway. "Not yet?" he asked in a quivering voice. His wife, Beile Reize, shook her head in silence, and lowered her eyes to the socks she was mending. Isroel removed his overcoat and threw it on the table. Then he took off his cloth cap and wrung the water out of it. "Has Miriam come back already?" he asked after a brief pause, without looking at his wife. "Yes, she's in the bedroom," replied Beile Reize timidly, adjusting the tea-glass in the sock, and resuming her work. Isroel entered the bedroom, where the flick- ering, dim lamplight fell upon the figure of a dark-haired girl of about fifteen. Her face was hidden in the pillow. "Nu?" he queried impatiently. The girl gave a start, tossed her hair back, raised her tear-stained eyes and shook her head. "I could not find her," she said. "I went up to Gittel's house, to Sonya's house. I asked 1 A small scroll of parchment, with " Hear O Israel " written on it. Contrite Hearts Dveire Rotenfeld, they told me she was not there this evening. . . . But, perhaps, on ac- count of the storm" she added irresolutely, not daring to meet her father's eyes. "Hush!" he cried, stamping his foot. "Do not try to defend her she will have to defend herself do you hear? She will have to account for each and every step she made to-night! But woe to her if she thinks she can fool me!" Isroel ran his ringers through his long, black hair, and, clutching it, opened his eyes wide. Suddenly his head bent down, he crossed his arms on his breast, stepped out of the bed- room, and began to pace the large room from the door to the window, and from the window to the door. His high forehead was furrowed with deep wrinkles, his eyebrows twitched ner- vously, and his brown eyes flashed with anger. Without lifting her eyes from her work, Beile Reize sat motionless, her head bent, like a young tree before a storm. Only her ringers holding the needle moved, and now and then her lips stirred, for she was praying. She loved her eldest daughter Esther with all her heart. For twenty years, ever since the girl was born, [6] The Storm Beile Reize was dreaming of the day when her first-born daughter would be led under the nuptial canopy by a righteous man, by a man learned in the Talmud and walking in the ways of the Lord. And Esther grew up a wonderful girl. To- gether with her father's pupils she studied the Bible, and at the age of thirteen she knew most of it by heart. She had been a pious child, never missed any prayers, and on Holy days she would sit beside her mother in the syna- gogue and read aloud the prayers with emotion, with fervor, with tears in her voice. And those women whose eyes had grown dim, or who could not read the prayers themselves, would follow her words, repeating them after her with emotion, with fervor, with tears in their voices. No one was equal to Beile Reize at such mo- ments. No one's heart throbbed with so much pride, with so much gratitude to the Lord! Though Isroel's all vocations combined and he was Cantor, Melamed, 1 Shokhet, 2 and 1 Hebrew teacher. 2 Slaughterer of cattle and fowl in accordance with the Jewish law. Contrite Hearts Reader of the Law yielded barely enough to keep the family's hopes for a future life from dying, Beile Reize bore the Lord no grudge. She never envied those that lived in luxury, and never begged the Lord for riches. In her prayers she entreated God to bless her sons, Aaron and Joseph, so that their hearts shall yearn for His Torah, that their minds shall be bright to penetrate the intricacies of the Talmud and fathom the depths of His laws, and that their feet shall be swift and firm to walk in the ways of the righteous. As for her daughters, she prayed to God that they shall marry Rabbis of great communities. "O Lord, would that all we've been told about Esther this evening turn out to be a lie!" This brief prayer she kept repeating inwardly throughout the evening. Beile Reize resolved to throw eighteen kopeks into the box of Reb Meyer Baal Haness, 1 if the Lord would hear her prayer and grant her request. But the clock ticked and ticked her hope away; her heart was choking with tears, and her head was reeling. Then she dropped her work to the 1 The Man of Miracles. [8] The Storm floor, staggered into the bedroom, and, falling on the bed beside Miriam, sobbed. The storm was still raging; the wind howled and whistled in the chimney, as if imploring to be admitted into the house. In the distance, the splashing of the Dniepr was heard ; now it was the angry roaring of a beast, next the gurgling of a dying man, then again the roaring of a wild beast. Isroel was still pacing up and down the room with rapid strides. Yoshke, 1 with a thin, yel- lowish face, his hair cropped closely, his black eyes bulging out, an expression of awe on his features, sat by the long table and read a Yiddish "historical novel" of Joseph and his brethren, in a soft sing-song. Opposite him sat Zipke, a plump little girl with flaxen locks, with large, gray eyes and red cheeks. She was now absorbed playing lotos with her brother Arke, a pug-nosed, brisk little fellow, with a narrow forehead and protruding ears. Each time he found on his card the number called by Zipke, he snapped his fingers, and burst into forced laughter, thus displaying a set of crooked, 1 Diminutive for Joseph . [9] ' C&ntrite Hearts yellow teeth. Each time a thunder pealed, Zipke and Arke looked at each other with frightened eyes, and repeated with awe : " Blessed art Thou, O Lord our God, King of the uni- verse, whose power and might fill the world." The wooden clock on the wall struck twelve. Beile Reize came out of the bedroom. She had a dark shawl wrapped around her shoulders, and a pair of her husband's boots on her feet. "Where are you going? "asked Isroel, sternly. "It's twelve o'clock already; I'll go out. Perhaps Reb Mordecai was in error; perhaps it was not our Esther he saw with that with that apostate." Beile Reize quivered as she spoke. "Stay home! Enough! We will not wait for her any longer!" Isroel interrupted her, firmly. "God be with you, perhaps something has befallen her, it's so stormy. It may be that she slipped and fell, God forbid," said Beile Reize beseechingly, wiping her eyes with the corner of her shawl. "Would to God it were so! But Reb Mor- decai swore to me that she was with the me- [10] The Storm shumed! 1 And Reb Mordecai is a pious Jew. He would not bear the name of the Lord in vain! Do you understand? She lied to us when she said she was going to Gittel's house. Reb Mordecai himself saw her at nine o'clock walking past the boulevard, near the theatre, with the meshumed. Beile, take off your shawl, and stay at home." She returned to the bedroom and burst into tears again. "Yoshke, put the book away and go to sleep ! " Isroel cried to the boy. "Do you hear ? Read the night prayer and go to sleep!" "Just one page more, to/e, 2 " begged the boy. "Go to bed, I say!" thundered the father, lowering his hand to his belt. Yoshke under- stood that it was becoming dangerous to keep his seat much longer, so he jumped off the bench, and rushing over to the book-shelf, took down a prayer-book and began to read the night prayers. "Zipke, go over to Shleimke, rock him awhile ; he'll remain without a heart from crying," said Isroel as he began to pace the room again. 1 Apostate. Father. Contrite Hearts Zipke immediately jumped down from the bench and, shaking her forefinger at Arke, whispered : "Don't touch anything there on the cards, go away from the table." And stepping back- wards, still watching her brother, fearing lest he might cover some number while she did not look, she came over to Shleimke, the infant, who lay screaming in a basket, which was fastened with ropes to the ceiling, right above the oven. She rocked the basket, and sang softly, auto- matically: "Der Malachel, der gutter, wet dock sein dein hitter, Shlof, zhe, shloj, mein kind ..." (The angel, the good one, will be thy guar- dian, sleep, O sleep, my child.) ' ' Arke ! ' ' commanded the father. ' ' Close the shutters and go to sleep! Read l Shma' l \" All began to bustle about, Yoshke, in the corner, swinging his body back and forth, recited mechanically: "On my right Michael! on my left Gabriel ; before me Uriel; be- 1 Hear, O Israel." The Storm hind me Raphael, and the spirit of God overhead. . . . ' Zipke rocked the basket and sang, at the top of her voice, endeavoring to drown the child's screams: "Shlof, zhe, shloj, mein kind" From the bedroom came the muffled sobs of Beile Reize and Miriam. Arke ran out several times to close the shutters, but the wind tore them open again, and they creaked on their hinges and struck against the window-frames with force, and the panes kept rattling. Isroel resumed walking up and down the room. His eyes bespoke intense agitation, and the frown on his brow was the dark cloud heralding the outburst of the gathering storm. " Where is Mendel so late?" he asked sud- denly, pausing on the threshold of the bedroom. "Mendel? Where should he be? He must be looking for her," replied Beile Reize. "As soon as Mendel returns, we lock the door, and go to sleep!" said Isroel. A little later he lowered the flame of the lamp, and the large room plunged into half-darkness. The portraits of the Goan of Vilna and of Rabbi Izkhok Elkhonon, gracing the whitewashed [13] Contrite Hearts walls of this room, which served as a Kheder 1 by day, stood out strikingly, and as Isroel walked back and forth, it seemed to him that the eyes of these great men were following him sternly and angrily, full of reproach; though he tried to brush this thought aside, yet he now and again found himself eying the portraits on the wall, and he was seized with fear. "Beile Reize, are you sleeping?" he called, stroking his earlocks with trembling fingers. "I would swear that I hear the sound of footsteps on the hill." He walked over to the window and listened. By this time all had become quiet in the little house on the hill. Zipke slept on the tabouret beside the cradle. Arke snored over his lotos, by the table, and Yoshke lay on his bed, a large board placed upon two tabourets, dreaming of Joseph's greatness in the land of Egypt, and of Juda's strength. Beile Reize rushed out on tiptoe; her face brightened up with hope, but her heart sank when she noticed the fury mirrored in her husband's eyes. 1 Hebrew school. [14] The Storm Presently the door opened and a young man, pale, slim, dark-eyed and dark-haired, entered breathlessly. "Esther is coming," he said in a whisper. Then he added imploringly: "Speak to her with kindness; perhaps that will be the best way." "Mendel, teach me not!" flared up the old man, excitedly. "Beile Reize, and you, Men- del, I beg you, go out and take the children with you, leave me alone with her. I will speak to her." "Sh! She's in the hallway!" whispered Mendel, and, taking Arke and Zipke in his arms, carried them into the adjoining room. Isroel height- ened the flame of the lamp, and, folding his arms on his breast, paused in the middle of the room. t'Sl CHAPTER II FATHER AND DAUGHTER ESTHER entered slowly, but before she had time to close the door, a heavy gust of wind forced itself into the room, extinguishing the light of the lamp. Esther remained at the threshold, motionless. Isroel knew that it was his daughter Esther, but, disarmed by the sudden darkness, he was at a loss what to say, so he asked harshly: "Who's there?" "I Esther," she replied, with a ring of firm determination in her voice. "Beile Reize, make haste, light the lamp!" cried Isroel, irritated by Esther's tone. "Our daughter has brought darkness into the house!" He endeavored to suppress his agitation, but his anger was unmistakable. Beile Reize hastened from behind the door of the bedroom and began to bustle about, [16] Father and Daughter groping in the dark for some time. When she found the matches, it took her a few minutes to light the lamp, for her hands were trembling. Then she advanced a few steps towards Esther, who still stood by the door, with downcast eyes; but Isroel emphatically motioned to her to leave the room. She looked at Esther, shook her head mournfully, cast a beseeching glance at her husband, and walked out with a deep sigh. Mendel was standing behind the bedroom door with bated breath, tortured with fear and jealousy. From childhood on he loved Esther, and now that he had attained his aim, now that two of the greatest Rabbis in Russia had exam- ined him and found him proficient in the Tal- mud and in Rabbinical lore, and indeed proph- esied for him a great future as a teacher in Israel, now that he was at last in a position to unite his Me with Esther's and make her happy, his hopes were suddenly shattered, shattered by an apostate. Like one falling from a precipice, whence there is no hope of ever returning, he now waited for the final shock. His dream of mar- Contrite Hearts rying Esther kept dwindling farther and farther away as minute succeeded minute. He stood, breathing heavily, quivering, awaiting the ver- dict from Esther's lips. Near him on the floor sat Yoshke, who had crept down from his bed in his undershirt. Presently Beile Reize joined them, sobbing softly, and mumbling: "Oi, Estherke! Estherke!" "Why are you weeping, mame 1 ?" inquired Yoshke after a while, rising to his feet and clinging to his mother's shawl. "Ask me not, my son, ask me not. Would to God that these were my last tears. But who knows? Dear God," she said, choking with sobs. "Go to sleep, Yoshke," Mendel begged the boy in a trembling voice. "Yoshke, go to sleep." Yoshke went back to his bed, and, covering himself over his head with his father's old coat, tried to sleep, but the loud voices in the adjoining room, the mystery which seemed to fill the whole house, and the rattling of the 1 Mother. [18] Father and Daughter window-panes, kept him awake. He seated himself on the bed and, donning his cap, began to say the night prayers over again. Isroel was now questioning his daughter. He stood in the middle of the room, his arms akimbo, his velvet skull-cap resting on the back of his head. "Where were you this evening?" he de- manded sternly, with flashing eyes. "I want to know the truth ! Do you hear ? The truth ! ' ' "I was with a friend," replied the girl in a low voice. Esther was dressed modestly, in a brown skirt and a black jacket, and as she stood there with her small black bonnet in one hand, and an umbrella in the other, her head bowed, her face aflush, her large eyes fixed on the ground, her hair somewhat dishevelled at the temples, she looked beautiful. Her face was striking not so much for the regularity of its features as for the defiant expression about her lips, and when she raised her eyes they seemed to change from gray to black, and with their color changed also their expression. "Which friend?" asked the father, knitting [19] Contrite Hearts his brow. "Was it perhaps Gittel, or Sonya, or Dveire Rotenfeld?" "No." "Who then? Speak, or ' cried Isroel impatiently, but controlled himself. "Bobrovsky," she said, lowering her voice almost to a whisper. Suddenly she tossed her head back and faced her father. "Bobrovsky the meshumed, the apostate that scoundrel, that barefooted student?" ex- claimed Isroel despondently, clasping his head, trembling in every limb. "Woe is me! Woe is me! what will the world say?" "Father!" Esther's voice was firm and clear now, and her words came slowly, distinctly, laden with emotion. "I do not care what the world will say about me. The world is not so perfect, nor so just as to sit in judgment over me. What pains me most is the thought of the pain and sorrow the step I am to take will cause you all. But I swear to you, I am pow- erless to help it ! I cannot, and that's all ! God is my witness!" Isroel sprang to her and seized her hands with a firm grasp. [20] Father and Daughter "Silence! You brazen-faced abomination!" he cried, wild with rage. "Do not bear the name of the Lord in vain! Or I'll grind you to ashes!" and he raised his arm, ready to strike her. But Beile Reize rushed out from the bedroom and stationed herself between Isroel and Esther, outstretching her hands to shield her daughter. "She cannot help it, Isroel, she cannot help," she said, imploringly, not knowing exactly what it was her daughter cannot help. Then she fell on Esther's neck and wept. "What have you done, my daughter? Woe, woe! Such a sin. A meshumed!" Isroel pointed to the door angrily. "Beile Reize, go! Do not disturb me! I beg you, let me speak to her!" he said, shaking with agitation. "Put away your hat on the table," he cried, turning to Esther, "put your umbrella in the corner! Make haste! You stand here as if you were on the way. Perhaps your home is no longer good enough for you!" Esther put the hat and the umbrella away, seated herself on the bench, leaned her arms [21] Contrite Hearts on the table and buried her face in her hands. By this very table she had studied the Bible together with her father's pupils; on this seat she had recited the songs of Moses and Miriam and Deborah with so much fervor; here she had pondered over Job, and calculated, with the help of the best commentators on Daniel, the exact time of the coming of the Messiah; here she discussed with the boys the terrible war of Gog and Magog. And as she recalled all this, the sweet past now choked her as with iron clasps. She felt that her head was now filled with chaos, and hot tears were streaming down her cheeks. "Esther!" called Isroel after a brief pause. But she stirred not from her seat. "Esther!" he thundered. "Look me straight in my eyes! The words you have said a while ago are not your own. They are foreign to you. You never heard such words in our house. You make sport of what the world will say. The Talmud says: ' One must stand as well with the sentiments of the people as with God himself.' Your words must be the words of that apostate." [ 22 ] Father and Daughter Esther started as if suddenly awakened from sleep. "True," she said abruptly," but Bobrovsky is a learned man, and I have learned to respect him and his words." "And your father must you not honor him ? Have you forgotten the Ten Command- ments? 'Honor thy father and thy mother.' Is all this nothing to you?" Isroel's face red- dened, his eyes flashed fire. Esther had never before spoken to him in such a tone as this, Esther, his good, submissive, pious first-born child. He felt that he was overwhelmed by the feelings which had accumulated within him that night, he was suffocating from his own emotion. "But I love him!" she blurted out, as though swinging the words from the depth of her soul. "I cannot say to my heart: 'Cease loving him!' My heart would not listen to me even as it never asked me whether it was right of me to love him at all." Esther rose and, straightening herself, regarded her father steadfastly. "Esther, you have lost your reason. An apostate an apostate! Do you know what [23] Contrite Hearts it means?" Isroel began to pace up and down the room with rapid strides, clutching his hair violently. "Bobrovsky changed his faith," burst out the girl quickly, fearing lest she might be interrupted before she had given utterance to all her thoughts, "Bobrovsky changed his faith not because he found fault with Judaism. He did it merely because all his opportunities were blocked because as a Jew he could accom- plish nothing. He could not enter the univer- sity after having studied for eight years in the gymnasium. He could not "He will never accomplish anything," Isroel interposed hotly, "for he who changes the faith of his fathers sells his birthright for a pot of lentils. He sells his father, his mother, he sells his people; he sells the very graves of his forefathers; he would sell his wife, his children. And if he change his God, would he not sell his honor, love, duty? But no! These he could not sell, for such people have no honor, such people do not love, such people recognize no duties." "Father!" she exclaimed, "I am strong, I will exert all my powers to bring him back to Father and Daughter us. You shall see, the Jews will some day be proud of him. You shall see it." "But we Jews don't want such people in our midst; we don't want the weeds. Such people never were true Jews, I know they never will be true Christians; they are as a leprosy on our body. They are the 'Eirev Rav,' of those who joined the Israelites when they left Egypt, and who grumbled in the desert against Moses and the Lord, and who later demanded the golden calf. Apostates are descendants of the 'Eirev Rav.' They are cowards, idlers, weaklings, scoundrels. And such is also your Bobrovsky." " Bobrovsky is an honorable man. You don't know him," said Esther, choking with the tears which welled up to her throat. "I feel your pain, my heart breaks for you all. But what can I do? I love him. Solomon said in the Proverbs: 'Love covereth all sins.'" "Silence! What's this? What sort of phi- losophy is this for a Jewish daughter?" thun- dered Isroel, rushing over to Esther, about to strike her a blow on the cheek. But he once more mastered himself and retreated. Contrite Hearts "Go, now!" he cried, pointing at the door. "Leave the house! Begone! You are a pest! May the Lord send upon you cursing, vexation, rebuke, because of the wickedness of your doings." He quoted the Biblical curse in Hebrew, and, exhausted, sank back on the bench by the window, and burst into a fit of coughing, which shook his body convulsively. "Do not go near her!" he cried suddenly to Beile Reize who ran over to Esther. "I say, do not stand in her 'doled amos' 1 )" Beile Reize retreated. Then, in despair, she exclaimed : "Isroel, you have no heart! Let me speak to her; let me weep before her; let me beg her, she will drive that meshumed out of her head! She is a good child. She has always had the Uppermost in her heart!" The children, awakened by the noise, sur- rounded Esther and wept. Yoshke and Arke kept begging her to stay home. "It is so dark outside! It is so stormy!" they pleaded, through tears. Shleimke, swaying in the basket, was now 1 Space of four yards. [26] Father and Daughter screaming with all his might, while Zipke sat on the ground, at her father's feet, and implored him not to drive Esther out of the house. Isroel was firm. "Do not go near her!" he cried again. "She has dishonored us before God and man, she has broken my heart! Let her go wherever her eyes will lead her! I cannot look at her brazen face!" Then Mendel came forward to plead for his niece. "Reb Isroel," he began in a tremulous voice, "have mercy. Where will she go at this hour of night ? Reb Isroel, it is unjust. It is unjust ! Do not send her away like this. There may be some hope yet. She may repent." Beile Reize and Miriam stood in the doorway and sobbed. While Mendel spoke Beile Reize shook her head, and wrung her hands in despair. But Isroel was resolute. "Let her leave the house!" he repeated, accompanying his words with a powerful bang on the table. Esther, weeping, staggered out into the stormy night, her head bent upon her breast. Contrite Hearts The trees near the windows were moaning plaintively under the fierce attacks of the wind, and the rustling of the leaves kept up a deep murmur, which deafened the sounds of Esther's uneven footsteps. About a half an hour later Isroel rose from the bench, heaved a sigh and said: "This is also for the better!" He turned to Beile Reize and, outstretching his arms, added: "Weep not, the Lord has willed it. The Creator of the universe surely knows what He is doing!" Beile Reize wiped her eyes with the corner of her apron, and cried emotionally, her lips quivering with anger: "The Creator of the Universe knows what He is doing, but you you have no heart! Where was such a thing heard? To drive a daughter out into the storm, at midnight! Would a Jew with a real Jewish heart do it?" "Sh! Don't speak to me of her!" he burst out passionately. "Do you hear? Do not mention that abomination to me. She has torn [a8J Father and Daughter herself out of our home, out of our people, and we must tear her out of our hearts!" He walked through the room several times, and said, after a while, in a low tone: "Beile Reize, hand me a glass of brandy. My heart is burning." Beile Reize silently took down from the bedroom shelf a bottle of Passover brandy, which had not been touched for upwards of five months, and filling a small glass she handed it to her husband. Isroel drank it, heaved a deep sigh, which sounded as though some- thing had snapped within him, and rubbing his hands, began to say the night prayers. He soon turned out the light, and fastened the shutters which the wind had blown open, and the little house on the hill, its eyes, as it were, closed for the night, seemed hushed in sleep. 