GIFT OF 
 J.ts. Peizotto 
 
 
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 da J/, /^7o. , 
 
Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 in 2007 with funding from • 
 IVIicrosoft Corporation 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/fridaynightselecOOisaarich 
 
FRIDAY NIGHT. 
 
 J , J •> i i 
 
 
 A SELECTION OF TALES 
 
 ILLUSTEATING HEBEEW LIFE 
 
 NEW YORK; 
 
 OFFICE OF *« THE JEWISH MESSENGER," 243 BROADWAY. 
 
 1870-6630. 
 
■•.:;••::•:•..••::..:••••••• 
 
 ioM- ^ a./3^ fA.ey:CjZtd' 
 
 Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 18T0, by 
 
 ISAAC S. ISAACS. 
 
 In the Clerk's offico of the District Court of the United States for the Soutbci-n 
 
 District of New York. 
 
 ELtCTROTYPED AND PRINTED 
 
 BY J. DAVIS, 
 
 •33 BROADWAY, M. Y. 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 This little book is published in deference to a sugges- 
 tion often made to the editors, that a collection of sketches 
 from Jewish life, recounting the peculiar traditions, cus- 
 toms and modes of thought of the Hebrews, would be 
 acceptable to the public. 
 
 The generation which is faithfully represented in such 
 stories as the " Schlemiel " is passing away, and there is 
 mingled with the interest attaching to it, at least the sad- 
 dening reflection that its best side has been almost stu- 
 diously concealed. The beauties of domestic life, of pure, 
 sincere, family affection — the sublimities of uncomplain- 
 ing patience amid sorrow, affliction and persecution — 
 the noble examples of fortitude, brotherly-love and gen- 
 erous self-sacrifice — the lofty manifestations of a faith 
 surpassing human knowledge — which the Ghetto has 
 disclosed within the memory of thousands who now 
 breathe the inspiriting atrnosphere of American fi-eedom: 
 — who has preserved these so as to strengthen in the 
 minds and hearts of their descendants the waning res- 
 pect and reverence for a down-trodden ancestry? 
 
 869034 
 
IV PEEFACE. 
 
 The history of the inner life of the Hebrews, excluded 
 from the political equality which, at the downfall of feu- 
 dalism, gradually and sm*ely advanced throughout Eu- 
 rope, is yet to be written. The glimpses we have of their 
 wonderful courage and faith, of their singular intellectual 
 energy, create an eagerness to become acquainted with 
 their true story. 
 
 Perhaps these Httle sketches, rescued from the fleeting 
 pages of the newspaper, embodying the lighter, and oc- 
 casionally the more sober, view of Jewish character, as 
 exemphfied in the generation now hving in memory, 
 may interest as well as amuse, and may stimulate the 
 prevalent desire to learn " something more." 
 
 The editors are encouraged by the kindness and for- 
 bearance which they have ever experienced, to ask a fa- 
 vorable reception for this pioneer volume of a series 
 of works illustrative of Jewi&h life. 
 
 %* These stories were originally published in " The Jewish 
 Messengeb." "Anschel, the Schleroiel," was translated from the 
 French by Prof. Solomon Woolf, of the College of New York, — 
 the same gentleman adapting from a German legend the poem 
 ** Unable to Die. " *' A Tale of the Inquisition " ih from the " Mat- 
 inees du Samedi," (translated by "Mr. B. Lemann) ; " The Tephillin " 
 is from the German of The Sippurim, (translated by ]^Ir. A. L. 
 Sanger), ' ' The Eabbi's Daughter " is based upon a story published 
 in the I$raelU of Mayence. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 ANSCHEL, THE SCHLEMIEL, 9 
 
 THE SABBATH EVE, ------- 43 
 
 ATALE OF THE INQUISITION, 57 
 
 EACHEL'S SLEIGH BIDE, 69 
 
 UNABLE TO DIE, 81 
 
 THE TEPHILIN, - - - 91 
 
 THE EABBI'S DAUGHTEB, 119 
 
AISCHEL, THE SCHLEMIEL. 
 