1*9] CHAPTER III MENDEL AND ESTHER MENDEL could not sleep. The image of Esther hovered before his eyes, without leaving him for a moment. He saw her roaming through the streets, her head bowed with shame, her heart rent by the sobs of her mother and the vain pleading of the children, the terrible curse of her father ringing in her ears, pursuing her on every step. He saw her shivering, all alone with her despair, in the dark, cold, storm-swept town. As he lay on the bench which served him as a bed he was wondering how all these people about him could sleep so calmly now that such a terrible misfortune had been hurled upon their heads. Isroel's measured snoring in the next room irritated, exasperated Mendel, filled him with disgust. It seemed to him that a cer- tain spirit of brutality mingled with childish [30] Mendel and Esther indifference had winged into the house like some terrible demon, endeavoring to crowd out all thought of Esther. Mendel tossed about on the bench, fearing that he was losing his reason, and the noise of the trees by the window awakened a row of oppressive thoughts in his mind. He felt that soon a deafening sob would break forth from his heart, a sob which would awaken and frighten all the sleepers in the little house. Then he would cry out to Isroel with all the anguish and bitterness of his soul: " You are a brute ! You have no heart ! You have driven your daughter away to a life of misery, to a life of sin. All her sins will fall on your head!" But the thought of Bobrovsky, the apostate, chilled him, silencing his wrath toward Isroel, diffusing weakness over all his being, and filling him with intense sorrow for Esther, for himself. Several times it occurred to him that Esther was moaning at the entrance, begging for for- giveness, for shelter. He jumped up from his bed, walked over to the door, stepping cautiously over the children who now slept on the floor; Contrite Hearts he put his ear to the keyhole and listened. He heard nothing save the howling of the wind. Then he returned to his bed, heavy of heart; and again gloomy thoughts, like serpents, crept into his head, causing him acute pain. Suddenly, tormented with reproach for not having followed Esther, he resolved to rise and go about the streets of the city and seek for the beloved of his heart. Perhaps God would help him explain to her all the horror, the folly, the peril of her step, perhaps it was not yet too late to save her from slipping and falling. "One wrong step will sometimes ruin a life," he said to himself, "and one word in time will often save it." Then he was seized with terror lest Esther in despair might take her life by hurling herself into the Dniepr, even as one of her friends, Liza Eizenstadt, had done but a few months before, because her parents also stood between her and the man she loved. He must not lose any time, he thought. Perhaps at this very moment He closed his eyes with his hands. Soon the figure of Bobrovsky loomed up before him, Mendel and Esther tall, broad-shouldered, with an outworn, green- ish coat, trimmed with blue stripes, and brass buttons. Mendel recalled how he turned away with aversion when he met the apostate in the post-office several days before. At that time Mendel did not suspect that this student was to shatter his dreams, his happiness. Mendel recalled that when he looked at the student's narrow forehead, at his protruding lips which were somewhat swollen and bluish from fre- quent shaving, he remarked to a friend who stood near by: "The meshumed looks exactly like a singed hog!" He recalled the greedy look in his small brown eyes, the cunning smile on his face, and a sense of profound sorrow for Esther oppressed his heart. He felt that there could be nothing in common between Bobrovsky and the pure, the good, the meek, Jewish Esther. But Esther's words were ringing in his ears, like terrific blows of a sledge-hammer: "Bobrovsky is a learned man!" "I love him!" "The Jews will some day be proud of him!" "Bobrovsky is an honorable man!" [33] Contrite Hearts Mendel struggled hard to free himself from the terrible thoughts which filled his head with chaos. "Esther must conquer her heart!" he said resolutely, as he began to dress himself in great haste. "Did she not say that she is strong? And who is strong but he who conquers his own self?" As he was opening the door, his sister came out from the bedroom and, placing her hand on his shoulder, asked with anxiety, in a low voice : "Mendel, where are you going?" "HI be back soon, Beile," he replied. "Go to sleep." Beile Reize understood that her brother was starting out in search for Esther. "Go, Mendel, go!" she said. "May the Uppermost help you! Perhaps Mendel walked out noiselessly, but the door creaked when Beile Reize closed it, and the noise awakened her husband. "Ha! Who's there?" he asked in a voice heavy with sleep. "I would swear that the cow walked out of the barn, I'll go out and see," replied Beile [341 Mendel and Esther Reize, but Isroel was again filling the house with uneven yet monotonous snoring. She lit the lamp, washed her hands, and walked over to the table with noiseless steps, pausing on her way to adjust the pillow for Zipke's head, to stretch out Arke's legs, and to wipe the perspiration off Yoshke's face. Then she took up her heavy prayer-book and began to read the psalms inaudibly, with emotion too deep for tears, shaking her head, as if mourning for the dead: "My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me ? Why art thou so far from me ? . . . O my God, I cry in the daytime, but thou hearest not: and in the night season, and am not silent ..." "Our fathers trusted in thee; they trusted, and thou didst deliver them. ..." "But I am a worm, and no man She lifted her eyes, clasped her hands in prayer, and mumbled: "Good God! Thou knowest the depths of every heart ! Do I not trust in Thee ? Have I not brought up my daughter Esther in Thy ways? Wherefore, dear God, dost Thou pun- ish me like this?" She sobbed, resuming to [35] Contrite Hearts read by the light which flickered as though about to expire. Had she prayed but a little louder her own daughter Esther would have heard her prayer. For she was now seated upon a beam, in front of the little house, by the window, facing the Dniepr. Esther had wandered through the streets for hours; she had stopped several times before the house where Bobrovsky lived, but all was dark within and quiet, and she dared not enter. Now a steamer sailed past noisily, casting mysterious small lights over the gurgling, black waters; and as Esther watched the departing lights she felt that the bright scenes of her life, together with the waves of the Dniepr, were drifting away farther, farther, towards the Black Sea. She felt that her life had just been broken in two, that the first half with all her joys and sorrows was no more, that, indeed, it had no longer any connection 'with the life she was to start. She realized that to-night she was departing from the peaceful surroundings of her humble home, and that she was being hurled, by the storm within her own heart, into [36] Mendel and Esther a sea of unrest, of mystery, vague sweet prom- ises permeating her soul with sentiments new and foreign to her, with sentiments at once terrible and beautiful. She sat as intoxicated, her elbows resting on her knees, her hands supporting her chin, her eyes fixed into the distance. The rain had stopped when Mendel came out of the house. Out of the unfathomable black- ness of the sky the moon hung like a globe of flame. It looked as though there was a terrible fire beyond the clouds and the smoke was slowly sinking earthward. The trees by the house still kept up their murmur, which now sounded like an angry complaint, now like a soothing message of con- solation sent from leaf to leaf, and then again it sounded as if the trees were sighing, recalling the terrors of the storm. Mendel stood awhile, absorbed in thought, not knowing which way to go. For only now he realized that it would be no easy task to find Esther at this hour of night. Suddenly the shrill sound of the whistle of a passing steamer smote the air. Mendel started. [37] Contrite Hearts It seemed to him like an outcry for help plaintive, drawn-out, dying away in the distance. "Perhaps Esther is in need of help," he thought, as he ran down the hill. He turned to his right, hastening toward the bridge, when a soft voice called him by his name. Mendel stopped short, dumbfounded . His heart began to beat faster. It was Esther's voice, but it sounded so faintly that he feared it was once more an error on the part of his excited imagination. Mendel did not stir even when he saw a figure advancing toward him. When Esther came close to him, he seized her by the hands, unable to utter a word for emotion. "Where are you going so late?" she asked. " Where ? You ask me where ? " His words now came with nervous rapidity and with re- proach. "I must speak to you before it is too late!" "But you are so cold," he added, "you may take sick " "Never mind, you may speak, you may speak," she said, in a low voice, without lifting her eyes from the ground. [381 Mendel and, Esther They walked in silence and turned mechani- cally toward the Governor's Park. There they seated themselves on a bench, and Esther, strug- gling with her tears, was first to break the painful silence. "Speak, Mendel, I am waiting," she said, laying her hand on his shoulder. Mendel endeavored in vain to master himself, to appear calm. "I really do not know what to say to you," he began in a dull tone, which sounded strange to his own ears. "Perhaps that which I want to tell you does not interest you any longer." His lips began to quiver, tears came up to his throat, and he was compelled to stop. "Mendel," she said reproachfully. "I have always considered you a sensible man. Can you not understand that I am the same Esther as before? I have not changed " "Do you know " Mendel's voice dropped, and he seemed to be speaking to himself, not heeding her words. "Do you know that at this moment your broken-hearted mother is reading the psalms, shedding tears, praying for you ? Esther, she is praying for you. At this [39] Contrite Hearts moment she does not yet realize her misfortune. But I am afraid that it will be beyond her power to bear it it will surely kill her!" Esther sobbed softly. Mendel sat for a long time without uttering another word. He felt as if everything were whirling about him, the trees, the bushes, the benches, the pond beside him, the Dniepr below. It was near daybreak. Layers of black clouds were gliding over a sea of gray. Now a fragment, having torn itself away, was drifting like a block of ice. The trees stood motionless, as though lost in meditation. Soon a cool breeze began to blow. A crow cawed plain- tively in the distance, and then several birds in the neighboring trees began to sing. Mendel looked towards the east. He saw the rippling waters of the Dniepr were tinted faintly by the rising sun. "Look!" he said suddenly, turning to Esther, and pointing to a withered leaf which was falling from a tree before them. "Esther, your fate will be the same as the fate of this leaf. Like this leaf you will be trampled under foot. You will be forsaken, alone, if you tear yourself [40] Mendel and Esther away from your home, from your people. The Jews will turn away from you, and the Gentiles, in their hearts, will despise you. As for Bo- brovsky, I think that he is changeable as the clouds, unstable as the wind." His voice grew louder, his earnestness was merciless. Esther placed her hand on his shoulder. "You speak like a child," she said mildly, beseechingly, wishing to justify herself in his eyes. "You know that a human being cannot go against the decrees of God. I love Bo- brovsky, evidently God has decreed that it shall be so. I" "You are wrong, Esther; God wants to test you," interposed Mendel. "You do not understand me"; she shook her head mournfully. Then her eyes brightened up, and she went on: "Ah, if you only knew what it is to love! the greatest masters, poets, philosophers, novelists, all have attempted to depict it, to analyze it, to define it. Love makes you forget everything else in the world, love robs you of your reason. You can only feel, feel, feel." Mendel maintained silence for a while, [41] Contrite Hearts then he grasped her hand, and gazed at her fixedly. "Esther!" he exclaimed passionately. "Look into my eyes!" He was about to tell her that he too felt the throb of love within his heart, that he loved her from childhood on, but with a supreme effort he conquered himself, and said instead: "Esther, beware of the apostate!" "We never fear the one we love," retorted Esther. " And you really intend to marry him?" Mendel rose, still regarding her steadfastly, his soul in his eyes. "Yes," she replied firmly. When Esther uttered this word it seemed to him that the cathedral bells were ringing in his ears, the bells which for some reason or other always filled him with mysterious fear. He saw Esther standing beside Bobrovsky in the church, a stout, long-haired priest giv- ing them the benediction. Mendel shuddered, turned away, and walked off quickly. He felt that the well of faith, of hope, of joy, of peace, was drying out within his heart. A cold, dark [42] Mendel and Esther abyss of doubt and suffering stretched before him as he reflected upon the seeming injustice of all that had happened. He could not under- stand why the Lord, to whose teachings he had dedicated all his life, should permit an apostate to shatter his happiness. Mendel ran as if he wished to escape from his thoughts. A sea of house-tops spread before him as he looked towards the shul-hof, the Jewish quarter, which harbored most of the synagogues as well as most of the poverty of the Moghilydv Jews. He saw people hurrying to houses of prayer. Here and there men were starting their day's work by the river, which was becoming animated with swarming floats, barks, and fishermen's boats. As Mendel walked on, he heard the blowing of the Shofar 1 from one of the synagogues, and he reminded himself that this was the month of Elul, four weeks during which the sons of Israel pray more fer- vently than usual, do more charitable work than ever, and treat one another with more kindliness, to improve their record of the passing year before the Holy Days of Judgment set in. 1 Horn. [43] Contrite Hearts When Mendel, thinking of Esther and the apostate, heard the sounds of the Shofar once more, he trembled. He recalled Isaiah's ter- rible prophecy as to what would befall the sons of Israel for casting away the law of the Lord of hosts. "And he will lift up an ensign to the nations from afar, and will hiss unto them from the end of the earth: and, behold, they shall come with speed swiftly: "None shall be weary nor stumble among them; none shall slumber nor sleep; neither shall the girdle of their loins be loosed, nor the latchet of their shoes be broken: "Whose arrows are sharp, and all their bows bent, their horses' hoofs shall be counted like flint, and their wheels like the whirlwind: "Their roaring shall be like a lion, they shall roar like young lions: yea, they shall roar, and lay hold of prey, and shall carry it away safe, and none shall deliver it. "And in that day they shall roar against them like the roaring of the sea: and if one look unto the land, behold darkness and sorrow, and the light is darkened in the heavens thereof." [441 Mendel and Esther Mendel now felt ashamed of his thoughts of doubt, he quickened his pace, and on reaching home, took his phylacteries, and hastened to the Beth Hamidrash to pray for all the sons of Israel, and to forget himself in the study of the Talmud, after the prayers. [45] CHAPTER IV IN THE HOUSE OF PRAYER ISROEL LAMPERT rose at six o'clock, and though he immediately betook himself to the Beth Hamidrash, the congregation was already "standing" the Eighteen Blessings when he entered. Isroel hastily wrapped himself with the prayer-shawl, fastened the philacteries on his left arm and on his head, and, to overtake the congregation, said " Blessed are they that dwell in thy house," then "Hear, O Israel," so that he started the Eighteen Blessings when the Reader began to repeat them. The congrega- tion recited with intense feeling, "And He, the Merciful One, forgiveth iniquity," and then the Scroll was taken from the Sacred Ark and placed upon the desk in the center of the Beth Hamidrash. The sexton, a thin, stooping, long-nosed, pale man, with black hair, and large dark eyes, rapped on the desk with his [46] In the House of Prayer emaciated hand, and glanced toward Isroel, who now stood near the Ark, swaying his body back and forth, his eyes covered with his hands. "Reb Isroel," called the sexton, "come and read the Law." But Isroel made no reply. He merely shook his head and stroked his beard nervously. "Reb Isroel," said Izkhok the confectioner, excitedly, touching him on the shoulder, "let not the Torah wait for you!" Then Abrashkin, a tall man, whose curly, grayish beard reached his waist, and whose trousers were tucked into his long boots, flour- ished his hands, struck the prayer-book impa- tiently, and shouted, as if he were commanding a company of soldiers: "R-r-reb Isroel, don't forget it's the month of Elul! Str-r-rashno, Yei Bogu!" (It's ter- rible, by God!) His eyes opened wide, mirroring fright, and his shoulders twitched as if chills shot through his frame. Abrashkin, who had been a soldier for upwards of twenty-five years, and whose language was a mixture of Yiddish and Rus- sian, was striving with all his might to atone [47] Contrite Hearts for having missed his prayers, broken the Sab- bath, and eaten Treifo 1 in his younger days, when, as he said, he could not properly serve the Lord because he had to serve the Tsar. He now seized each and every opportunity to enrich himself with Mizvohs 2 which were to procure for him a worthy seat in Heaven. "Let some one else read the Law to-day," said Isroel, in a trembling voice. " Let some one read the Law ! Make haste ! " cried Mordecai Granat, the owner of the syna- gogue, lifting his spectacles to his forehead, and staring fixedly at the sexton. The sexton trembled perceptibly under Gra- nat's stern look, and began to turn about on all sides. Izkhok the confectioner, who had been seeking for an opportunity to read the Law, rushed over to the Scroll and, with an air of superiority, coughed, to clear his throat. Soon a descendant of Aaron was summoned to the Scroll, then a Levite was called, and finally came the turn for a plain Israelite to have the portion of the Law read for him. 1 Food forbidden by the Mosaic law. Good deeds. [48] In the House of Prayer Each one touched the Scroll with the fringes of his prayer-shawl, kissed the fringes and said: "Blessed art Thou, O Lord, our God, King of the universe, who hast chosen us from all the nations and hast given us Thy Law. Blessed art Thou, O Lord, Giver of the Law." After the portion had been read each blessed the Lord for giving to Israel the Law of Truth, and for planting eternal life within His chosen people. When the Scroll was lifted the entire congre- gation rose in reverence, saying: "This is the Law which Moses set before the children of Israel, at the command of the Lord; it is a tree of life, and its supporters are made happy; its ways are ways of bliss, and all its roads lead to peace. Longevity on its right, on its left riches and honor." When the Scroll was rolled together, fastened, and covered with the velvet mantle, Isroel advanced toward the desk and raised his hand. "Brethren," he said, amidst profound silence, "the Lord has punished me. He has turned His face away from me. Evidently I have deserved it!" 149] Contrite Hearts "What is it? What is it?" was asked on all sides. "Brethren!" Isroel cried, heaving a dull sigh. "A wolf, a wicked wolf, broke into my home. Like a whirlwind he broke into my peaceful home, and carried off my meek little lamb my beautiful, my chaste, innocent child, my Esther. He has bewitched her, that ac- cursed apostate, Bobrovsky, the student, may his name and memory be wiped off the earth." Israel's voice broke down. Presently he straightened himself, and said firmly: " Brethren, you will have to look for another 'Messenger of the Community' for Rosh Hasho- noh and Yom Kip pur I cannot officiate!" His words resounded like a thunderbolt through the dimly lighted Beth Hamidrash. The congregation stood hushed in astonish- ment, perplexed, dismayed. Isroel, pale and bent, slowly stepped down from the Bimoh, 1 walked over to his seat and, throwing the prayer-shawl over his head, turned his face to the wall and prayed. Platform in the center of the synagogue. [50] In the House of Prayer The silence lasted but a little while. A hun- dred voices began to speak at once, one attempt- ing to outcry another. Isroel heard behind him a storm of exclamations, cries of astonish- ment mingled with disgust and oaths. The noise was growing ever louder and louder. Disgraced, he stood as chained to his place, resigned, waiting for something he knew not what. He dared not look back he feared to meet the eyes of the community. It seemed to him that the people behind him murmured that he was profaning the house of prayer by his presence, and that they prepared to drag him away from his place by the Ark. Suddenly all his being was seized with faintness, his eyes grew dim, his knees shook, while the agitated crowd roared on without end. "Such a pious girl, Ai, Ai!" said the confec- tioner, smacking his lips. "The meshumed's brass buttons enticed her! Oh, those buttons, those buttons!" roared Tankhum, the upholsterer. "Now she will become a Goye l \" squeaked the confectioner. 1 A heathen. [51] Contrite Hearts "What could Reb Isroel do?" interposed some one timidly. "They ought to be lashed, both of them- the student and the girl! A hundred lashes apiece, Yei Bogu!" cried Abrashkin, fiercely. "Yes, a man must take care of his daughters!" declared Izkhok the confectioner. Isroel could bear it no longer. He mustered courage and turned around, resolved to unbur- den his wounded heart. He wanted to tell them that talking of death one is not sure of one's life; that if his daughter was enticed by an apostate, the same might happen with any one else's daughter in the community that such things were not in the hands of man. But when he looked into the faces of the people and saw that some eyes were turned to him with compassion, he said meekly, beseechingly: "I am not defending her. My daughter is no more! She is as dead to me! She would not obey me! She would not receive correc- tion! She has turned away from the Lord, and the Lord will surely turn away from her!" Again a great commotion ensued. Some [5*] In the House of Prayer argued, some pitied the father, all cursed the apostate and the girl. Isroel prayed. "Creator of the universe!" he said, "why did not the earth open her mouth to swallow me ? I am now like unto a broken pot, like a worm crushed under foot." Suddenly Mordecai Granat bade the congre- gation to be silent. "Hush!" he commanded in a ringing voice. "Proceed with the prayers!" [S3J CHAPTER V AFTER THE STORM THE news of Isroel the Cantor's misfortune spread rapidly traveling from mouth to mouth from the Beth Hamidrash into the homes of the congregation; from the homes it was borne to the market-place, and thence it streamed forth into the highways and byways of Moghilyov. Indeed, the news had traveled so fast that when Isroel, leaning on Mendel's arm, returned home from the house of prayer, scores of women were swarming hither and thither on Granat's hill in quest of the details of the calamity. Some of the women entered the house and beset Beile Reize with painful questions; others, less bold though quite as inquisitive, crowded the hallway, talking ex- citedly, gesticulating with their heads and hands. Beile Reize stood in the middle of the room, [54] After the Storm wringing her hands, and her sobs, intermingled with lamentations uttered in a sing-song, were heard far out in the street. "A thunder has struck us! Woe is me, woe is me ! The flower has been crushed ere it had time to bloom woe is me, woe is me ! The Uppermost has inflicted a terrible curse on our heads! A thunder has struck us! Woe is me!" Miriam stood behind her, trembling, her arm about her mother's waist. From time to time she exclaimed in an imploring, plaintive tone: "Mame! Mame!" Arke and Yoshke were praying by the win- dow, fervently reciting aloud: "And He, the Merciful One, forgiveth iniquity." Zipke planted herself upon the table, her little fist in her mouth; her eyes, wide open with fright, wandering from the floor to the ceiling, and then over the walls of the room. She was wondering how the thunder had entered their house; she was looking for a hole in the ceiling, in the walls, in the floor. As she glanced at Shleimke's crib she noticed that the child was smiling, and suddenly, while the [55] Contrite Hearts women were wrapping their shawls about their shoulders and shaking their heads lachrymosely, Shleimke began to laugh. This intensified the misery of Beile Reize, and some of the women could not repress their tears any longer. Isroel ascended the hill, stepping unsteadily, as if the ground were trembling under his feet. His eyes were cast down ; his tall figure, so erect but yesterday, was bent broken down under the weight of grief and shame. As he was nearing the hallway, the women moved aside, jostling one another and talking in whispers. "Here is Reb Isroel! Here comes the can- tor!" some one announced. Mendel, walking by his side, was pale. His eyes, reflecting despair, fatigued and red from lack of sleep, bulged out, and the dark cir- cles about them accentuated his pallor, and gave his face a sickly, somewhat angry ex- pression. On reaching the hallway he turned to the women and said nervously: "What have you not seen here? You had better go home. We'll send for you when we need you. Go!" [561 After the Storm Like a flock of geese, suddenly driven away, the women started off hastily, noisily, excitedly, hurling abuse, and cursing as they retreated. "Look at them!" cried a cock-eyed, red- haired woman, in a Turkish shawl. "See how proud they are! Ai, Ai, Ai! A baptized daughter. Who is equal to them ? Not every- body can have one!" She spat aside noisily and hurried down the hill, followed by several women. "I've always thought that no good would come of her," declared triumphantly a tall, thick-lipped, slender woman, whose nose bore close resemblance to a pelican's bill. "When- ever I saw her with a pack of books under her arm I said to my Shmuel, may he live long, 'There grows a goye.' As true as I am a Jewess!" "It is a sin to speak this way. God be with you! It is a matter of Heaven, Khaye," inter- posed an old woman, lifting her lidless eyes, and smacking her wrinkled lips, as she added with enthusiasm and awe, as though she beheld at this minute angels ascending heavenward: "Do you remember how she used to pray in [57] Contrite Hearts shule ? Each word was like sugar. Like like the precious gems they deserved to be kissed one by one." "Nu, Shoshe, here you see, here you see. What is the good of it now? Oh, may the Uppermost save all Jewish daughters from such an end as this! From the Talmud to baptism! Ai, Ai, Ai!" Isroel and Mendel were forced to wait for some time at the door, for the women, in their attempt to flock out all at once, blocked the doorway. Mendel, exasperated, raised his clenched fist and cried, in a tone quivering with anger: "Be still, I say! Why do you throw salt on our wounds ? Go to your homes and attend to your ow r n affairs!" Isroel seized him by the arm. "Compose yourself/' he said, waving his hand. "Let them speak! You cannot close the world's mouth. Let them speak! Perhaps they are right! Let them say whatever they please." Mendel shrugged his shoulders. He could not recognize his brother-in-law, who, though [58] After the Storm always humble in spirit, had never bowed his head to man, except in recognition of one's learning and kindness of heart. In the meantime the throng, still noisy and agitated, was dispersing in different directions. Several women paused at the foot of the hill, and remained there for hours talking, whis- pering, cursing, pitying. When Isroel entered the house he caught Beile Reize's face quivering. She quickly wiped her eyes and hastened into the bedroom, where she drew one of her husband's old boots from under the bed and, adjusting it over the chimney of the samovar, began to blow up the coals with it. A dense smoke filled the room. "I'll give you tea directly, Isroel," she said, again wiping her eyes. "The black year knows what has become of the samovar this morning. The smoke goes right into my eyes." "Eh, who wants tea? Drink, drink, Beile; I'll drink later," he said, in a faint voice, hang- ing his prayer-shawl on the nail, beside the portrait of Rabbi Izkhok Elkhonon. "Mendel, sit down by the table go, eat something, and lie down to rest yourself you [59] Contrite Hearts look like a corpse," said Beile Reize after a while. "I am not hungry," replied Mendel. "I'll go out a little; my head is aching." Soon Yoshke, Arke, and Zipke seated them- selves by the table. Beile Reize placed before them a bowlful of steaming boiled potatoes and a glass of herring-sauce. Each of the children in turn dipped the potatoes in the glass, and occasionally sipped some of the sauce. Miriam now stood in the corner, her lips moving, her eyes fixed upon the open pages of her mother's prayer-book. The hours dragged slowly. All was quiet in the little house. Isroel sat at the end of the table, supporting his chin with his hands. A small book lay before him, but his eyes were closed, and the wrinkles on his forehead and between his eyebrows showed that he was absorbed in pensive thoughts. "Isroel," Beile Reize called him suddenly. He gave a start and opened his eyes. "Isroel, what holiday is to-day that the chil- dren have not come so late? It is past ten o'clock!" [60] After the Storm Isroel merely shook his head in reply; then, after a pause, he added, waving his hand: "Eh, you are a woman!" Beile Reize stared at him, perplexed. She knew that his remark meant that she failed to understand something of great importance. Isroel waited awhile, and said in an under- tone, gravely: "Don't you understand, Beile? The parents don't want to send their children to a teacher who was unable to take care of his own child! Do you blame them ? Would you be different ? " "But, Isroel, the Uppermost knows " she began, but her lips quivered, all her frame shook with a convulsive shudder, her heart shrank with acute pain. Her eyes saw nothing. "A thunder has struck us! A thunder has struck us!" she sobbed. "Don't take it to heart, Beile. The Upper- most is merciful. He will not suffer us to fall," said Isroel, seating himself beside his wife. "Where is it written that I must be a teacher, or a cantor, or a shokhet? When it comes to the worst, I can go and hire myself out as a hewer of wood or a carrier of water. My shoul- [61] Contrite Hearts ders, thank God, are broad, and my hands are strong. Before Him all are equal before the great Judge in heaven if the hearts are but pure, and the hands not stained with evil deeds!" Beile Reize covered her face with her hands, and as Isroel kept speaking, she felt as if a new psalm was flowing forth from his lips, a psalm for aching hearts, a new hymn of courage, of faith, of love, of hope. And somehow this psalm seemed nearer to her than any of King David's; it spoke to her a language she under- stood, and a powerful wave of refreshing vigor stirred in her heart. Broad strips of sunshine were bursting into the room through the two windows which faced the river. When Beile Reize opened her eyes it appeared to her as if her husband's words had diffused the cheerful brightness in the house, and she felt no longer so weary and oppressed the sunshine seemed to have en- tered her heart. At noon she said to Isroel: "Sit down by the table eat something." "Eat, eat, Beile," he replied; "I'll eat later." [62] After the Storm Beile Reize understood that he was fasting. But as she, too, was fasting, she did not urge him to eat. "Israel, what are you thinking about?" she asked, a little later. "I am thinking," he said slowly, sadly, "I am thinking what will they do now?" "Who?" she queried eagerly. "They. I mean the congregation. Who will say the First Selichoth 1 for them? Who will pray for them on Rosh Hashonoh and Yom Kippur?" She opened her eyes wide, and stared at him with astonishment. "Don't you understand that I will not do it? They would not allow me to pray as Messenger of the Community. And even if they would, do you think I would pray for them? A man must not trifle with such matters! Messenger of the Community! Is it a trifle?" "But we must live, God be with you," cried Beile Reize. "If you do not officiate, what shall we live on after the holidays?" 1 The prayers for forgiveness offered on the Sunday morning preceding the Jewish New Year. [6 3 ] Contrite Hearts "Beile Reize, I don't understand what has befallen you? Would you have me appear before the Almighty and pray for the community just because we need the hundred rubles? True, God knows, I have not changed since last year, but I cannot my heart would burst. Perhaps we have sinned. Why should the com- munity suffer because of us? If, God forbid, some misfortune should befall any one of them if some one should die a premature death my heart would break. I would feel as if I were to blame. I would feel that my prayers were not heeded." Beile Reize was sobbing, wiping her eyes with her apron, and rocking the crib with the other hand. "Lose no heart, God will not forsake us; He is merciful," Isroel consoled her in a soft voice. "He will help us; if not for ourselves, for the sake of our little ones. Despair not." Suddenly Arke rushed into the house, clap- ping his hands and shouting: "Grandfather is coming! Grandfather is here!" [64] CHAPTER VI NAPHTOLI THE WATCHMAKER NAPHTOLI the watchmaker, Beile Reize's father, appeared on the threshold. He was short, thin, white-haired, with a small white beard, and white mustaches which had turned yellow from constant use of snuff-tobacco. His face, red and rough, was densely covered with wrinkles. His eyes were small, brisk, cunning; and even in moments of repose it was hard to discern by the features of his face whether he was laughing or crying. "Peace be unto you!" he said, advancing to Isroel, who rose to meet him. Naphtoli had on a greenish coat and a brown cap. He carried a satchel under his arm. Yoshke and Zipke ran after him, dragging his heavy valise over the ground. Beile Reize walked over to her father and, leaning her head on his breast, wept. [65! Contrite Hearts "Tate, if you only knew," she uttered, a wail of despair breaking forth from her heart. "I know, my daughter, I know everything. I've heard it in the market-place." "Beile Reize," interposed Isroel, half beg- ging, half commanding, "how many times must I ask you not to weep for her ? She is no more no more. Like last year's snow. Do you hear?" Naphtoli shook his head and, passing his hand over his mustaches, said pensively: "Isroel is right, my daughter the Lord has given, and the Lord has taken away. What is the use of crying? Is it your fault? Can you help it? The fate of a human being is not in our hands, my child. Take even a watch, or a clock, for instance, it may have the finest Swiss movement. Each little wheel, the bal- ance, and the mainspring may all be perfect, and yet sometimes it will not work right. Try as hard as you will even though you lie down and die trying to fix it it will not work, and that's all! Now, my daughter" Naphtoli straightened himself, as if about to say some- thing new, something important and convincing, [66] Naphtoli the Watchmaker "now," he went on in a sing-song, like one emerging victorious from a Talmudic labyrinth, "if this is true of a clock, how much truer is it of a human being?" The old man, proud of his profession, was wont to exploit it in order to illustrate his point of view, although his comparisons were occa- sionally rather vague and far-fetched. "Everything depends upon the will of the Uppermost! Everything!" he declared em- phatically, with a ring of overpowering pathos in his voice, and placing his satchel on the bench, began to unpack it hurriedly, trying thus to disguise his emotion. "Sit down, rest yourself first. You must be tired from the journey," said Isroel. "Take off your coat, and sit down." Naphtoli immediately removed his coat, seated himself, and asked: "Where is Mendel?" "He must be in the Beth Hamidrash, praying Minkho, 1 " replied Beile Reize; "he'll come home soon." "And Miriam?" 1 Afternoon prayer. [67] Contrite Hearts "I sent her after something after some meal for the cow." Suddenly Naphtoli rose from the tabouret, stroked his beard, and nodded his head, as if arguing with himself. Then he motioned to the boys who were tugging away at his valise. "Come here, Yosele, open it Arele, help him," he said; "take out everything." The boys began to bustle about, and, after considerable trouble, succeeded in unfastening the ropes. The cantor and his wife looked on in silence, glancing now at Naphtoli, now at his valise. "That suit of clothes on top there," began the old man, in a quivering voice, attempting to smile, "you see, it's a fine suit, eh? Yosele, wait, hold it up, that's the way! I had it made for Mendel. Imported goods; it expands and contracts like rubber. You can't get such stuff here. It comes from England. That other suit is for you, Isroel. There's a shawl for you, Beile. There are 'fringes' there for the boys. There are some things there for Miriam and Zipke." He lowered his voice, and added: "The rest was all for her. I thought, I'll come [68] Naphtoli the Watchmaker for the holidays. And right after Succoth, 1 I thought we would make the wedding." His head sank on his breast, and the network of wrinkles on his face began to quiver rapidly, thus closing his eyes. Beile Reize burst into sobs: "My Esther has become a bride. Woe is me! Esther has become a bride!" Isroel sat silently, his head bowed down, tears glistening in his eyes. The children were emptying the valise, and as they drew forth the presents, they kept exclaiming: "Ah! Look! Tate! Mame! Look!" "When God punishes a man, He does it from a full hand; as the peasant says: 'When misfortune comes, open the gates,' said Naph- toli, wiping his mustaches, and, turning to Isroel, added: "I want your advice on a certain important matter. We must decide it to-day, to-morrow. It must not be delayed." Isroel regarded him steadfastly, and waited a few seconds. Then he pointed to the door, and said: 1 The Feast of Tabernacles. Contrite Hearts "Children, go out and play in the yard." Naphtoli raised his head suddenly, and asked almost in a whisper: "Isroel, what do you think of America?" "America?" exclaimed the cantor and his wife. "America!" "I have learned in A that Mendel will have to serve in the army," began Naphtoli. "What do you say? How is that?" they interrupted him, with fright. "And his 'First Privilege'?" Naphtoli soon explained to them that because so many young men had left for America, even only sons, having 'First Privilege,' will have to serve this year, to make up the required number of recruits. "What would become of Mendel in the army? Such a tender, weak young man. He has no trade in his hands. He would be lost there. For whom, I ask, for whom should he waste his health, his youth, the best years of his life ? For whom?" The old man looked around, as if to make sure that no strangers overheard him, and he added in a whisper, bitterly: [7o] Naphtoli the Watchmaker "My blood boils within me. As I travel from town to town, from village to village, I see and hear what is going on about us. My eyes are open. And what I see makes me shudder. My heart weeps within me. That they hate us on each and every step, that is not new. Are we not the ' Chosen people ' ? the people chosen to suffer in exile ? Let them hate us. Do we ask them to love us, to respect us? Leave us alone, to live and die in peace. But they trample us under foot as if we were worms; they block all our ways; they rob us of every means of subsistence; they shed our blood. And yet, go and serve in the army, be faithful to them. You understand they take out the mainspring, they break the wheels one by one, and yet they want the watch to go and keep time correctly." He paused a while, then shrugged his shoul- ders, and continued, his small eyes blinking strangely: "Do you understand now why I asked you what you think of America? Since last week 'America' is forever whirling about in my mind. When I work I think of America. I even [7'] Contrite Hearts dreamt of it last night. And sometimes I lie awake and think, and a shudder goes through me, as true as I am a Jew, my head seems to be bursting to a thousand pieces when I think of Mendel going so far away, to the other end of the world, alone, in a strange land." They spoke for a long time of the New World. Then they offered the afternoon prayers, and again they discussed America. Beile Reize was filled with terror at the mere mention of the word. "Perhaps there are no houses of prayer there at all," she cried several times. "What will Mendel do there?" "Beile Reize, the less one speaks, the less nonsense one is sure to say," Isroel interrupted her. The cantor was of the opinion that America was the lesser of the two evils, and that, serv- ing in the army, Mendel might as well bid farewell to his hopes of becoming Rabbi in Russia. "So many Jews have left Russia," he said, "and have settled in America. 'Jewish' Jews will remain Jews even if they go through fire [7*] Naphtoli the Watchmaker and water. Where the other Jews are, there will also Mendel be, and God will help him. America! You play with America, eh? There every man is free, and even our Jews have a voice in government affairs. I have read not long ago that some of the highest offices are held there by Jews. Four hundred years ago, when the Jews were driven out from Spain, may her name and memory be wiped off, just then when the Jews had no place whither to go, the New World was discovered. It is a matter of Heaven. We see in this the hand of the Uppermost, who creates the remedy before the disease. It was evidently predestined that America shall some day become a refuge for the sons of Israel. Perhaps it is Mendel's luck that A is short of recruits this year." ******* In the evening the choristers came, as usual during the month of Elul, to rehearse the prayers for the Awful Days. Only the tenors and the basso came ; the altos and the sopranos, who had been selected from among IsroePs pupils, were not there. "Good evening!" they said, entering. [73] Contrite Hearts "Good evening! Good evening!" replied Isroel, in a low voice. "Children," he said a little later, addressing the singers who stood near the doorway, feeling uneasily, "Children, I will not officiate this year." His words seemed to choke him. "Go over to Reb Mor- decai Granat, across the yard, he is the gabbai 1 of the synagogue. Perhaps the other cantor may want you to help him. The time is too short to train a new chorus." The * helpers' knew why Isroel would not officiate, so they shook their heads, not finding anything adequate to say. Finally the basso mustered up courage and, scratching the back of his head, muttered: "They'll have to wait long before they'll get a cantor like you, Reb Isroel." "It is all the same before the Lord who prays, if it comes but out of the depth of the heart," replied Isroel. A tall, round-shouldered, long-nosed tenor cleared his throat twice and said: "There are cantors and cantors." Feeling embarrassed and awkward, the sing- 1 President. [74] Naphtoli the Watchmaker ers waited awhile, then, as one man, they turned abruptly, saying: "Well, have a good night and a good year!" And they marched out hurriedly. When Naphtoli learned that the calamity which invaded his daughter's house actually tore the ground from under their feet, that it left them helpless, drifting in the open sea, as it were, that Israel's income was suddenly cut off on all sides, he rose from his seat, walked over to Isroel and, lifting his hand to his shoulder, cried with emotion: "Nu, don't worry, Isroel, God is merciful! We shall not starve, with the help of God!" Then he turned to Yoshke and exclaimed cheerfully: " Get a bottle and bring us ten kopecks' worth of brandy. How is it written there 'Wine gladdens the heart of man'? Go, my child, quick." "We have some passover brandy, I'll fetch it for you," said Beile Reize. All sat down by the table and, wishing one another a 'good and peaceful life,' each drank a small glass of brandy. It was then, at about [751 Contrite Hearts eight o'clock, that Isroel and his wife broke their fast. After supper Naphtoli unfastened the bosom of his heavy vest and, drawing forth from a secret pocket something wrapped in a red hand- kerchief, put it on the table before Isroel. "Here, Isroel," he said, u here are five hun- dred rubles which I have saved for several years. Take one half for you, and give the other half to Mendel. He will need it soon." Isroel grasped the old man's hand and gazed at him for some time with astonishment. "Reb Naphtoli," he uttered, "who needs money? God be with you! You are an old man, it is time for you to rest, to reap the fruit of your toil. You will need all you have for yourself." "Don't be a child," cried Naphtoli. "Take it, or I will be angry. I'll rest there in the other world. As long as Naphtoli the watch- maker's hands move, as long as his eyes see, he can earn his bread and salt. Thank God, I have a trade in my hands. Would that my son were so safe. Yes, children, there was a time when everybody laughed at me. All my [761 Naphtoli the Watchmaker family turned away from me when I resolved to become a watchmaker. They feared that I would disgrace them by becoming a workman. Just think of it! Naphtoli, Reb Avremele's son, a workman ! Oh, the vanity, the vanity of it all ! Later I laughed at them. That is, I did not laugh at them, I pitied them, and I often helped them when they could not help themselves. Then they did not laugh at me any longer." Before going to sleep Naphtoli said to his son : "Mendel, I don't know what sort of a land America is, what kind of people live there. I don't know their laws, their customs. But one thing I want to tell you. Be a man an honest man. And don't be ashamed to work; work never disgraces a man. In the beginning it is hard everywhere. Milk and honey do not flow in the streets, and loaves of bread do not grow on trees. Remember, my son, be a man, even if you have to carry stones and chop wood. And God will help you. We'll hear good news, and perhaps, if God will grant us years, we may meet yet." 177] CHAPTER VH THE DAY OF ATONEMENT Two weeks went by, and yet no one came to see either the cantor or his wife. Nor did Isroel go to Granat's synagogue on Rosh Hashonoh. He would have offered the prayers at home, were it not for the Blowing of the Shofar and the Reading of the Law. But as he dared not miss these, he went together with his wife, and Naphtoli and Mendel to the new 'Thilim' Beth Hamidrash, near their house. There they stood by the door, speaking to no one, reciting the prayers fervently, swaying their bodies back and forth; their hearts and minds fixed upon each and every word they uttered. And as they prayed they sobbed and moaned, and the tears kept rolling freely down their faces. On the morning preceding the Day of Atone- ment, Beile Reize was busy with preparations for he afternoon meal. While she was knead- [78] The Day of Atonement ing and rolling the dough for three-cornered "kreplach," Miriam was chopping boiled meat with which to fill them. The stuffed fish, all ready to be served, was on the table in a large copper pan, emitting a delicious odor. Beile Reize saw in everything signs of the greatness of the coming day. In the very taste and color and odor of the fish she clearly perceived the hand of the Uppermost. Somehow she felt that the same fish, if cooked to be eaten on an ordi- nary week-day, would have had another taste, another appearance, another odor. She be- lieved that because of the import of the occasion a wonder was wrought. Rolling the dough mechanically, she was so absorbed by this thought that she heard nothing, though the door opened noisily and a man walked in. Miriam tugged her by the sleeve and called softly: "Mame!" Beile Reize did not stir for a few moments; then she swung the dough over the rolling-pin and turned towards the bedroom to spread it upon a pillow in order to dry it. Suddenly she [79] Contrite Hearts stopped short, and the rolling-pin with the dough fell from her hands to the ground. "Reb Isser," she gasped. "You?" "You will become rich," she said, when she came to herself. "I did not recognize you at first. May I have such a good year." Isser, the sexton of Granat's synagogue, looked somewhat nervous; he kept buttoning and unbuttoning his long coat, and then, stroking his short, thin, grayish beard, he asked in a low voice: "Where is Reb Isroel? I would like to see him." "He will come soon. Be seated, Reb Isser," she said, rubbing her hands, bustling about the room excitedly. "Thank you, I can stand." "Sit down, at the same expense." "It's Erev Yom Kippur, who has time to sit? Still, I'll wait a while," and saying this he sat down on a tabouret, in a corner, near the door. "I would swear Isroel is coming already," said Beile Reize after a while, as she looked out of the window. [80] The Day of Atonement Presently Isroel appeared in the doorway, carrying several huge candles under his arm. On noticing the sexton he nodded his head silently, walked past him and placed the candles on the table. The sexton, pale-faced, still stroking his beard with trembling fingers, gazed at the cantor timidly, and finally, making an effort to control himself, coughed, to clear his throat. "Reb Isroel," he began, "I have come here I have come to beg your forgiveness," he blurted out, "your forgiveness," and turning to Beile Reize, "and yours, too. I know your misfortune was a matter of Heaven. May God punish me if I ever meant to wrong you!" He shook his head mournfully. "We are all but flesh and blood. Nu, I wish you a good 'seal' for the new year." "I wish you the same," responded Beile Reize. " Luck, blessings "I wish you the same, Reb Isser," said the cantor, extending his hand to the sexton, who seized it and shook it with reverence. "Eh," muttered Isser, contracting his eye- brows, "without you the praying was not smooth [81] ' Contrite Hearts a.t all. The cantor was not a cantor, and the praying was not your praying. How does it come to your 'Unsane Tokej'?" No sooner had the sexton left the house than Mordecai Granat entered. He wore his holiday clothes, and his face was free from its usual sternness. "Peace be with you, Reb Isroel." "Peace be with you, Reb Mordecai." They shook hands as they greeted each other. Then Mordecai said: "Reb Isroel, forgive me, I have wronged you." His tone, always haughty and com- manding, was mild, subdued, almost pleading. "You have not wronged me at all," replied Isroel, shrugging his shoulders, "you have not wronged me." "Nu, what was, was. The past is dead. Don't let me ask you long, come to us for 'KolNidrei';do not fail." Isroel promised to come. He bore him no ill-will, he felt that Mordecai had erred in cen- suring him for the fault of his daughter; and Isroel was glad now, for Mordecai's sake, that he was repenting his error. [82] The Day of Atonement During the forenoon the entire congregation came one by one to beg the cantor to forgive them for having ill-treated him in deed, word, or thought. "A Jewish heart is a Jewish heart after all," cried Beile Reize, as tears of joy leaped to her eyes. Naphtoli regarded the matter differently. "First they take the soul out," he said, bit- terly, "and then they ask for forgiveness. 'I want neither your sting nor your honey.' Don't you understand why they came to-day? It is written that while Yom Kippur will wipe off their sins against the Lord, it will not clear them of the wrongs committed by man against his fellow-man. They begged your forgiveness to save themselves." "Be it as it may, they repent nevertheless, and that is good. And they surely must be in earnest, for they know they cannot deceive Him who divines the mysteries of every heart," said Isroel. At about four o'clock the entire family sat down by the table to eat the afternoon meal that was to fortify them for the great Fast which [83] Contrite Hearts must not be broken before sundown of the succeeding day. Little was spoken during the repast. Something solemn, something sacred and awful, seemed to fill the atmosphere. They all felt the nearness of the "Shkhinoh," the spirit of God. The grace after the meal was chanted at first slowly, plaintively; then, towards the end, it burst forth in a trembling volume of rhythmic wailing, occasionally interrupted by spasmodic sobs. As soon as the grace was finished Isroel sent Yoshke out into the yard to fill four tin cans with earth, and when these had been filled he stuck into them four huge candles, and lighted them. "Tate, every year you light only three can- dles, why do you light this time four?" inquired Yoshke. The cantor turned his face away from his son, for it betrayed his inward suffering; then, mastering himself, he said: "Ask no questions, Yosele. You will know it when you grow older." When Beile Reize glanced at the candles, her [84] The Day of Atonement heart shrank; and she heaved a deep sigh. Usually but three candles were burning in their house on Yom Kippur two for the souls of IsroePs parents who were dead, and one for her mother's soul. She understood the meaning of the additional candle. With aching heart she donned her white satin waist, which she wore on Yom Kippur only, and her black satin skirt. Then she muffled herself in a large shawl, and took the prayer-book under her arm. In the meantime Isroel removed his boots, put on galoshes, wrapped himself in his prayer- shawl, and threw his overcoat on his shoulders, the sleeves dangling down. Before leaving the house he laid his hands on his children's heads and, with tears in his eyes, blessed his sons that God might make them like unto Ephraim and Manasseh, and his daughters like unto Sarah, Rebecca, Rachel, and Leah. "Nu, let us make haste, we may miss 'Kol Nidrei,'" he said. And all, save Zipke and Shleimke, went out, with bowed heads and contrite hearts, to plead before the Lord in Granat's house of prayer. [85] Contrite Hearts It was a quiet, warm evening. The traffic of the town was hushed, and all Jews, even those who break the Sabbath throughout the year and disregarded the Jewish dietary laws, were gath- ered in the synagogues, ready to pray side by side with those who were daily steeped in prayers. As darkness was gathering, the streets in the Jewish quarter became deserted. The moon was gliding along the sky, now hiding beyond the clouds which were hastening westward like dark waves; now emerging a glittering globe of silver. Zipke was rocking the child in the basket, singing: "Der Malachel, der gutter, wet doch zein dein hitter. Shlof, zhe, shlof, mein kind." The candles were burning on the window, and the yellow, trembling flames, sputtering, bending this way and that, cast gloomy shades about the room. Every now and then Zipke glanced at the window and, struggling with fear, repeated the same song ever louder and louder. At one time she heard distinctly foot- steps on the hill. She left off singing and walked [86] The Day of Atonement up to the window on tip-toe, and, pressing her face to the window-pane, she saw a muffled figure advancing slowly. Seized with fright, she ran back to the cradle, clasped the child in her arms, and seated herself on the floor, under the table. She trembled, holding her hand out- stretched, ready to stop Shleimke's mouth in case he should start to cry. A few minutes passed. All became quiet again. Zipke put the child down on the floor, and stealthily walked over to the window. The same figure was now descending the hill. On the sidewalk, by the light of the moon, she saw her distinctly, and when the figure turned and looked back, Zipke uttered a cry. She recog- nized her sister Esther. Esther knew that no one but the little children would remain at home this night. She longed to see her home once more, and now that she beheld the four huge candles burning on the window, she understood that one of them was burning for her soul. She looked at the sky, and it appeared to her as if the passing clouds consisted of the smoke which rose from the candles burning everywhere for the souls of the [87] Contrite Hearts departed. And the stars, which now peeped out from the clouds and blinked, seemed to her as the souls of the righteous pleading before the Lord in behalf of all the children of Israel. Mechanically her lips began to move. She mumbled "Kol Nidrei," "All vows, obliga- tions, and oaths .... shall be deemed absolved, forgiven, annulled, void, and made of no effect ; they shall not be binding, nor have any power; the vows shall not be reckoned vows, the obli- gations shall not be obligatory, nor the oaths considered as oaths." [88] PART n CHAPTER I LETTERS HOME A TWELVEMONTH elapsed, healing the wounds of Isroel and Beile Reize, and forcing their life into its wonted rut. Again their life rolled on evenly, slowly, quietly, without any hitches. Though the catastrophe had left its imprint upon them, for Israel's erect frame, bent down under the weight of the misfortune, was never again straightened, and Beile Reize's eyes remained sore and dim from crying, their calm of soul and peace of mind were restored, and content- ment again hovered over everything in their home. Some people need but little in order to keep their souls in their bodies and be content, something to eat, a place to sleep, plenty of work, and faith in God. Isroel Lampert prayed again for the commu- [91] Contrite Hearts nity in Granat's synagogue; his services as shokhet were once more in demand, and his cheder had more pupils than any other Hebrew school in town. Beile Reize had heard nothing about Esther ever since that stormy night, but rumors reached her that Bobrovsky had been expelled from the university, and that he disappeared. Beile Reize's grief for Esther was drowned in her prayers for Miriam. "Dear God!" she often pleaded, "make that Miriam's star shall shine like the golden sun, and make me worthy that my eyes shall see her go to the Chupoh 1 with an upright Jew." Occasionally she also prayed for her brother Mendel, who had gone so far away, beyond the ocean, to the New World. Mendel's first letter telling of his struggles in America had cast the entire family into depres- sion. But later his epistles became less gloomy a note of cheerfulness and hope began to ring in them. And in each succeeding letter he described many things which were new to his relatives at home, and which Beile Reize related 1 Nuptial canopy. Letters Home to the women in the Beth Hamidrash and in the market-place. Sometimes Isroel himself read Mendel's letters aloud in the Beth Hamidrash. The listeners drank in each and every word, shook their heads, and for many days to come their thoughts and conversations were confined to the wonderful things going on in America. Thus he read to them one day, between the afternoon and evening prayers, a portion of Mendel's latest letter. Some fifteen or twenty elderly men sat by a long table on which were piled heavy volumes of the Talmud. Open- mouthed, their eyes instinct with eagerness, they waited for news from the New World. Near Isroel sat Naphtoli, his chin resting on his hands, his spectacles on his lofty, wrinkled forehead, his small eyes half closed. " 'This land,' read Isroel slowly, with empha- sis, 'is full of opportunities.'" "So! Full of opportunities!" broke in Izkhok the confectioner, rubbing his hands. "Nu, nu, go ahead!" "Sha!" "Sha!" " Don't interrupt !" "What's this?" cried several voices, angrily. [93] Contrite Hearts Isroel waited awhile, and went on, raising his voice : " ' This land is full of opportunities for those willing to work.' " "Aha!" Avremel the cobbler could not repress an exclamation. " 'At home we have a wrong idea about some things. Work is considered low, even degrad- ing. A tailor or a cobbler is not regarded as a man at all.' " At this point Avremel the cobbler, his cap pulled down to his very eyebrows, wriggled in his seat, blew his nose energetically, threw out his chest, and began to stroke his beard. "Look at him," remarked Isser the sexton, with a smile, "he's getting so proud that he'll expect Maftir Jonah 1 before long.' Peals of laughter greeted this remark. When silence was restored, Isroel continued: "'Here in America it is different. All are equal. Every one is free. And all roads to success are open to the able, the enterprising, the persevering.'" 1 On Yom Kippur one of the most honored members of the synagogue is called upon to recite the Book of Jonah. [94] Letters Home "Zdorovo! Zdorovo!" roared Abrashkin, striking the table with his gigantic fist. "But what he says about every one being equal, that's no good. Oh, no ! Take me, for instance. I am a Nikolayevsky under-officer, with a medal for distinction. I served the Tsar and the fatherland for twenty-five years. I have rights to live wherever I please in Moscow, in St. Petersburg, in Siberia where Jews are not permitted to live. You understand, I have more rights than other people. Oho! And there, in that America, everybody is equal. An officer, a plain soldier, a scoundrel all equal ! Nyet, brat! That's no good!" This interrupted the reading of the letter for a few minutes, as some one, in jest, made sport of Abrashkin's feeling proud of his rank, and Abrashkin was not to be silenced easily. Isroel grew impatient. "If you want me to finish reading the letter for you, you must keep perfectly quiet," he said. "Now he speaks of the Jews in America : ' There is no difference here between Jew and Gentile. People flock hither from all lands, and within a few years the Jew, the Frenchman, the German, [951 Contrite Hearts the Irishman, the Italian, all, all are proud that they have become Americans. You ask me about the Jews, about Jewish affairs, about Jewish institutions, well, we have various kinds of Jews here. Orthodox Jews these are the plain Jews, like ourselves. Reformed Jews Jews who imitate the ways of the Christians. There are also Jews here who try to be both orthodox and Reformed at the same time, that is, neither this nor that. " ' One day I went to see how they pray in the "temple" of the Reformed Jews, and (I actually did not know where I was) I felt a cold empti- ness about me, and the people sat there as though afraid to open their mouths. It all seemed to me very much like a theater, only now and then I caught a Jewish word uttered by a clean-shaven Rabbi who stood bare-headed before the sacred Ark. It seemed to me that in imitating the ways of the Gentiles who are imi- tating us, they seem to have lost that which makes prayer sacred sincerity. "'To attract the people to the "temple," they have girl choristers and an organ playing on the Sabbath and on Sunday, you must know [96] Letters Home that they pray but twice a week in the temple. "'Not long ago a Reformed Jew said to me, good-naturedly: " Orthodoxy is like a good piece of meat served upon a dirty plate. The essence, the faith, is all right, but the customs it drags along with it are old and ugly. We Reformed Jews strive to modernize Judaism." To which I replied: "It is a question yet whether our customs, being old, are ugly, and whether yours are beautiful because they are new, in other words, it is a question yet whether your plate is clean, but it is quite clear to me that there is no meat on it at all." Not only are they not like those that shed burning tears on Smolensky Depot in Moscow, who preferred to face starva- tion rather than embrace the cross and live perhaps in luxury, they do not even under- stand the spirit of those martyrs. Nor is it likely that they have among them people like those thousands of Abrashkins who, though forced in the army with knout and canes to renounce their faith, remained upright, pious Jews.' " All turned to Abrashkin, who now held his [97] Contrite Hearts long, curly, gray beard in his hand and stared at the floor. Only now that Mendel had pointed it out to them, they realized what a martyr there was in their midst, a man who had withstood temptation for twenty-five years, who sacrificed his body for the "Holiness of His name." The letter made a profound impression upon the listeners. "This breaking up of Israel into sections, these disagreements coming from within, have brought about the destruction of the temple!" declared Moshe, the writer of sacred scrolls, with a far- away look. "It's a pity that we lost such a young man as Mendel," remarked Meyer, the commissioner. "A pity! A pity, indeed!" repeated others. "What is he doing in America, Reb Isroel?" asked Avremel, the cobbler, who now grew bold enough to speak in the presence of the more prominent members of the Beth Hamidrash. "Reb Naphtoli, what is your son doing in America?" asked several people. Isroel drew the letter from his pocket, and "This is what he writes about himself. [98] Letters Home 1 Meanwhile I am working at the machine ; I am making cloaks. In America they call me an " operator"; in Moghilyov they would call me plainly a tailor. But I am not ashamed. More learned young men than I have begun here this way.'" "Ai, Ai, such a young man, with the head of a Goan, 1 working. A tailor!" The confec- tioner smacked his lips, and began to scratch his head with both hands. "Oi, Oi, Oi, America!" exclaimed several people, shrugging their shoulders. "What do you say to it, Reb Naphtoli ? Was it worth while to let Mendel go to America to become a tailor there?" Naphtoli did not reply at once. He lowered his spectacles from his forehead to his nose, and said, a smile playing over his face: "Tell me, was David a good king?" "What a question! King David! What a question!" All wondered what connection there could be between King David and Mendel. "Nu" he said, lifting his forefinger and winking his eyes, "King David was also a ' Great Rabbi. [99] Contrite Hearts shepherd, wasn't he ? And a fiddler, and com- poser of psalms. And yet all this did not interfere with his being a great king, did it? So my son may be a Talmudist and a tailor, and one thing need not interfere with the other." " In America a man must do as the Ameri- cans do," added Isroel, smoothing his beard. "When Moses went up to heaven for forty days he stayed there without food, like the angels; and when the angels came down to Abraham, they ate and drank like human beings." At this time Mordecai Granat entered, and the sexton rushed over to the Bimok, struck the table with his palm, and cried: "Maariv! Maarivl" 1 The cantor began, "Bless ye the Lord, the Blessed!" To which the congregation re- sponded, "Blessed be the Lord, the Blessed!" 1 Evening prayer. 100] CHAPTER II GRANAT AND LAMPERT ONE Friday night Isroel came home from the synagogue, radiant with joy. "Good Sabbath!" he said, greeting Beile Reize and the children. "Good Sabbath! Good Sabbath! Good Sabbath!" echoed the children, merrily. Isroel removed his soft hat, put on his skull- cap, and began to pace up and down the room, clapping his hands, snapping his fingers, singing softly: " Sholem Aleichem " "Bless me with peace, O Angels of peace, Heavenly Angels of the Holy King of kings, blessed be His name." Miriam caught up the melody and joined her father, in a low voice. Soon Yoshke, Arke, and Zipke burst into song, while Beile Reize was finishing the evening prayer, saying: "It is for us to praise the Master of all," spitting aside as a sign that she envied not the wealth of the [101] Contrite Hearts heathens, and then bowing her head to the King of kings. The candles, blessed by Beile Reize in honor of the Sabbath, burning brightly in the polished brass candlesticks; the snow-white tablecloth spread over the long table ; the two large twined loaves of white bread, partly covered with a red, embroidered cloth; the wine, the silver cup, the stuffed fish, all bespoke that Sabbath peace, repose and solemn cheer was en- throned in the little house on the hill. The song of peace was the same Isroel was wont to sing every Friday night, the same words, the same melody. But this time his voice quivered with trills of gladness and happi- ness so intense and mellifluent that it sounded altogether new. "Who can find a virtuous woman?" he soon declaimed softly, "for her price is far above rubies. . . . Many daughters have done vir- tuously, but thou excellest them all. Favour is deceitful, and beauty is vain ; but a woman that praiseth the Lord, she shall be praised. Give her the fruit of her hands, and let her own works praise her in the gates." [103] Granat and Lampert Isroel pronounced the benediction over the wine, and the cup was passed from mouth to mouth. When the turn came for Miriam to drink, Isroel remarked, jestingly: "Drink, drink, and you'll get a nice bride- groom, my daughter." "I am too young to think of bridegrooms," said Miriam, reddening, passing the cup to Yoshke. "Your mother was not much older when she went to the Chupoh." Suddenly he turned to Beile Reize and asked in a tone of triumph and pride: "Did you really think that the Uppermost had turned away from us forever, that He would never again bless us with joy?" "The Uppermost is merciful " mumbled Beile Reize. Isroel interrupted her. "A 'mazel tov' 1 is coming to us," he said, "and what a 'mazel tov'\" "A 'mazel tov'?" she wondered. "To us? May we live in luck! What is it?" "Our daughter" 1 Congratulations and wishes of good luck. Contrite Hearts "Nu, nu?" asked Beile Reize, impatiently. "Our Miriam has become a bride." ' ' Miriam a bride ! Dear God ! Isroel ! " she cried in ecstasy, as she ran over to Miriam who sat by the table, with downcast eyes, motionless. "Mazel tov to you! Mazel tov!" Her voice quivered, her sore eyes sparkled with the fire of youth. She embraced her daughter and kissed her. "Beile, why don't you ask who the bride- groom is?" said Isroel, smiling. "You wish her mazel tov before you know who he is. As I see, it is all the same to you." "If you are satisfied with him, I will surely be satisfied," replied Beile Reize. "You know, Ephraim, Reb Mordecai Gra- nat's son; not the fiddler " "Reb Mordecai Granat's son!" gasped Beile Reize, with astonishment. "Ah! What? One may be proud of such a match! Ah!" exclaimed Isroel, ecstatically. "It was this way. I was just going out of the synagogue when Reb Mordecai comes over to me and says: 'Reb Isroel, wait a while for me; [104] Granat and Lampert I want to speak with you about a certain matter.' Who would ever think that he, Reb Mordecai, would speak to me about Miriam? Nu, on the way he told me that his son, Ephraim, loves our Miriam. And Ephraim is as dear to Reb Mordecai as his eyes in his head. Ephraim is barely twenty-one, and yet the old man's affairs are all in his hands. He could make the best match in Moghilyov. The old man, I would swear, is not quite satisfied with his son's choice," he lowered his voice, "but he had to consent. Reb Mordecai may be here to-morrow." Isroel laid his hand on Miriam's shoulder and kissed her on the head. "Lift up your head, my little dove nu, what do you say to your chosen 1 ?" Miriam maintained silence. Looking at her, Isroel smiled with satisfaction and pride. While it was the smile of a father admiring his child, it was also the smile of a general per- fectly pleased with his army on the eve of a battle. Neither Isroel nor Beile Reize had ever Contrite Hearts dreamt that their Miriam would marry into the aristocratic family of Granat, and, with tears of joy, they now thanked the Lord for sending such a blessing upon their heads. They did not know what the future held in store for them. They did not suspect that another storm was destined soon to shake their peaceful life to its very foundation. Miriam lay awake all night long, and she listened with all her being to the murmuring of the river, to its dull, deep sighing, and to the whisperings of the wind. Her soul writhed in unshed tears, agitated with indefinite yet pain- ful forebodings. ******* The Jews of Moghily6v were not a little sur- prised by the engagement of Ephraim, Mordecai Granat's son, and Tsroel the cantor's daughter; but they were still more surprised when, a month later, Ephraim was taken as a recruit, and Granat's money and influence failed to accomplish for his favorite son what it had accomplished for his elder son, Saul. Mordecai's hopes of freeing Ephraim from service were shattered by an unforeseen cir- [106] Granat and Lampert cumstance. A new official had suddenly been appointed, and, unlike his predecessors, he refused to accept a bribe. In the meantime Ephraim, with a company of recruits, was sent away to the Caucasus, [107] CHAPTER III THE VIOLINIST THE second day of Rosh Hashonoh was declining, and the sons of Israel were gathered in their synagogues, devoutly chanting the psalms, and waiting for the first three stars to appear in the sky, when it would be time to offer the evening prayers, marking the passing of the holy and the advent of the profane. Saul, the first-born son of Mordecai Granat, was not in the synagogue with his father. He stood by the window at home, gazing, now at the dark waters of the Dniepr rolling southward, now at Miriam, who sat near by, watching the party-colored pigeons as they danced about before the house with coquettish gracefulness. In the distance, on the opposite side of the river, the glittering crosses and the cupolas of the churches reflected the last rays of the setting sun. Suddenly the church bells rang out, and dull, [108] The Violinist trembling volumes of sound filled the air. The pigeons began to bustle about with fright, they flapped their wings and hastily dispersed in confusion. Miriam followed them with her eyes for a while; then, as she listened to the funereal, solemn tolling, she suddenly recalled all the importance of the passing Holy Day the awe of Rosh Hashonoh, with its special prayers for forgiveness, and the Blowing of the Horn. She shuddered, and turning toward Saul regarded him steadfastly, and asked in a low voice: "Why did you not go to the synagogue?" "Because it was but yesterday that I shook all my sins into the river, 1 and therefore I can well afford to miss one prayer," he said, laugh- ing. "Besides," he added in a whisper, "I did not go to the synagogue because you are here and I like to be near you." "Saul, father will be angry," said Miriam, casting down her eyes, and toying with her long braid which lay across her shoulder. 1 In accordance with an ancient Jewish custom, called " Tash- likh," orthodox Jews go to the bank of a river on Rosh Hashonoh to " cast their sins " into the flowing waters. [109] Contrite Hearts "Thank God, I am past thirteen! What- ever sins I commit will fall on my own shoulders." They became silent again. Miriam's heart beat painfully fast. Of late she had always been seized with alarm in Saul's presence; she could not account for his strange bearing toward her. She feared him, but she was powerless to repulse him. When the church bells ceased ringing, Saul drew closer to her, and, laying his hand upon her head, asked softly: "Shall I play for you 'The Legend,' Miriam?" "On Rosh Hashonoh!" she exclaimed, lifting her head. Her eyes opened wide, mirroring at once astonishment and fright. "The holiday is over the sun has set al- ready." Saul pointed to the west. The day was dying. The sun, as if wounded, was slowly sinking in night's embrace, and the clouds, motionless, like massive blocks of opal, were turning crimson, as though bathed in blood. "But they have not yet returned from the [no] The Violinist evening prayer your father will be angry," she said restlessly, gazing out of the window. Saul straightened himself, threw out his chest, and began to stroke his small black beard. "Miriam!" he drawled out, shaking his head reproachfully. ' ' Miriam ! ' ' Then, seizing the violin which lay on the table in the corner of the room, he began to play his favorite piece, "The Legend." He was apparently very nervous. His large, black, almost circular eyes were fixed upon Miriam's perfect profile, as if half praying, half dreaming. His face quivered, his tall, thin, somewhat stooping figure swayed back and forth as the bow kept whisking across the strings, bringing forth sweet, melancholy tones. Now it was like the soft sighing of the breeze through the dense forest; now the plaintive cry of an over- burdened heart rang out, and soon mingled with deep, Jewish moans. His head was bent on one side, his lips moved so that, at times, it seemed as though the moans came not from the violin, but from his heart. Miriam listened with close attention. Her beautiful face with [in] Contrite Hearts its fine, regular features, seemed colder, more serious than usual. There was an expression of sadness in her large, dark eyes; her hair was tossed by the breeze beating against her cheek. But she did not stir. She sat as if petrified. When Saul stopped playing, and the sound of the last note died away, Miriam lifted her eyes, and fairly choking with emotion, exclaimed : "Saul, you never played like this never!" and she tossed her head back, and added: "Another moment and I would cry like a child the tears were already choking me." Saul thrust the violin under his arm and advanced toward her. "You love music, Miriam. You love art! I have noticed it on several occasions," he said abruptly. " I don't know why but whenever you play 'The Legend' I feel like crying; my heart beats so fast, it seems ready to burst, and a queer sensation takes my breath away. I love it, and yet I fear it." Miriam spoke softly, slowly, without looking at him, as though defining to herself her own feelings. Then she again [112] The Violinist lifted her eyes to him, and said, with a sad smile: "I often think there is witchery in your fiddle!" "Miriam!" he exclaimed, taking her hand into his, and gazing into her eyes. He now stood so near to her that she felt his hot breath when he spoke. "Miriam, would you want me to become great? As great a musician as Paganini, for instance, or as Wieniawsky ? Eh ? I know you would ! Well, just picture to your- self that I great, famous that I stand upon the stage of one of the greatest theaters in the world and play 'The Legend.' The audience is spellbound. It listens with bated breath. When I have finished, it bursts into wild ap- plause. It cheers me. The public wants me to play an encore, while I I stand in the center of the stage, not heeding the crowd my eyes are fixed upon a face more perfect than sculptor ever fashioned. Just picture to your- self that you sit near the stage, that you hear the deafening applause about you, that you see the beautiful women yearning for a smile, for a look from me, and you you feel that my Contrite Hearts eyes seek yours yours alone, that I care not for the crowd. You see me standing amidst magnificent bouquets and I trample them under my feet, in order to pick up the rose which you throw to me, and I wait for a sign from you, for a single little nod. Then I play again Miriam,- how would you feel?" Saul straightened himself, brushed his hair back from his forehead, and waited. "I would certainly feel proud of my brother- in-law," replied the girl, confused. "Miriam, picture to yourself that you were a still nearer relative to me " "What do you mean?" she asked per- plexedly. "Indeed, the very nearest relative of mine " "Saul! You are carried away too far by your fantasy; you are forgetting yourself!" Miriam arose from her seat. "I must go home," she said firmly, but Saul seized her by the arms. "Wait, just a minute," he muttered, quivering feverishly. "It is true I am for- getting myself in your presence, just as I forget myself when I am alone with my violin but I feel happy The Violinist "It is late," she interrupted him, freeing herself from his grasp. "Father may come at any moment." But he drew near to her again, and continued, wildly flourishing his arms: "Miriam, you must save me, you must! You must! Be mine or I'll make an end to it all! And the world will never know that I was a genius, the world will never know ! But, some- times, at night, you will jump up from your sleep; your conscience will rob you of your rest, of your peace of mind. You will feel guilty, you will feel sorry, but it will be too late!" The girl was overpowered with emotion and agitation. She could not utter a word. Her head was reeling, her heart burning. She did not know what was going on about her. And exhausted, pale and shivering, she sank back into the chair. "Miriam," went on the violinist, excitedly , "though Ephraim is a brother to me, yet I must tell you, he is not your equal, and he surely will not be your equal when he returns from the army. A soldier, whose thoughts are Contrite Hearts disciplined, forever occupied with sour cabbage soup and gruel, cannot appreciate a girl like you." He rose to his full height, and added: "Oh, Miriam, only the artist can appeal to the soul, can ennoble and uplift it by his own artis- tic soul! I'll take you away from this narrow place. I am choking here, amidst people who do nothing but pray, eat and sleep, buy and sell, and pray again! Miriam!" He bent for- ward, and, clasping her in his arms, imprinted a passionate kiss upon her forehead. With a cry of horror she shrank from his embrace, and, trembling like a wounded bird, rushed toward the door. On the threshold stood the tall, broad-shoul- dered figure of Mordecai Granat. Having en- tered the room unnoticed, he remained, as chained, near the door, when his son's last words reached his ears. "What's this?" he cried, in a voice quivering with rage. "What's going on here? Love affairs in the dark? Abomination! On Rosh Hashonoh! Come here!" he thundered. Saul hesitated a few moments, then walked up to his father. [116] The Violinist 11 My first-born ! " went on the old man. " My artist! You can't bear the people who do nothing but pray, eat, and sleep? My aristo- crat!" and he struck him a ringing blow on the cheek. "Go now!" The old man stamped his foot, and began to pace the room to and fro, with rapid strides. " Woe to my gray hair to my old age!" he muttered to himself. "Love intrigues right under my nose, while poor Ephraim is darken- ing away in the army. That means to make a laughing-stock of everybody of Ephraim, of me, of God himself that means to disgrace, to bespatter with mud, the whole family of Granat actually to put a fig under the nose " Suddenly he paused in the middle of the room, and turning to his son, cried in a resolute tone: "Sheiel, you shall leave the house to-night! Do you hear ? Not a trace of you shall be left here." "And you," he turned to Miriam, "a Jewish daughter! We'll see what Reb Isroel will say to it! Such an honorable Jew! What your ["7] Contrite Hearts grandfather will say ! Go ! Your foot shall not cross my threshold again. Begone!" "Reb Mordecai!" she said faintly. "Begone!" he cried. With her head bent upon her breast, the girl walked out of the room. CHAPTER IV ANOTHER CALAMITY ISROEL was reading a letter from Mendel, which had arrived the day before but remained unopened until the close of Rosh Hashonoh. Around the table sat Naphtoli, Beile Reize and the children, leaning forward expectantly. Miriam was not there. Suddenly the door opened, and Mordecai Granat rushed into the house. tl Nu, Reb Isroel, what do you say to it?" he exploded, pale-faced, his eyes flashing wildly, his hands trembling. "Fine, eh?" All stared at him in dismay. "Where is Miriam?" cried Granat. "What is it, Reb Mordecai?" asked the cantor, in a frightened voice. "What has happened?" He advanced toward Granat, his heart beating to suffocation. ["9] Contrite Hearts "God be with you, Reb Mordecai, what is it?" burst out Beile Reize. "I am asking you, where is Miriam?" Mordecai sputtered and shook as he spoke. "Have you seen her after maariv, or have you not? Has she told it to you, or has she not?" "What do you mean?" Israel shrugged his shoulders. "As true as I am a Jew, I don't understand you." Granat lifted his head and, knitting his brow, cried, without looking at any one: "Love intrigues! On Rosh Hashonoh! A bride!" He faced Israel and added, flourishing his arms: "If a Jewish daughter acts like this, then the world is at an end, then the world is no longer a world." Granat began to pace up and down the room, clutching his hair. "What is it? What is it? Where is Mir- iam?" cried Beile Reize, dark forebodings rushing to her heart. Mordecai paused in the middle of the room, and said, tugging at his white beard: "I have driven your daughter out of my [120] Another Calamity house. I have told her that her foot shall not cross my threshold!" "Reb Mordecai! Reb Mordecai!" exclaimed the cantor, overwhelmed, unable to utter another word. Beile Reize stood a few moments dazed by the blow. Suddenly a sob broke forth from her heart. She ran up to Granat, and cried : "Reb Mordecai, God be with you. What have you done? You had better cut our throats, and make an end to it all. Take a knife and cut our throats, let our eyes not see the disgrace." Naphtoli, who sat in silence all this while, jumped to his feet. His face was red as fire; his eyes wandered about like those of an en- trapped beast; his white, heavy eyebrows twitched continually. He struck the table with his fist, and said in a quivering voice: "Reb Mordecai, what right have you to shed our blood? Do you think that because you are Reb Mordecai Granat therefore our blood is not blood ? If you have something to tell us, tell it to us like a man." [121] Contrite Hearts Mordecai, enraged, surveyed the watchmaker several times from head to foot. "I am not speaking to you," he said, turning away from him. "Reb Isroel, I have come to tell you that I break my son's engagement to your daughter. Ephraim will not marry a girl who carries on love intrigues." "It is a lie! It is a lie!" cried Naphtoli, stamping his foot. "Miriam will not do such a thing. Say that you have changed your mind that you don't want a poor man's daughter as your daughter-in-law that you have found some one with a rich dowry. Oh, I understand you through and through." For a moment a deathlike silence fell over the room. Then Mordecai Granat cried, shak- ing his ringer at the old man : "Reb Naphtoli, it will be healthier for you if you hold your peace. 'Whoso keepeth his mouth and his tongue keepeth his soul from troubles.'" And he turned to Beile Reize. "I am telling you my own eyes have seen Miriam and my son, Sheiel, kissing. I have driven them both out of the house. My heart, like yours, is bursting from disgrace." Another Calamity Isroel sat by the table, moaning, his face buried in his hands, while Beile Reize sobbed: * ' Woe is me ! Creator of the universe ! Where- fore dost Thou punish us like this? Have mercy! Have mercy!" Granat stood awhile, lost in meditation, and walked out in silence. The blow was so sudden, so overwhelming, so terrible, that for some time Isroel and Beile Reize did not stir. Naphtoli mastered himself and broke the painful silence. "Isroel, why do we sit here with folded arms? Let us not sleep. Come, let us go out and look for her." Isroel waved his hand, despondently. "If it has been decreed that she shall come, be sure she will come," he said. "Do not depend on miracles. Come," en- treated him the old man, but Isroel made no reply. A little later he rose from the bench and, clasping his head in both hands, said, with a sigh: "I am weary of my life!" Contrite Hearts It was a night of horror in the little house on the hill. Moans and wailings rent the air inces- santly. Psalms were read and prayers offered in hysterical accents. But the slowly passing hours wore away whatever hope was still left. At midnight there was still no sign of Miriam. Beile Reize seated herself by the window, forcing her weak eyes to penetrate the darkness. She looked up and saw a lonely star in the sky, and it seemed to her that it was the eye of God. She fixed her eyes at the star, and prayed emo- tionally, the tears coursing down her cheeks: "Look down upon us. What is our life? What do we live for, if not for our children? Look down upon my daughter, and guide her steps homeward." Suddenly it appeared to her as if a cloud passed and covered the star Beile Reize felt that the Uppermost turned His eye away from her. She shuddered, her lips opened as if to say something, she heaved a long-drawn moan, everything began to whirl about her, and she sank to the ground, hugging the prayer-book to her bosom. The light of her dim eyes went out forever. CHAPTER V THE ELOPEMENT WHEN Miriam, driven from Granat's house, ran down the hill, she paused on the sidewalk, not knowing whither to go. Her heart beat painfully fast, her hands and her feet trembled, and her face, fanned by the fresh breeze from the river, was burning. She felt that something terrible had happened, something which was certain to overthrow the peace and happiness in her home. Suddenly some one touched her on the shoul- der. Miriam shuddered and, turning around, she found herself face to face with Saul. "Miriam," he said, agitated, "God himself has decreed it that we should go together. We have both been driven from the house." Miriam eyed him angrily. "What have you done? Go away. Leave me alone," she cried. Contrite Hearts Saul seized her hand and pressed it firmly. " Miriam, my love for you makes me insane!" he exclaimed in a dull voice. "If you only knew how I am suffering! Could you not see that I was not master over myself ? My feelings spoke to you. My heart was pining away, thirsting for love. My heart was on my lips when I kissed you. And now that it drank in new life, vigor, joy of living, now you are turning away from me." In disconnected sentences the violinist spoke to her, like a madman, now pleading for mercy, now reproaching her for being cruel, heartless. He told her that all was over between her and Ephraim, that his father would break their en- gagement, that her disgrace would be indelible. "Your life," he said, "will be wretched, mis- erable among these bigots. Your own father will drive you from the door, though you are as innocent as a babe. Come with me ! Whatever your eyes may see and your heart desire shall be yours. We will go far, far away into a foreign land. There we will live. Here we do not live. Come, do not hesitate, or it will be too late. I'll make an end to it all. The [126] The Elopement Dniepr will close my eyes forever. For what is my life to me, what is my youth, my art, without you?" And the naive girl, carried away by the fire and the wildness of his words, by the impetu- osity of his gestures, yielded. Two hours later they were speeding up the Dniepr on the little steamship Golubchik, bound for Orsha, whence they were to go by rail to Rotterdam, and then, across the Atlantic to the New World. Saul stood on deck, and as if intoxicated with happiness watched the black waves as they splashed against the side of the boat, and turned into foam under the noisily revolving wheels. It seemed to him that the little steamer was carrying him and his sweetheart away from misery and fanaticism, from the dreary, suffo- cating little world, where the peasant's jig was held in greater esteem than Rubinstein and Tchaikowsky; where the supreme musical au- thority was Reb Yoshe the cantor, who knew how to bellow like an ox, and bleat like a goat, in the same breath ; who had a way of changing his voice from basso to soprano, from tenor to [127] Contrite Hearts alto, while the congregation, with closed eyes and open-mouthed, listened in sweet forgetful- ness, thinking that they heard the voices of choristers singing just like the Levites in the days of the temple. Saul felt as if each puff of the Golubchik brought him ever nearer and nearer to the promised land, where fame and happiness were awaiting him. He inhaled the fresh air deeply, and kept gazing at the seething waters below. The thought of his love affair lit up his coun- tenance with pride. "Saul never does things as Izele, the confec- tioner's; or as Sholemke, the fisherwoman's ; or as Leizerke, the upholsterer's! Saul is an artist!" he said to himself, with intense satis- faction. For a moment his thoughts wandered off to his father, whose sternness had turned within the past few hours into despair. Saul saw him pale-faced, at once furious and helpless, alone, bereft of both sons. His heart sank, and for a moment, stricken with shame and remorse, he felt like returning, like falling on his knees before the old man, begging his forgiveness, [128] The Elopement embracing and kissing him. But the steamer panted and puffed on, and something told Saul that he would never again look upon his father's face. As was his wont in moments of intense agita- tion, he seized his violin, which he always carried with him, and began to play the "Legend." The passengers on deck turned toward the player and listened amid profound silence. Soon a peasant began to play his accordion noisily, while a long-haired Russian merchant, red-faced, with bloodshot eyes, and a prominent paunch, surveyed Saul from head to foot, and, advancing toward him, waving his hands, started to sing in a hoarse, drunken voice: "Ya zhidochek smirnenky." (I am a peace- ful little Jew.) But Saul eyed him steadfastly, and played on. And the tune trembled with a certain fascinating charm and melodious sadness. All became quiet. Slowly the listeners drew closer to the violinist, and when Saul finished playing, the merchant walked over to him, and, clapping him on the shoulder, exclaimed, ecstatically: [129] Contrite Hearts "Molodetz 1 ! Ha, ha, ha! Mo-lo-detz!" "Molodetz!" shouted others in the crowd. Just then Miriam came out on deck. Her eyes were full of languor and melancholy, and the features of her face betrayed an inward struggle. While sitting down-stairs in the cabin, for fear lest some acquaintance of hers might see her in Saul's company, she whiled the time away by reading Bogrov's "Memoirs of a Jew." But she had to close the book every now and then. The image of her parents rose before her eyes, their sobs and waitings rang in her ears. She hid her face in her hands, and the tears trickled down upon the volume which lay in her lap. Sometimes Ephraim would flit by in her imagination, the chaste, the kind-hearted, the gentle Ephraim, and a shudder shot through her frame. Then her thoughts drifted to Saul. She recalled his round-shouldered figure, his long, aquiline nose, the wart on his high fore- head and a sense of disgust came over her. But no sooner did she hear him play "The Legend," than a different Saul sprang up before 1 Good boy! The Elopement her a poet, a dreamer, with dark, glittering, mesmeric eyes, which held her under a certain irresistible spell. She put the book aside, and came out on deck. It was midnight. The sky looked like a huge carpet of deep blue, fastened by myriads of sparkling diamond tags. Saul and Miriam sat up all night. He spoke to her of his violin, of music; how it purifies the heart and elevates the mind. Nestling close to his breast, with her eyes closed, she listened to his soft voice, which blended with the lullaby of the splashing waters below. CHAPTER VI THE AWAKENING OF MIRIAM WITHIN two years Saul Granat became a popular violinist, and the "aristocrats" of the Ghetto threw their doors open to welcome their gifted co-religionist and countryman, who be- came intoxicated with the suddenness of his success, and filled with a sense of haughty superiority. In his triumph his bearing toward Miriam grew colder from day to day. His vehement nature craved excitement, ever new sensations, foaming life while Miriam was now forever melancholy, indifferent, almost lifeless. So Saul strayed after other gods, seeking pleasure outside of his home. Upon their arrival in New York, Miriam and Saul spoke of marrying according to the law of Moses and Israel, but Saul declared that such a step, before his reputation was firmly estab- lished, would simply make an end to all his opportunities, would block his road to success. The Awakening of Miriam "Wait, Miriam," he often told her; "let me attain my aim, and we shall make a wed- ding the like of which the world has never seen." And Miriam waited, suffering in silent resig- nation. One night Saul returned home very late from a musicale given by an East Side physician. Miriam was waiting for him, seated in the rock- ing chair, reading one of Turgenev's novels. A brisk autumn wind tossed her hair, her cheeks were yellowish pale, her eyes bore traces of tears and sleeplessness. Miriam closed the book when Saul entered the room. "Well, how was it?" she inquired, gazing up to him with animation. "Why do you ask me? If you really cared to know, you would have been there," he re- torted angrily, as he put away his violin on the piano, and removed his overcoat. "But I told you I didn't feel well," said Miriam, apologetically. Saul shrugged his shoulders impatiently. "Oh, you never feel well of late," he mut- tered, "you bore me with your with your Contrite Hearts sadness; you must have been sipping those sentimental books of yours." Miriam sprang to her feet. Her pale cheeks reddened, the pupils of her eyes widened and flashed defiance. "Saul," she articulated, regarding him fixedly, "you know why I didn't go to the doctor's house I hate to be in the way!" "You are a fool!" blurted out the violinist, turning abruptly, and walked into his room. Miriam bit her quivering lips, as if thus to hinder her bitter heart from coming out. She opened the book, seated herself in the rocking- chair, trying to concentrate her mind upon " Rudin," but she could not read. Her thoughts swam ; her eyes were befogged ; her heart worked with difficulty, like a pump out of order; some- thing was choking her at her throat; she could not draw her breath. Miriam sat motionless for a while, then she rose slowly from her seat, and threw herself on the couch near by. A loud moan broke from her heart, and she burst into sobs. For a long time she lay awake, staring at the ceiling. Sad thoughts crawled, one after another, The Awakening of Miriam into her head, and her bosom heaved nervously. When sleep overtook her at last, she dreamed that she was home again, in Russia, and some one was playing "The Legend" for her. She could not see the player, but there was some- thing in the music that, instead of soothing, irritated her. The violin screeched, screeched unceasingly. There were so many false, jarring notes in the tune that she felt she was going mad. On the next day Saul spoke but little. He replied to Miriam's questions rudely, unwill- ingly, irrationally. After dinner he said to her: "Assort my things, and I'll pack them. I am going to move "You?" she asked, in astonishment. "And I?" "You will stay here. It is better that we shall not see each other for about a month. Something is wrong with us, and time alone can set it right. I am tired of these arguments," he said, quickly, without looking at her. "What do you mean ? " asked Miriam, with a forced smile, trying to appear calm; but the muscles of her face betrayed agitation. Contrite Hearts "It will be better for us to part for a month or so. These misunderstandings between us, I cannot bear them ! And then, perhaps "Saul!" she interrupted him. Her eyes be- gan to flash. She straightened herself and eyed him closely. "Saul, you are a coward! Yes, a petty coward and a liar!" Her words were loud and clear. He flushed, wriggled about uneasily, and, pointing toward the door, said beseechingly: "Miriam, some one may hear us " "You want to marry the physician's daugh- ter," went on Miriam, paying no heed to his words. "Well, go ahead! Nobody is in your way. You are an artist you may do what- ever you please no apologies are required. A rich physician's daughter is not a bad propo- sition. Saul, let me congratulate you; you've become a rather practical business man for an artist." And she began to laugh nervously. Saul looked like a schoolboy caught, red- handed, in the act of committing a crime. His face turned pale. Suddenly he made a few steps forward, and, embracing Miriam, kissing her hands, mumbled confusedly: The Awakening of Miriam " It is not true, I swear to you it is not true, by God, it isn't" Miriam tore herself away from him. "True or not true, it is immaterial to me!" she said, with determination. " Henceforth we shall be strangers. Enough! God knows I have had enough of your art." On that day Miriam hired a room in the home of a Russian Jewish family, and the next morning she joined the army of working girls. Iwl CHAPTER VII EPHRAIM'S RETURN ON his return home from the Caucasus, Ephraim Granat found gloom and desolation where joy and happiness and love had been. His father's house, perched upon the little hill overlooking the Dniepr on one side, and the governor's park on the other, seemed as if bent down with grief for its late master, Mordecai Granat. The two-story structure, with its dark, unpainted beams and shingles, the closed shut- ters and the broken fence, produced a dreary impression upon Ephraim. His heart con- tracted with painful emotions as he walked up the familiar path leading to the garden. At the entrance he paused, leaning his arm on the wooden gate. The trees, the bushes, the little arbor, thickly overgrown with verdure, the bench beneath the drooping willow, a little distance away, all, all were the same as he had left Ephraim's Return them. Tears gathered in his eyes. He turned about and gazed at the house again. One of the shutters of the garret was half open. Ephraim recalled that, less than four years ago, when he had marched past the house, to- gether with the other recruits, his brother Saul stood there, by the same window, and waved the violin, bidding him farewell. Ephraim remem- bered the scene distinctly. His father stood in the gateway, tall, broad-shouldered, with long, white locks hanging down from under his broad- brimmed, soft hat. He stood erect, seemingly unmoved; but when Ephraim had cast a look backward, he saw the old man's face turned toward the wall. Near his father stood Miriam. He remembered how she waved the handker- chief for a long time, and, after sending him a farewell kiss, hid her face in her hands. While he, Ephraim, trying to smile, to appear calm, walked stoutly, his chest thrown out forward, his arms swinging in soldier fashion. Saul, in his room in the garret, was playing "The Legend." And as the melody grew fainter, Ephraim 's heart grew heavier, till he could no longer re- press the tears which were choking him all along. [139] Contrite Hearts Now, as he gazed at the garret window, a sense of profound melancholy took possession of him. He felt that he was all alone, without love, without home, without hope. The clear sky and the fragrant air intensified his heaviness of heart. Somehow, it seemed to him that Fate, having crushed him with her cruelties, was now mocking him. Crestfallen, he turned hastily, and, descending the path, found himself on the board-walk of the street. It was about seven o'clock in the morning. The town was coming to life again, after its night's rest. The shutters of the houses were thrown open ; the storekeepers were sweeping the sidewalks in front of their stores, getting ready for business; the stout, broad- shouldered cabmen made the sign of the cross as they stationed themselves on the square, prepared for the day's work. Bearded and ear- locked Jews were hastening to the synagogues, carrying their prayer-shawls and phylacteries under their arms. Ephraim walked quickly, paying no attention to the passers-by. He directed his steps to the Beth Hamidrash. [140] Ephraim's Return "Peace be with you!" Isser the sexton greeted him warmly. ' ' How are you ? ' ' "Peace be with you!" replied Ephraim. Within a little while most of those in the Beth Hamidrash greeted him, wishing him peace, and asking after his health. Ephraim then stepped aside and, stationing himself in his father's place, leaned his right arm against the wall, closed his eyes, and prayed emotionally. Before leaving, he prayed, in a voice quivering with tears, for the repose of his father's soul ; and the people behind him punc- tuated his Kaddish with solemn, long-drawn amens. While he was folding his phylacteries the congregation broke up into small groups, dis- cussing something in whispers. Ephraim felt that they were speaking of him. Soon the voice of the sexton rose above the whispering voices of the others. Ephraim heard the sexton say, with a sigh: "What four years can bring to a man! It wasn't enough that his brother ran off with his bride, so Reb Mordecai, peace be with him, had to pass away. Now they say the fiddler is Contrite Hearts about to marry a rich physician's daughter over there. A lively world, this!" "May his heart be fiddling so that no physi- cian should be able to help him!" interposed some one, in a deep basso. Ephraim left the synagogue, depressed, filled with painful thoughts. And his heart was sud- denly seized with anxiety to run from these surroundings, amidst which he felt himself as desolate as a rock. CHAPTER VIII THE SHATTERED NEST IN the afternoon he went to see the Lamperts. A queer sensation came over him when he entered the vestibule. Recollections of Miriam, of his dreams of happiness, rushed upon him; and he felt as though he was nearing a cemetery where the remains of his dearest friend reposed. Though everything seemed unchanged, out- wardly, he now realized that the ties which had united him with these surroundings were broken. His heart stood still as he touched the door- knob. For a moment a thought flashed through his mind that it was better to return without seeing them, lest his coming might reopen their old wounds. But his yearning to see these people of boundless faith and uprightness, whom he loved and respected, conquered him, and he entered. Isroel rose from his seat by the table, around [143] Contrite Hearts which sat a dozen boys studying Isaiah. The cantor had become old during the four years of Ephraim's absence. His hair was streaked with gray, his figure was bent still more, and he wore spectacles. "Ephraim!" he uttered, overwhelmed with emotion. "Sholem aleichem, Reb Isroel! How are you all?" Ephraim greeted him, shaking his hand. ' ' You had better not ask . Troubles, troubles a sea of troubles. New ones every day," said the cantor, adjusting his skull-cap, and button- ing his vest. Then he waved his hand and added, with a sigh: "But who of us has no troubles?" "Itchke!" he suddenly cried, addressing one of the boys at the table. "Stop making that noise ! Look over the next chapter meanwhile ! ' ' Isroel walked over to the bedroom door, and said: "Beile Reize, do you know who is here? Ephraim!" Beile Reize shuddered. "Ephraim," she called, "Ephraim. Ask him to come over." The Shattered Nest Isroel took the young man by the arm and pointed at Beile Reize. "See what has become of her. That night, when you know, your father, peace be with him, wrote you, that night she lost her eyesight. And now she is paralyzed." Ephraim lowered his eyes, unable to speak. The sight of the helpless woman unmanned him. "Ephraim," she called faintly, "come nearer to me. How are you, my child?" Ephraim advanced a few steps toward the bed. "God has punished us all." The blind woman's face, emaciated, pale, contracted convulsively as she added: "Nu, we are suffering in this world, therefore it will be better for us in the other world!" "Isroel," she begged suddenly, "make them to keep quiet there. The ' murderers ' don't let me live." Isroel removed his leather belt, turned around, thrust his head out of the door, and cried, shaking the belt: "Itchke! Shleimke! Gershke! Ska I Let there be silence!" [i4S] Contrite Hearts The "murderers" fell silent for awhile. "When they begin to make noise I feel as if a company of soldiers were marching through my head," complained Beile Reize. "Yes, the Uppermost has punished us all." Ephraim's heart was overflowing with bitter- ness. ' ' The Uppermost ! the Uppermost ! Where is the justice of punishing such people as you are ? Of making you suffer?" "Do not speak like this," said Beile Reize, endeavoring in vain to lift herself. "Ephraim, no man knows the ways of the Lord," declared Isroel. "No man knows the ways of the Uppermost," repeated Beile Reize. Silence reigned for several minutes. Sud- denly a moan came from the corner of the room. "What is it, Yosele?" inquired the father. "Nothing," replied the boy. Ephraim glanced toward the direction where the boy lay, a picture of suffering. His cheeks were yellow, sunken in, his eyes mirrored fright and acute pain. [146] The Shattered Nest "What is the matter with Yosele?" asked Ephraim. Isroel shook his head. "Eh, what do you know? It's terrible, terri- ble! Where is one to take strength to bear all this ? ' The waters have reached unto the head.' A child an innocent child he does not touch a fly on the wall. He goes his way, inter- feres with no one, and thanks God if he is let alone. He goes to Shule with a prayer-book in his hand. Comes a band of Gentile boys attacks him with canes and breaks his leg makes him a cripple for life. To-day is just six weeks since he was laid up in bed." " It is terrible ! ' ' exclaimed Ephraim . ' ' Such a young child already suffering because he is a Jew. A thing like this can drive one mad! When I see a child suffering, an innocent child who can do no wrong, it breaks my heart. It seems to me that the sight of a child suffering makes more non-believers than all the books that have been written against religion." "Ephraim, speak not like this. It is a sin. The ways of the Lord are a mystery to us," said the cantor. Contrite Hearts "Perhaps it is better that we should suffer here," put in Beile Reize, her half-open eyes glassy, expressionless, her face almost lifeless. "Our life on earth is short. Sixty years seventy. But there in the World of Truth where our souls will rest until the resurrection of the dead there we will therefore be free from suffering." The sincerity and resignation with which the blind woman uttered these words awed Ephraim into silence. "Come into the other room; we'll drink a glass of tea," Isroel suggested after a while. They seated themselves by the table, and while Zipke prepared the samovar they discussed various matters, but the subject nearest to their hearts Miriam was not even mentioned. Suddenly Ephraim asked : "Have you received any letters from Mendel lately? How does he fare in America?" "Thank God, thank God," replied Isroel. "We get letters from him every two three weeks. He works hard there. Before, he worked at the machine. Now he has learned cutting and designing cloaks. Thank God, he [148] The Shattered Nest is satisfied, he writes. He has even sent us some money for the holidays. Would that all Jewish children were like Mendel." "Do you know, Reb Isroel, it may be that I will meet him before long," said Ephraim. "Why, do you intend to go to America?" "I am all alone here, anyway. Our business has gone under since my father died. I'll sell the house, and go. Something draws me thither." "Nu, may God grant you luck. Mendel has written to us several times, begging us to come there, too. He wants to send us steamship tickets, but how can we go? Beile Reize Yosele" he pointed toward the bedroom, and heaved a sigh. "It is evidently decreed that our bones shall remain here. Reb Naphtoli, Mendel's father, may go soon, however. He is anxious to see his son." They drank tea, and Isroel read aloud some of Mendel's letters. Before Ephraim departed, Beile Reize blessed him, laying her hands on his head, mumbling inaudibly. When the boys in the adjoining room noticed [149] Contrite Hearts Ephraim bending over the blind woman, they burst into laughter. Beile Reize shuddered, and said in a quivering voice: "Children, do not laugh at a blessing! Do not laugh at a blessing!" PART in CHAPTER I THE SHOP FROM a life of misery Miriam plunged into a life of toil. She suddenly found herself transformed into a new being, self-possessed, resolved to blot Saul out of her memory, to start life anew. It was during the busy season that she had looked for work, and she experienced but little difficulty in securing it as a week hand at ladies' neckwear in a large establishment on Broadway. At first her work did not come out satisfactorily; she had to rip it over and over again, and as the girls are seldom kind to new hands, Miriam frequently went home in the evening down- hearted, disappointed. But before six months had elapsed she mastered the work so well that she became a "sample" hand. By this time Miriam's life blended with the life of the work- ing-girls, she shared their tears and sorrows, their laughter and their joys. [i53] Contrite Hearts Amidst the roaring of the machines, tragedies were sometimes revealed to Miriam by her shop mates, tragedies beside which her own troubles seemed as naught. Then again it hap- pened that tales of joy enlivened her day's work. About her on all sides worked upwards of a hundred girls, Russian, Roumanian, Austrian, German, Irish, Italian, and American girls, girls of Jewish faith, Catholics and Protes- tants. There were some old maids there who hated men because they had been deceived by them; others who hated men because they had never been noticed by them. Then there were still others of whom the younger girls said that an hour before death they would die to get married. Most of these were sour, melancholy, sickly, pale-faced, blear-eyed, flat-chested. There was an Italian girl near Miriam, who kept inviting her to her wedding. " Come, I'll give you a good time," she begged. "You'll get the sandwiches, the apples, the bananas, the cakes, the beer, all for nothing. No charge. You'll see my man. Nice curly hair, big mustache. Come, Miriam. All for nothing." f*54] The Shop Right opposite Miriam sat a girl, about eighteen years of age, with large, dreamy eyes, who spent her evenings in reading whatever came her way, from Shakespeare to the blood-and-thunder dime novels, and who dreamed while she worked of marrying an old millionaire who would die an hour after the wedding, leaving all his fortune to her. Next to her sat a spectacled hemstitcher whose eyes bore an expression of despair. She had been engaged three times within two years, three times all the shop mates had kissed her, wishing her good luck, and three times she returned and cried as she broke to them the news that her love affairs had come to grief. There were girls there whose earnings con- stituted the main support of their families; there were others who worked just for their "pin-money"; there were widows there who toiled that their sons or daughters might go to college. And as Miriam sat among these workers who stitched their dreams, their tears, their hopes into the fancy collars which were to adorn perhaps some happy women's necks, a vast Contrite Hearts panorama of a hundred little worlds unfolded before her. She alone, of all the girls, knew the secrets of each and every one of them. In her confided the light-minded flirt as well as the grief-stricken bearer of burdens; for they all found in her a ready listener, a comforter in hours of sorrow, a counsellor in time of embar- rassment. And she often forgot herself in her surroundings. Sometimes Miriam, bending over the ma- chine, her hands and eyes fixed upon her work, would start one of her father's sad Hebrew songs, or her favorite Russian song, "The Nightingale." "Why, O senseless nightingale, o'er my window dost thou sing?" she would begin, plaintively. "Knowest not that in this house a Jewess dwells? That a Jewess, child of want and persecution, here, in painful sorrow and oblivion, drags the yoke of life? No, not cheerful notes, but wailings in my ears resound. Hush, O senseless singer, I cannot bear thy songs." Her voice trembled with melodious moaning which, like a wounded bird, struggled with the The Shop incessant clatter of the machines. Now some of the girls, Christian and Jewish alike, even those who knew not the meaning of the words, caught the tune and hummed with Miriam, and the machines shrieked and screeched as if to deafen the wild rhapsody of sighs and moans, striving to deaden, as it were, by their voices of steel, all that was human in the place, or, at least, to shut out from the outer world the tempest of passions that surged within the workers' breasts. The sadness of Miriam's songs often drew tears from many an eye. Sometimes a sob would rend the air. The song would suddenly die out, the wounded bird, as it were, de- feated, was powerless to keep up the struggle with the ever screaming monsters. Sometimes the sob came from a girl thinking of her dying father at home ; sometimes from one reflecting the lot of her sister who had been forsaken by her husband ; sometimes it was from one whose thoughts were with her consumptive fiance. For a few moments two or three machines would stop, and soon again feet pressed the [i57] Contrite Hearts treadles, hands straightened the fancy collars, and tear-stained eyes followed the stitches fixedly. And the rattle grew louder and louder. Occasionally the sun would peep out for a while from beyond the clouds, a cheerful note would disperse the depressing gloom in the shop. The announcement of an engagement of one of the girls marked a great event in the life of her shop mates. The engagement ring was usually passed from hand to hand, and by the size of the diamond opinions were formed and expressed as to the fiance's financial standing. Questions were heaped upon the fortunate hand as to his appearance, his occupation, as to the color of his hair and eyes and mustaches. Frequently most of these things were known to the girls much in advance of the announcement, for some girls delighted in re- lating the development of their love affairs day by day. One morning the spectacled hemstitcher who had been engaged three times took her shop mates by surprise by announcing to them that she was engaged once more, and to substantiate The Shop her claim she produced a small watch presented to her by her young man. "You know," she explained, "I received a ring each time before, but the rings always brought me bad luck. So I told him to get me a watch instead." Like a flash of lightning the news spread over the place. * ' Malvina is engaged ! Malvina is engaged ! ' ' passed from mouth to mouth. "You had better hurry up this time!" "Whatever you do, don't delay the wedding," the girls advised her. But their surprise was still greater when she said to them, choking from excess of emotion: "My wedding will take place two weeks from to-morrow. I intended to work another week, but Jake begged me to stop to-day, at dinner time. He'll wait for me down-stairs." "Then you'll leave together with Carie!" exclaimed several hemstitchers. "Wouldn't we have fun, though!" Carie, the Italian girl near Miriam, was a piece-worker, and she came in this morning to finish some work left over from the previous day. Contrite Hearts These two hands, Malvina and Carie, were the center of attraction during the forenoon. Everybody watched them, winking, smiling, occasionally hurling a good-natured jest at them. At eleven the operators and the finishers made a collection, each contributing a penny, and sent down the small errand girl for several pounds of rice. A heap of old shoes lay in readiness in the dressing-room. Intense excitement was felt in the atmosphere. The girls talked as they worked, laughed, sang popular songs. Behind Miriam, not far from Malvina, sat an old maid who bore the spectacled hemstitcher a grudge, and she now hastened to avail herself of the last opportunity to square matters with her. "Marriage," she said loudly, to her neighbor, "is like getting a new dress the most inter- esting thing about it is that you build castles in the air. You picture to yourself how beautiful it will all be the changeable silk, the lace- trimmed yoke, the lace collar. And when you get it at last, you are usually dissatisfied with one thing or another. But imagine," and she [160] The Shop winked at Malvina, ' ' imagine that this happens three times in succession and you can't tell how the fourth will turn out " Miriam regarded her reproachfully, and said : " Annie, you ought to be ashamed to speak like this to one who has been so sadly disap- pointed." At this moment the steam was shut off. A long-drawn screech announced the dinner hour. Suddenly all began to bustle about hither and thither. The two brides the Jewish hem- stitcher and the Italian finisher went from one girl to the other and kissed them all "Good-by." All misunderstandings, all petty quarrels, all hatreds and jealousies, were sud- denly forgotten. The brides were intoxicated with happiness, and their shop mates, infected by this happiness, made themselves merry, like small children, they danced and jumped, and sang, and giggled, their eyes flashing, their faces aflush. Soon the elevator stopped in order to take the brides away from the place where more than ten years of their life had been spent. As they were about to step into the elevator, [161] Contrite Hearts scores of old shoes were thrown at them, and rice was showered upon their heads from all sides, amidst lively exclamations and blessings. "Step down with your right foot first," cried several girls. " Don't forget to come up to my wedding, Miriam," begged the Italian girl, from the elevator. "All right, Carie, I will come," replied Miriam. The girls, still excited, hastened to eat their lunch, after which they were again to "turn the wheels," to hem, to gather, to bind, to feather- stitch, and to scallop the fancy ties and collars. Miriam had just washed her hands after her lunch and was about to sit down to work, when Rosie, the girl with the dreamy eyes, ran over to her and said: "Miriam, you ought to see! There is a girl waiting for the forelady, looking for work, I suppose, just the image of you ! Like two drops of water. Only she's a trifle taller than you." "Really?" asked Miriam, indifferently. Her mind was now occupied with a new, very com- [162] The Shop plicated sample which was given to her after the other 'sample' hand had tried in vain to make it. "I am telling you, she looks exactly like you," persisted Rosie. "Her eyes, her hair, her nose, her mouth, just like yours. Come, you'll see for yourself." Saying this she dragged Miriam away toward the other end of the loft. The forelady had not yet returned from her lunch, and several girls in quest of work were waiting for her. They sat, without speaking to one another. Some looked over the morning newspapers; others were absorbed reading paper-covered novels; still others gazed into vacancy, fatigued, despond- ent. And by the expression of their eyes it was evident that they had walked many an hour that morning, searching for work. "Look, the third from the left," said Rosie, pointing with her finger at the girls seated be- hind the railing, a little distance away. "Wait, she's reading a newspaper now, she'll look up right away." They stood a while arm in arm, watching the third girl from the left. [163] Contrite Hearts Suddenly Miriam shuddered. Her head re- clined on Rosie's shoulder, she uttered a moan, and staggered, about to faint. "What's the matter with you? Are you sick?" cried Rosie, frightened by the expression of Miriam's pale face. "Please," muttered Miriam, mastering her- self somewhat, "find out her name." Rosie rushed away around the railing, while Miriam remained standing near the forelady's table, hiding her face in her hands, waiting. Was it possible that her eyes did not deceive her, she wondered. Her heart leaped violently, and she breathed with difficulty, as if something heavy had suddenly struck her on the chest. Presently she heard Rosie's voice, as in a dream : "Her name is Esther Lampert." Miriam tossed her head back, turned around, and cried in a dull tone: "It is my sister!" She attempted to run, but her head fell back, and she sank down on the low table. When she opened her eyes, Esther was bend- ing over her. For a moment the sisters gazed [164] The Shop at each other, speechless; then Esther clasped her arms about Miriam's neck and kissed her. Both wept. Esther released her grasp for a while, retreated a step, and, surveying her sister, embraced her again, mumbling: "Miriam, how you have changed!" Miriam could not say a word, while Esther plied her with questions: "How do you come here? Are they all in America ? How are they, - father, mother, the children, Mendel, grandfather?" "Later later," Miriam blurted out, coming to herself, "I have many things to tell you." [165] CHAPTER II THE SISTERS IN the evening of that same day Esther re- moved her trunk to Henry Street where Miriam boarded with an elderly couple who had seen better days in Moscow, whence they had been driven together with the rest of their unfortunate brethren. Having been swept off their feet by the ukase of the Tsar, they followed the stream of emigration to America. Upon their arrival in New York, they started in the jewelry busi- ness, which swallowed their capital within one year. So they opened a private restaurant as a last resort in their five-roomed home. The old couple worked hard. She who had lived in luxury now cooked and baked for others; and her husband helped her set the table, wash the dishes, scrub the floors, wash the clothes. It was not easy for the old man to reconcile himself to his new life. He often sighed and grumbled [166] The Sisters and shed tears as he recalled the bygone days; while his wife bore her burdens courageously and cheerfully. "The past isn't worth a blown-out egg," she would say. "What we did at home, how we lived there, we must forget all this. We must drive it out of our heads. It is like a dream. This is America. Everybody works here. Richer Moscow merchants have become here pushcart pedlers on Hester street." Their earnings during the first few months were so scanty that they hardly covered the rent, and they were compelled to take in two or three boarders. It was then that Miriam made her home with them. The old couple at once became attached to her. They learned her sad history, and they treated her with kindness, as if she were their own daughter. "Would that the enemies of Israel were as able to breathe as Miriam is able to work," said the old man one evening; "she is wasting away, like a candle, from day to day." "It is not from work," replied the old woman. "It is from worry. Is it a trifle? What she has lived through in three years! It's enough [167] Contrite Hearts to turn one's hair gray. Everybody is talking about Saul Granat about his concerts; about his wedding. Another girl would have dark- ened his life, would have sued him for breach of promise, that scoundrel. But Miriam weeps only when no one sees it." When Miriam and Esther, on their return from the shop, sat down to eat their supper, there were but the other two boarders at the table, Hyman the operator, and Luria, chair- man of five women's lodges. Hyman was a man whose age and whose past no one knew. He was clean-shaven, his hair was parted in the middle; he always wore light, checkered trousers and patent leather shoes. He spoke little, and when some one asked him for his opinion on any question, he invariably shrugged his shoulders, and replied with a squeaking laugh: "Eh, whom does it concern?" He worked at men's coats, and always waited impatiently for a strike to break out in his shop. Then he would stay at home and, sitting by the window for hours, sing songs which he had learned at the Jewish theater. He would re- [168] The Sisters turn to work only when his last cent gave out. Luria, seated at the other end of the table, was about seventy years of age, solidly built, neatly dressed. His snow-white hair was care- fully combed from one side of the head to the other to cover the baldness of the crown; his beard and mustaches were trimmed according to the latest fashion. Luria was very particular about his appearance, for he considered it essen- tial to his business. At the women's lodges, each of which paid him from fifty to seventy-five dollars annually for conducting their meetings and keeping them in order, he had to be impres- sive in appearance as well as in manner, in order to succeed. He now smacked his lips noisily as he ate, and kept wiping the perspiration off his face. "An old man is but the shadow of a man," he said, adjusting his spectacles and regarding the sisters with an attempt at a smile. "An old man mimics, he smiles, he laughs, but cannot do anything. The only pleasure left to an old man is eating. And I imagine that half the taste is lost when you try to be polite at [169] Contrite Hearts table, when you try to eat without making any noise, for instance. As if you were eating merely to please others. What do you say, Hyman?" The old man turned to the operator, when he noticed that the sisters did not seem to encour- age his view. "Eh, whom does it concern? I eat as I please," replied Hyman. The old man resumed his meal, smacking his lips, and wiping the perspiration from his face. Miriam and Esther maintained silence throughout the supper. Each thought of what the other had gone through since they had parted. They were still as dazed by the sud- denness of their meeting that day. After supper they hastened into their room, and spoke, and kissed, and wept in each other's embrace. Esther's story was brief, but laden with grief and suffering and hardships. From Moghily6v she went with Bobrovsky to Kharkov, where they led a life of terror, of sleepless nights and restless days, for Bobrovsky was a Nihilist. One night he left her and disappeared. Later she learned that he was seized with some of [170] The Sisters his friends while carrying on revolutionary propaganda. About five months after that word reached her that he died of consumption while on the way to Siberia. "You see," said Esther, "it was not love alone, there was something else that drew me away from home. There was the fascina- tion of some great ideal, of an act of heroism which had turned my head. When I looked at Bobrovsky, when I heard him speak, when I beheld the enthusiasm, the fire, the power with which he discussed his ideals, his dreams, his schemes, I felt that I was face to face with the savior of Russia, with the savior of the downtrodden, the oppressed, the weak. . . . Do not think it was easy for me to tear myself away from you all. My heart was bleeding, but I was carried away by an indefi- nite yearning to aid a great cause, I felt that I must make a sacrifice, though I did not quite realize what it was that I wanted to see accomplished. Yet I felt that I must show my firmness of character, my power of will." "You brought misery upon our poor parents through your firmness of will," said Miriam, [171] Contrite Hearts mournfully, "and I did the same because of the weakness of my character." "And after all" Esther's voice shook, her head bent down, and she added: "After all I was disillusioned. I learned later that he was not the idealist he claimed to be. It is empty here" she struck her breast "a sepulcher where my dreams, my hopes, are buried. Life has driven her claws into them and has crushed them." Esther paused. Outside a street organ was playing from "Traviata," and the plaintive notes wafted sadness into the half dark room. The sisters sat in silence for some time. Meanwhile the dining-room became enlivened by those who patronized the Moscow merchant's private restaurant. There was a Russian stu- dent, a short, stout, pug-nosed, bald-headed individual, who fairly bristled with life, who stood up for Russian education and Russian literature with the zeal of a fanatic. Near him sat a young, pale, large-eyed, thin-faced German, who calmly besprinkled anything and every- thing with pessimistic remarks. Next came a socialist who on all occasions "quoted" Karl [172] The Sisters Marx, without ever having read him. Opposite the Russian student sat a short, dark man, with dark eye-glasses and a dark suit of clothes, who always hummed a sad melody after supper. Then there was a young man, with large, pro- truding cheek-bones and small eyes, who had returned from America to Russia to serve there in the army. He always spoke in military terms. Some one said something about dowries. "I know a man who did not speak to his wife for thirty years just because he had been cheated out of the dowry by his father-in-law," remarked the dark man with the dark eye- glasses. "You say dowries dowries," broke in Mr. Luria, opening his toothless mouth in an attempt to smile. "When I was twenty years old I was at the head of a Talmudic academy in Minsk. My father-in-law was very much sat- isfied with me. He promised to give me three hundred rubles on the day of my wedding. In those days three hundred rubles was money! Well, to make it short, he fooled me. Instead of three hundred he gave me fifty. He fooled Contrite Hearts me and was glad that he struck such a bargain. Just think of it ! A son-in-law a Rosh Yeshivo ! And for nothing, you may say. But the plough struck against a rock. Rather than remain the fool, I resolved to fool him to let him know that I was not a bargain at any price, that whatever he paid was overpaid. I closed the Talmud just to spite him, and turned to com- merce." "Ha, ha, ha! Is it possible that you never look into the Talmud now?" asked the Ger- man, slowly, with an air of importance; and everybody knew that he was about to hit off some philosophical remark. But Mr. Luria never gave people an opportunity to take ad- vantage of him. So, fearing lest the German should somehow slight him, he hastened to say, with feigned seriousness: "I need not study! I need not pray! Does the prayer-book need to pray? Does the Tal- mud need to study? Ha, ha, ha! I am the prayer-book! I am the Talmud! I know everything by heart." "The old man is all right," exclaimed the socialist, while the others laughed. [i74] The Sisters Soon the conversation turned to religion; from religion it drifted to love. The Russian student declared that love was self -hypnotism, while the German argued that there was no such a feeling as love at all. Then they spoke of the poverty of the masses, of Socialism, of degeneration, of hypocrisy. "You say socialism, socialism," cried Luria, hotly, twisting his mustaches, and eying the socialist; "let me tell you what happened to a socialist 'agitator' I know. He came of good orthodox stock, but already on the way to America he shook off whatever customs and traditions had clung to him. In Germany he dropped his phylacteries and 'fringes/ and left off praying. And on the steamer he threw his mother's wig into the ocean. The poor old woman was on the verge of madness over the loss of her only wig. But the son mocked the custom of wearing wigs as an Asiatic, supersti- tious, bewhiskered affair, and declared that they must face the Statue of Liberty as free people, free from absurd, old-fashioned cus- toms, and there, beyond the gates of Colum- bus, start life anew. Contrite Hearts "He soon became a shirt-operator and then a full-fledged socialist. During political cam- paigns he went about spellbinding crowds on the street corners by telling them that Karl Marx was their Moses, and Lassale their modern Isaiah. "Thus he worked by day, ' turning the wheel,' and 'agitated' by night, dreaming wild dreams of revolution and the overthrow of the present system. Suddenly a change came over the socialist, a complete change. A dark-eyed, dimple-cheeked girl, his shop mate, stirred up new emotions in his breast. "Well, to make it short, one evening last week he donned a high hat and a hired frock- coat; his everyday red tie made room for a white cravat, just as his red-hot socialist principles paled before the face of love. As soon as the reverend pronounced the benediction over the wine, the socialist, who had mocked all Jewish customs, solemnly placed the wedding ring upon the bride's finger, saying: 'Thou art herewith consecrated unto me according to the law of Moses and Israel.'" "It must have been a Social Democrat, Mr. The Sisters Luria. It couldn't be a Socialist Labor Party man!" exclaimed the socialist, with pathetic earnestness. Soon Nietzsche and Schopenhauer were dragged into the conversation by the German; the Russian swore by Tolstoy and Turgenev and Chekhov and Gorky; the dark- spectacled man sang the praises of Verdi and Meyerbeer and Wieniawsky; the socialist quoted Marx; Luria, the chairman of the women's lodges, argued that the stomach ruled the mind, that dyspeptic philosophers could not help being pessimists, and that to be an optimist one's stomach must be in perfect order. In the corner of the room, near the ice-chest, stood the ex-soldier and, holding Hyman the operator by the lapels of his coat, told him of his experiences in the army. "Now, how would you turn if I commanded 'Pravoye ply echo vperyod!'" suddenly asked the ex-soldier. " Eh, whom does it concern ?" replied Hyman, with a shrug of the shoulders. And the once prosperous Moscow merchant and his wife ran from the dining-room to Contrite Hearts the kitchen, and back, serving tea to their customers. "I was disillusioned," repeated Esther, after a prolonged pause. "How much better was it for us at home, before we knew such names as Wieniawsky, Schopenhauer, or Karl Marx, or Tchernishevsky, or the other names of which they are speaking there in the dining-room." Somehow it seemed to Esther that all those in the adjoining room, who voiced lofty senti- ments, who philosophized and theorized about the betterment of humanity, were egoists at the bottom of their hearts, each working for his own good. She felt that in leaving her home where faith in God reigned supreme, the faith which was mocked by the people in the adjoining room, she had left behind a calm, crystal stream, and found herself in a sea of unrest, alluring from afar with phosphoric brightness, but in reality turbulent and muddy. Both sisters sat in silence, thinking that their lives were crippled by dreams of Art, by dreams of bettering the world, of saving humanity. In the dining-room the Russian student suddenly began to sing, passionately: The Sisters "Ochi chornyia, ochi strastnyia, ochi zhguch- yia e prekrasnyia, kak lyublyu ya vas, kak boyus ya vas" 1 The street organ was now playing on the next block, and in the distance the notes from "Traviata'' sounded more mournful than before. The sisters sat, with bowed heads, speechless. Suddenly Miriam said: "Let us go to sleep, Esther. We must get up early to-morrow. They are very particular in this shop that the hands should be there on time in the morning." 1 "Dark eyes, passionate eyes, burning, beautiful eyes, how I love you, how I fear you " [X79] CHAPTER III IN QUEST OF MIRIAM WHEN Ephraim Granat landed in New York, he was but little impressed by his new sur- roundings. The thousands of push-carts on the streets of the East Side; the bearded men and bewigged women, swarming about, shouting out their several wares in a language which was half foreign to him; the huge tenement-houses; the half naked children, sweltering, sleeping here and there on the stoops of the houses, and even on the sidewalks, all this was new to Ephraim, yet he paid no heed to it. His thoughts were bent on learning the fate of Miriam. He was seized with an irresistible yearning to see her, to speak to her, to deliver to her the message from her dying mother. Not that he was eager merely to carry out the last wish of one who departed this world, but he felt that Beile Reize's message contained sentiments that throbbed in his own heart. [180] In Quest of Miriam He searched for Mendel all day long, but his efforts proved fruitless, for Mendel had left New York a few weeks before. So Ephraim directed his steps to the synagogue of his Ameri- canized townspeople, in the hope of learning there something of Miriam's whereabouts. But there too he met with disappointment. On the next day be chanced upon Meyer, the commissioner, who used to go to Moscow and to Warsaw as a buyer for Moghilyov firms. Here he was known as Mr. Simkin the tea- pedler. And Mr. Simkin supplied Ephraim the longed-for information. "The Rubins are my customers," he told him, proudly. "They keep a private restau- rant. You know I have several private res- taurants for my customers. One day I brought them tea. We began to talk. Mr. Rubin asked me what part of Russia I came from. I told him I came from Mohilev. 'From Mo- hilev ? Then you know perhaps Miriam Lam- pert, the cantor's daughter ? ' ' What a question ! ' said I. 'Who does not know Reb Isroel the cantor's daughter? What about her?' I asked. ' She boards with us,' he told me. And how he [181] Contrite Hearts praised her! I was there several times since then, but I never met her, because I usually come around that neighborhood in the daytime, and she is working. Now, I heard, she is sick. They say that she is suffering from terrible dreams; that she always hears a certain piece of music in her dreams, and then she tears her hair, and sobs." The tea-pedler shook his head, and added: "Your brother, the fiddler, the infidel, the pagan, cares not a pinch of snuff for her! You have come just in time for his wedding may he rather wed the angel of death! That infidel, that /m'/e-eater, who never prays, but plays, that is, works, on the Sabbath, and even on Rosh Hashonoh and Yom Kippur." Ephraim grew impatient. He wanted to run to Miriam, but the tea-pedler continued: "What do you say to Mendel, Reb IsroePs brother-in-law? Ah! He has worked himself up! Don't you know? He worked before as a plain cloakmaker, on the machine. What trouble he had in the beginning! Every bone in his body ached him. His fingers were sore. He used to break twenty needles a day. In- [182] In Quest of Miriam deed, how does a young man like Mendel come to work on a machine ? But need breaks iron. He worked hard, like an ox ; and in the even- ing he went to school to learn English. Ah! You ought to hear him talk English. He can even make a fine speech! Well, he began to save money, and learned cutting and designing. What a head he has! Well, now a rich man took him as a partner in his business. In Pitts- burg, I would swear. We were so sorry that he left New York. You should have heard him say a page of Mishnah in our Beth Hamidrash, or a piece of Midrash, or simply translate a chapter of Isaiah, or the Song of Songs. How sweet! What brilliant ideas! Our congrega- tion that is, a majority of votes decided even to keep him by the year. But he says he does not want to make any money from the To- rah. Every Saturday afternoon he used to ' say ' something in our Beth Hamidrash. And he never took a cent from us, even when he was in need at first, as true as I am a Jew. A young man like Mendel is a blessing to God and to man." "Do you think Mendel knows where Miriam lives? Has he seen her?" asked Ephraim. [183] Contrite Hearts " How could he know ? The Rubins became my customers but recently, a week after Mendel had left New York, and I was going to write him about Miriam, but I don't know his address." Ephraim was downcast when he took leave of the tea-pedler. He walked briskly, swaying his hands, and now and then stopping to inquire of the passers-by how to reach his destination. He turned into Henry Street, and presently found himself at the door behind which he hoped to find Miriam. His heart beat violently when he knocked. The door opened slowly, and Mrs. Rubin came out. Short and stout, dark- complexioned, her spectacles fastened with a string, she scrutinized him for a while with her dark, shining eyes. "Does Miriam Miriam Lampert live here?" asked Ephraim, breathing with diffi- culty. "Yes; she lives here, but she is sick now "I know. Tell her that Ephraim Granat wishes to see her." The old woman opened her eyes wide, and stared at him steadfastly. [184] In Quest of Miriam "Ephraim Granat?" she repeated. "His brother?" Ephraim nodded. The old woman shook her head knowingly, and a faint smile began to play in her eyes, and over her wrinkled face. Adjusting the spec- tacles on her nose, she walked quickly into the adjoining room. Ephraim stood on the threshold and listened. He heard the old woman whispering something ; then a brief cry reached his ears; his hands and knees trembled as he waited for her return. "Well?" he asked, when the old woman appeared. She merely shook her head mourn- fully. "Well, what did she say? How does she feel?" he inquired impatiently. "Miriam cannot see you. She is very sick." Ephraim stood speechless for a few moments; his face was pale, and his large, dark eyes flashed. "Tell her," he said, hotly, "tell her that I bear her no grudge, that I know everything. Tell her that I have come to help her if I can, if she will only let me do it " Contrite Hearts "Only God knows how she is suffering, the poor girl. My heart weeps within me whenever I look at her," interposed the old woman, in a low voice, casting a furtive glance at the door of Miriam's room. Tears stood in her eyes. "And tell her," went on Ephraim, in a broken voice, "that I have a message for her from home." When he paused, it seemed to him that some one was softly sobbing in the next room. He was about to rush past the old woman, into Miriam's room, but he controlled himself. "Tell her," he said, "that I will come up here again and again until I do see her." Ephraim turned and, almost running, de- scended the stab's. The old woman remained motionless; then she shook her head and shrugged her shoulders. "As the Russian peasant says," she thought, "love is not a potato you cannot throw it out of the window." When she opened the door of Miriam's room, noiselessly, she found the girl sobbing. She turned and walked away, as noiselessly as she had entered. [1*6] In Quest of Miriam Then Miriam, pale as death, arose from the bed, rushed over to the window and looked out. In her excitement she even forgot that her window did not face the street. Her bosom heaved and contracted with pain. Her lips moved : "Ephraim! Ephraim!" she muttered. Her voice was faint, almost inaudible. [187] CHAPTER IV THE BROTHERS EPHRAIM, gasping for breath and struggling to compose himself, hurried down the staircase, and paused at the entrance. His bosom heaved high, his face was aflame. For several minutes he stood motionless. Then, suddenly, he tossed his head back and, clenching his fists, resolutely started off with rapid steps toward East Broad- way where Saul lived. Now, more than ever before, the wrongs of his brother thronged in his mind with crushing pain. In his ears rang the plaintive sobbing of Miriam, which grew louder and louder, and seemed as though pleading him to take vengeance on Saul, to humiliate him, to cause him pain. Ephraim ran through the crowd of passers-by, jostling them like a madman, now swaying his hands violently, now clasping his head for fear lest it might burst at any moment. [188] The Brothers "I want to see him!" he muttered to himself. "I must! I must!" Just what he would do or say to Saul he could not tell. But he felt that it would be something very insulting, very painful. In the meantime a storm was gathering. The air was heavy ; a brisk wind began to sweep the dust of the Ghetto streets into the faces of hurrying pedestrians, and flashes of lightning rent the sky asunder in rapid succession. When Ephraim reached the stairs leading to Dr. Pindrik's house, a protracted crash of thunder resounded. A heavy rain began to fall, and again a rattling thunder pealed. Ephraim ran up the staircase and forced the front door open. The servant girl jumped up from the bench in the hallway and asked: "You want the doctor?" "No; I want to see Saul Granat, the fiddler," he said, straightening himself for some reason or other. "Is he here now?" "You can't see Mr. Granat now. He's engaged to-night he's playing." As she said this, Ephraim's ears caught the [189] Contrite Hearts sounds of a familiar melody. He paused, as though short of breath. Yes, it was his brother playing "The Legend," the same he had played when Ephraim marched past his father's house with the company of recruits, the same melody which now troubled Miriam so often in her dreams. As if intoxicated, without saying another word, he rushed past the servant, up the second staircase, and stopped behind the door, listening to the music. All was silent, save the violin which seemed to choke as it moaned heavily. The tones, rich and sad, filled Ephraim with emotion which he was powerless to restrain. He thrust the door wide open with a violent swing, and, deadly pale, with his fists clenched tightly, staggered into the room. The violinist, bewildered, broke off in the middle, and the audience, composed of well-dressed men and women, sprang from their seats in wild con- fusion. "Don't be afraid!" cried Ephraim, advancing toward Saul. "I've come to listen to your sweet music ! That's all " "Ephraim!" gasped Saul, clutching the violin [190] The Brothers under his arm, and making a few steps to meet his brother. A moment of silence followed. Ephraim, with burning face and flashing eyes, flourishing his hands, faced the frightened men and women, who retreated to the doorway, like so many lambs huddled together in time of storm. Then he resumed in a firmer voice: "Why were you so bewitched by his violin? Its tones are false. They lie. They express nothing. They hide the feelings of a brute!" And he tore the violin from under Saul's arm and struck it against the floor. "Now talk to these people!" he cried, turning to Saul. "Now draw forth tears from their eyes ! Where now is your voice ? Where your eloquence?" Saul sank down on his knees, trying to grasp the violin from Ephraim's hands. "Don't break it!" he cried in despair, wringing his hands. "For God's sake, don't, Ephraim!" Ephraim flourished the violin in the air. "This," he said, "is perhaps the only thing on earth you love. Therefore I'll break it to [191] Contrite Hearts cause you pain, to bleed your heart, even as you have bled Miriam's heart and mine. You have hastened our father's death. Wait! if there is a God in Heaven wait!" Ephraim kept speaking in a hoarse voice. Suddenly his eyes began to blink rapidly; everything became dark before him; his head sank back, his lips moved, murmuring indis- tinct words. In his ears rang loud exclama- tions from all sides: "Who's he?" "What an outrage!" "My brother!" "He must be crazy!" "Throw him out of the house!" "Have him locked up!" Presently, Ephraim was dragged down the stairs. When he found himself on the street, the storm was still raging. At first he did not quite realize where he was, what he had done, whither he was to go. But the strong, piercing wind, blowing into his burning face, and the repeated thunder peals, soon brought him to himself. [192] CHAPTER V EPHRAIM AND MIRIAM ON the next day, toward evening, Ephraim went to make another attempt to see Miriam. Last night's occurrence at the doctor's house calmed him somewhat. He felt that he had struck the only tender spot in his brother's heart, and he was satisfied. When he reached the tenement-house where Miriam lived, some ten or twelve women were seated on the stoop, gossiping while they waited for the return of their husbands from work. Scores of children in front of the house were cry- ing, yelling, laughing, playing, dancing, singing. Now a consumptive-looking, sharp-nosed, large-eyed Galician pedler, with a red little beard, shouted hoarsely: "Women, women! Bargains in pickles. Pickles, women. A sale! A sale! The dear little pickles at half price." Contrite Hearts Soon his push-cart was surrounded by women inspecting the bargains. Some of those that bought the pickled cucumbers ate them imme- diately; others wrapped them in their aprons and returned to the stoop to resume their gossip and to wait for their husbands. Still others gave the "pickles" to their children. "Na, Mosie, catch up your little heart with a pickle," said a tall, slim young woman to the little boy beside her, when Ephraim ascended cautiously the crowded staircase. Mrs. Rubin opened the door for him, and told him that Miriam felt slightly better to-day, and that she was anxious to learn the news from home. She asked him to wait awhile in the parlor, and went into Miriam's room. Pres- ently she returned, and said, with a smile : "You may walk right in." Ephraim stood awhile, puzzled, agitated, wondering whether he should hide from Miriam the fact of her mother's death, whether he should deliver to her now Beile Reize's last message. And before he knew it, he turned the knob and opened the door. Miriam lay on the bed, her head resting on Ephraim and Miriam her arms, her hair falling playfully on her shoulders in curly tufts. Her eyes glistened strangely, her emaciated face reflected acute suffering. The rays of the setting sun had somehow stolen into the room through the air-shaft, casting the picture of melancholy into sharper relief. Ephraim rushed over to Miriam and kissed her on the forehead. "Miriam," he whispered. " Miriam. You are suffering. O God, what has become of you?" She gazed at him in silence. Her eyes, he noticed, had lost some of their tender, caressing softness, and had instead a melancholy, yet resolute expression. "Miriam, why do you look at me like this?" he asked, tearfully, beseechingly, caressing her hair. The girl lay speechless, motionless. Sud- denly she shivered and covered her face with her hands. "Why don't you reproach me?" she cried, in a dull voice. "Why don't you abuse me? Why don't you strike me ? I have deserved it." [i95l Contrite Hearts "Calm yourself, Miriam, calm yourself," Ephraim mumbled, in agitation, stroking her hair with trembling fingers. "Calm yourself. Don't think of this now. You are ill." "I am guilty," she went on, breathing heavily, her eyes now fixed upon Ephraim, "I am guilty I was too weak to repulse him with his music, with his deceitful music. I am guilty. I have wronged you. I have wronged my parents. But God alone knows that it was beyond my power " "I know, I know," interposed Ephraim, attempting to soothe her. "I am not defending myself. I deserve to suffer," she ejaculated nervously. "Miriam," Ephraim interrupted her, "I for- give you. Even your mother has forgiven you. She said to me: 'Tell my daughter Miriam, may God forgive her as I have forgiven her. She is suffering.' These were her last words." "Her last words?" Miriam raised herself in the bed, and grasping his arm, stared into his eyes searchingly, with alarm. "Tell me, how is my mother? Tell me. Is she well?" Her voice shook with anxiety. [196] Ephraim and Miriam Ephraim, unable to withstand her gaze, lowered his eyes, and replied, in a low voice: "She is not suffering." Miriam understood. With a dull sob she sank back on the pillow and, tearing her hair, cried : " Mame, Mame, I have shortened your life." Ephraim sat, with bowed head, choking with tears. He recalled how Beile Reize had asked him to come over to her bedside, and said to him: "Hannah lost seven sons; but they all died for the Holiness of His name. She could die peacefully. But I my first daughter brought darkness into my heart, my second daughter took the light from my eyes. God knows what has become of them. But I have heard that Miriam is suffering, that she is sick. If you ever see her, tell her, may God forgive her as I am forgiving her. And for this God will bless you, my child, Ephraim." In the adjoining room people meanwhile gathered for supper. On the floor below some one was practising on a violin, playing a few bars of a popular melody, stopping every little while, then starting again, and again [i97l Contrite Hearts stopping at the same place. The window of Miriam's room, facing the yard, was open. Ephraim noticed a consumptive old man sitting by an open window, on the opposite side, coughing. He bent together as he coughed, and then tried to draw a deep breath. The air was suffocating. By another window sat a sad-faced young man, his head reclining on one side, his eyes half closed, playing an accor- dion. On the third floor a young woman was talking with her neighbor through the window. "What have you for supper to-night?" she asked. "Cold sour soup with potatoes!" replied the neighbor. "We have the same. My husband likes it better than the finest roast duck." Yonder a little boy crept up on the fire escape and sang at the top of his voice: "My country, 'tis of thee, Sweet land of liberty, Of thee I sing A deep basso was humming some- where the marseillaise. And the violinist kept screeching, screeching, as if mocking Miriam, reminding her what it was that had lured her away from her happiness. [198] Ephraim and Miriam In the dining-room the eaters were discussing with animation Schopenhauer and Ibsen and Tolstoy and Karl Marx; the chairman of the women's lodges was laboring industriously and noisily over his meal, quoting now from the Talmud, now reiterating his opinion that the stomach ruled the world. The ex-soldier spoke enthusiastically of his experiences in the army. Hyman the operator shrugged his shoulders and said: "Eh, whom does it concern?" and the Moscow merchant and his wife bustled about, serving tea to their customers. The Russian student arose and started "Ochi chorniya." But the keeper of the private res- taurant begged him not to sing, and, pointing at the door, shook his head, and whispered: "Their mother died!" As soon as Ephraim went away Esther re- turned from the shop where she had worked overtime. Miriam was softly sobbing when her sister entered. "What is it, Miriam?" asked Esther. " Our mame is no more. Our dear mother is no more!" she cried. The sisters wept until midnight. Then [i99l Contrite Hearts Esther turned down the gas, lit a candle, re- moved her shoes, handed one Bible to Miriam, seated herself on the ground, opened the other Bible, and began to read, slowly, in a low voice: "There was a man in the land of Uz, whose name was Job; and that man was perfect and upright, and one that feared God, and eschewed evil." faoo] CHAPTER VI DAYS OF MOURNING DURING the Seven Days of mourning Eph- raim came twice to console Miriam. Each time he found her absorbed in the Book of Job. Near her bed, on a footstool, sat Esther, shoe- less, also poring over Job. In accordance with the custom, Ephraim did not greet the mourners. Esther's presence in Miriam's room so overwhelmed him that he remained as petrified at the door for some time. Then, without uttering a word, he seated him- self, bowed his head, and lowered his eyes to the ground. After a prolonged silence, Esther inquired, in a faint voice, about the health of her father, her grandfather, the children, and Mendel. Ephraim, his hands clasped, his eyes still cast down, told them that their father became weak and bent from trouble, but that his suffer- [201] Contrite Hearts ings did not shake his faith in God for a single moment, that in time of misery he kept saying: "The ways of the Lord are a mystery to us mortals." Ephraim told them that their grandfather was preparing to come to America to his son Mendel, now that his only daughter was no more. Ephraim described how Beile Reize passed away, how a half hour before death had overtaken her, she begged the Lord for forgive- ness, blessed the children, took leave of everyone, then read the night prayers, and sank peacefully into eternal rest. Later he related to them how their brother Yosele was crippled by a band of Russian boys while he was on the way to the synagogue. Esther and Miriam looked at him with moist eyes, and their pale lips quivered. Ephraim recalled that Naphtoli the watchmaker's lips had quivered thus when Beile Reize's coffin was carried out of the little house on the hill. "Our father is more patient than Job, and he has been tested more severely," said Esther. In her voice rang agitation and compassion, mingled with self-reproach and despair. Days of Mourning It was a cheerless, dreary afternoon. Dark clouds hung threateningly, covering the face of day. The air was oppressive, stifling. Eph- raim's mind was now thronged with the details of Beile Reize's funeral which had fallen on a cloudy day like this. In his ears resounded the shrill cry of Arke when two little sacks rilled with Palestine-earth were placed upon his mother's eyes just before she was lowered into the grave. "Mame is alive!" shrieked the boy. "Her eyes moved!" Ephraim remembered how, returning from the cemetery, the boy kept looking backward with fright, listening for the faintest noise. It seemed to Arke that he heard the angel knock- ing on the grave with his staff, asking in a dull voice: "What is thy name?" and his mother replying, faintly: "Beile Reize, the daughter of Naphtoli." The boy shuddered and clung to the coat-tails of his father. Soon before Ephraim's imagination arose the pathetic figures of Isroel and Naphtoli as they returned from the "House of Life," their sighs and sobs and moans mingling with the heart-rending cries of the children. [203] Contrite Hearts Now when he looked at Miriam and Esther, at their sunken eyes, at their pale lips, at their drawn-out faces stamped with suffering, they seemed to him like little birds that had been snatched by cruel hands from their peaceful nest, and left to struggle, to pine away for lack of nourishment, in a stifling atmosphere. Towards evening it began to rain. Several people gathered around the supper-table in the adjoining room and as usual discussed various subjects. This time the old Luria denounced all sorts of exploiters, and ridiculed the world for appreciating the artificial in preference to the genuine. "You have perhaps heard of the beggars of Clevan, they are all a set of natural singers," said the old man. "Their songs are as sweet as the songs of the nightingales. When they sing you would give them your last shirt away just to have them sing on and on, without end. Well, comes a cantor, one of those who know music, and gives the beggar a loaf of bread and perhaps a herring, too, and the poor fellow sings for him all day long. The cantor takes down the songs on notes and then pieces them [**] Days of Mourning together, and goes about all over Russia, from town to town, praying to the tunes of the poor beggar's songs, and charging a hundred rubles each time he prays. Is not this exploitation?" The Russian student held that such exploita- tion was beneficial to the world and was there- fore justifiable. "You can buy a nightingale for five dollars," he declared enthusiastically, "and yet when Patti sings like a nightingale she gets a thousand dollars for a concert. You can buy a piece of land for a hundred dollars, but if a great artist will reproduce the same landscape on canvas, he will get for it five thousand dollars or more. The cantor who sets the beggar's songs to music renders a great service to the world, he pre- serves for posterity that which would otherwise have died together with the beggar." The old Talmudist retorted that the student was contradicting himself in his illustrations, and a heated argument ensued. Ephraim, listening to these words, arose and walked through the room several times. A storm of bitterness was raging in his heart. "Everywhere they talk of art, of philosophy, [**] Contrite Hearts of music," he thought. "Here came Bobrovsky, a dreamer; Saul, an artist, a musician; and thrusting their dreams of saving the down- trodden people, their bewitching music, into a happy, peaceful nest, shattered it." "After the Seven Days of mourning," he sud- denly said aloud, in a trembling voice, facing the sisters, "you ought to move out of this house. Get away from these surroundings, from this atmosphere, from these empty sounds about art, philosophy, ideals. Try to find a place like your own home, among such people as your father, as your mother was; among people who do everything simply, sincerely, calmly, honestly; among people who believe simply, who love simply, who pray simply, sin- cerely, with the artlessness of children." He turned and, pointing toward the dining-room, resumed: "These people who talk in sugar- coated phrases, beware of them ! they will not stop at anything if you chance to stand in their way; for nothing is sacred to them, ex- cept their own interests." ******* Soon after Esther and Miriam had "risen" [ao6J Days of Mourning from the Seven Days of mourning, a ray of hope brightened their cheerless life. Mendel came from Pittsburg and told them that their father, together with his father, and the children, were already on the way to America. This threw the sisters into a state of breathless expectancy. Dreams of rebuilding their home anew invigo- rated them, though they felt that, without their mother, nothing would ever restore all the happiness that once reigned in their home, in the little house by the Dniepr. They resolved to lighten, at least, their father's burdens towards his declining days, to work hard and, by their earnings, maintain the house- hold so that the old man might rest, devoting his days to the Torah. They wanted to do it all by themselves, with- out the aid of Mendel or of Ephraim, as if to expiate by the sweat of their brows the wrongs they had committed against their father, to atone for his sufferings by unceasing toil. They prayed that no misfortune should befall their folk on land, that the sea should not be rough while they were crossing it, that woes and sor- rows should henceforth be strangers unto them. [207] Contrite Hearts Soon four rooms were hired within a block from the Rubins; furniture was bought, and Esther spent all her leisure hours in bringing things in order at their new home. She procured portraits of Rabbi Izkhok Elkhonon, of the Gaon of Vilna, of Moses Montefiore and of Baron de Hirsch, and hung them on the walls of the front room. Beneath the portraits of the Rabbis she hung two velvet Tfilin 1 bags for Yosele and Arke, on which Miriam had em- broidered in gold the shield of David. Meanwhile Ephraim secured for Miriam the best medical attendance, and her condition was improving by degrees. Her face regained its natural color, in her eyes occasionally flashed the fire of life as in bygone days, she was gradually becoming the Miriam Ephraim had known and loved in Moghilydv. Mendel had learned Esther's sad history from Ephraim, and he never spoke to her about that period of her life. Nor did she tell him of her disillusionment. One evening, while walking with Esther on East Broadway, Mendel said to her: 1 Phylacteries. [208] Days of Mourning "To-morrow your father will arrive. He does not know that you are here. He will surely ask you many questions when you come to stay with him. You know he is upright but exacting. Esther, let us surprise him," Mendel suddenly burst out with intense emotion. "Esther, do you not know, do you not feel, that even then much before we parted I loved you with all my soul. I ask you no questions about what has happened since that time. You remember that stormy night, in the Park, by the Dniepr. You were inexperienced, you were carried away by coruscating illusions. You erred! Enough! You have suffered long enough. Let us surprise your father. Esther, drop the machine, the shop." Esther gazed into his eyes, and maintained silence, while he went on, feverishly: "Let your father find his daughter en- gaged to be married to Mendel, not to Bob- rovsky." "That will never be," said Miriam, firmly, "that can never be. You say I erred. You say I was inexperienced, carried away by illu- sions. I erred consciously. I blame no one. f20 9 ] Contrite Hearts I now must bear the consequences of my errors in my heart alone " "Not you alone have suffered. Remember your mother." Tear-drops glistened in Men- del's eyes, and he spoke no more. [*] CHAPTER VII ESTHER and Miriam rose early next morning, and hastened to put the finishing touches to their new home, endeavoring to make it look like their old home in Russia. They also cooked stuffed fish, baked twined white loaves of bread, in honor of the Sabbath, prepared dinner, and went back to their room in Henry Street. Mendel and Ephraim were accompanied by a committee representing the congregation of their townspeople when they went to meet the cantor and his family at the threshold of the New World. Before sunset they went to the synagogue, and Isroel offered the evening prayer, receiving the "bride" Sabbath with all the sweetness and vigor of his voice; and those that remembered his manner of praying in Granat's synagogue, as [211] Contrite Hearts well as those who had never heard him pray before, quivered with awe, when he declaimed in soul-stirring accents: "Awaken, awaken, for thy light has come." Every heart in the house of prayer was moved by the earnestness of the interpretation of the beautiful song-poem. After the prayer, Isroel's three sons, Yoshke, Arke, and Shleimke, said Kaddish, for the re- pose of their mother's soul, and the congregation responded with long-drawn amens. The cantor's new home was brightly illumined by gaslight; the table was set exactly as Beile Reize was wont to set it for the Sabbath, the candlesticks with the Sabbath candles burning in them, the two loaves of twined bread, partly covered with an embroidered red cloth, the wine, the cup, and the stuffed fish, all arranged as in the little house on Granat's hill, of a Friday night. Upon their return from the synagogue, Naph- toli, surrounded by all the children, began to relate to Mendel some of the hardships they had experienced at the frontier, in Hamburg, and on the steamship, and Isroel meanwhile removed [212] The Land of Surprises his hat, donned a skull-cap, and, pacing up and down the room, chanted softly: "Sholem Aleikhem ' "Come with peace, O Angels of peace, Heavenly Angels " Presently Naphtoli and Isroel pronounced the benediction over the wine, and a little later all washed their hands and waited in silence. Isroel blessed the white loaf of bread, cut it and handed each one a slice, beginning with Naphtoli and ending with Shleimke. Then all blessed the bread in unison, and began to eat. During supper Isroel and Naphtoli talked of their journey, of their impressions on the way, and together with the children they marveled at the new and strange things they saw and heard. The elevated railway, the electric street cars, the sky-scrapers, and the huge crowded tene- ments almost bewildered them. "America is a land of surprises!" Ephraim told them each time a new object was discussed. "It's full of surprises for all of us!" he de- clared at the close of the after-supper grace. "Here people grow rich with fabulous rapidity, and people arc ruined with the quickness of Contrite Hearts lightning. People find here their long-lost hus- bands, long-lost fathers, sons, and daughters." Ephraim's lips twitched as he spoke, and his eyes blinked strangely. Isroel looked up at him, shook his head mournfully, and lowered it upon his breast. And Naphtoli, open-mouthed, adjusted his spectacles and scrutinized the young man's face. "Everything is possible with the Lord!" said Isroel, softly, after a few minutes of silence. "Yes, God performs wonders in a mysterious way. Thus I have found my long-lost bride," said Ephraim. "I have found your daughters, Reb Isroel, and they will be here, with you, to-night. They've been waiting to come back to the embrace of their father, to beg his forgiveness." "Miriam!" "Esther!" "Esther!" exclaimed the children. The old men gazed perplexedly, now at Mendel, now at Ephraim, as though doubting his words. "Esther!" muttered Isroel, clasping his head. "Esther!" "Forgive her, Reb Isroel," said Mendel [214] The Land of Surprises softly, laying his hand on the cantor's shoulder. "She has suffered so long. And she is now again the Jewish Esther that she was before that stormy night. Forgive her, Reb Isroel." "And he, the apostate?" queried the old man. "He died long ago," replied Mendel, "on the way to Siberia." Isroel shook his head. "May his name and memory " he waved his hand and said no more. The door opened, and Miriam and Esther appeared on the threshold. Both were pale and nervous, and their mourning clothes accentuated their pallor. Miriam rushed toward her father, about to embrace him, but he rose to his full height and, lifting his hand as though to check her approach, said in a tremulous voice: "Wait! I want to speak to you first. Before you come back to me, I must know whether you have repented everything, all your errors. I must have a promise that you will be as true Jewish daughters should be, as your mother, peace be with her, was; that you will observe [215] Contrite Hearts the Sabbath, the Mosaic dietary laws; that you will But it is Sabbath, we will talk of this to-morrow night." Miriam clung to her father's hand and, cover- ing it with burning kisses, wept and mumbled some indistinct words. Esther advanced slowly, with bowed head, as if the ground were trembling under her feet. There was an expression of irresoluteness on her face. The sight of the broken old man before her filled her being with horror. She felt that she could never forgive herself the merciless blow she had heaped upon him whose forgiveness she now sought. A muffled sob broke forth from her heart when the emaciated and bent old man, with tears in his eyes, out- stretched his trembling arms, and clasped her in his embrace. Silence filled the house. The peace of Sab- bath reigned in every nook and corner of the light room. Isroel went over to the window, and stood there motionless for a long time. His bosom heaved and sank rapidly. Outside a storm was gathering. The pedestrians began [216] The Land of Surprises to run in quest of shelter, a dull rattling of passing wagons smote the air. A flash of light- ning rent the sky, a thunder pealed and a heavy rain began to fall. Isroel looked at the huge, gruesome giants of stone opposite him, and through the darkness and the heavy rain he saw the flickering lights of Sabbath candles in the windows here and there. He closed his eyes and prayed to God, offering Him his gratitude for bringing him to the New World, and begged Him to guide all Israel in the ways of right- eousness, here, in the land of freedom. THE END UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY Los Angeles This book is DUE on the last date stamped below. a, KL MAY 2 2 1972 Form L9-Series 444 DO NOT REMOVE THIS BOOK CARDS University Research Library Ill f u l