 AISCHEL, THE SCHLEMIEL, 
 
 I,— DAWN. 
 
 Out of a hundred persons whom you should interro- 
 gate concerning the true signification of the word Schle- 
 rniel, without question ninety-nine would confess, whilst 
 most pohtely raising their hats, then- entire ignorance of 
 it ; but the hundredth individual, who alone would be 
 competent to afford you the necessary information, is no 
 more nor less than your very humble servant. Now, al- 
 though he cannot but acknowledge the rather self-satisfied 
 tone of this remark, still, he is wilhng to submit to what- 
 ever reflections his assurance may induce, for the simple 
 and sufficient reason that no one else could be found at 
 all wilhng to assume the explanation in question. 
 
 Should a poor devil be remarked for his duUness or 
 awkwardness ? Of such a person they are wont to say in 
 the ghetto : " He is- a Schlemiel ! " The Schlemiel always 
 manages to let his bread fall on the buttered side ; if 
 others seize a favorable opportunity by the head, it is a 
 matter of doubt whether the Schlemiel would be success- 
 ful in catching it by the heel, and, even then, he would 
 only allow it to escape. He meditates weU, only what he 
 badly performs ; he performs weU, only what he badly 
 meditates ; an adverse genius dogs his steps ; vulgarly 
 speaking, he gets up, during his entire hfe, with his left 
 foot foremost. As to any luck, he never gets more than 
 a view of that part of it, which a general of an army loves 
 to see of his enemy. Place gold in the hand of a Schle- 
 miel, and the people of the ghetto solemnly forewarn you 
 
10 ANSCHEL, THE SCHLEMIEL. 
 
 , ,\t -vyill turn into br^ss ; let him only retain tliis brass, and, 
 •t\'itli an GVii3.'a;i Geribiisness, they wil assure you it "vvill me- 
 tamoii^liose itiself into common lead ; and, let us add, 
 I tl|sit:\^tb titif< lead, it were impossible to mould a bullet 
 « • ^bbd'enoagii- 1©: blwv one's brains out with. From this 
 it is to be recognized how unfortunate he is who is born 
 a SclilemieL Nay, his lot exceeds misfortune — ^it is a 
 fatum. 
 
 I demanded of myself whether it were not an under- 
 taking, betokening temerity, to desire to describe vl fatum of 
 this nature, and I dehberated with myself for some time 
 as to its advisability ; for, it might readily hajDpen that, 
 while playing with such an edged tool, it might turn against 
 the historian himself, in such wise that, after having has- 
 tened the perusal of this veritable story to its last line, 
 more than one of its readers would be constrained to ex- 
 claim : " Here is a fellow who has composed the history 
 of a Sclilemiel, and he is a Schlemiel himself." 
 
 "Well, be it so ! the Schlemiel so depicted, and the artist 
 who Hmns him, shall together be handed down to the 
 same immortahty ; for this fact is beyond peradventure, 
 that ScMemielery is immortal, and the last man who, some 
 day hereafter, shall quit this mundane sj^here of ours, 
 shall also, undoubtedly, be the last Schlemiel. 
 
 One day, the inhabitants of the ghetto had waited im- 
 patiently for sometime to hear the three well-knoA^Ti blows 
 of the wooden hammer, which the Shamas* rapped against 
 each door, in order to announce that it was time to repair 
 to the s}Tiagogue. His unwonted delay was occasioned 
 by a death in the street, and those of the pious who, with- 
 out awaiting the Shamas' summons, had, nevertheless, 
 repaired towards the synagogue, learned that during the 
 night Kebb Isserl Gloser had suddenly expired of apop- 
 lexy; upon the hearing of which, the greater number of 
 the loiterers devoutly ejaculating : '' Boruch Dayan Eme>i"-\ 
 contented themselves with this expression of resignation, 
 and continued on theii- several ways, for the morning was 
 chill, and icicles hung on the oaves. 
 
 Below, standing before the large two-storied house, 
 
 * Sexton. t Praised be the trne Judge. 
 
ANSCHEL, THE SCHLEMIEL. 11 
 
 adjoining the butclier's shop, two men were to be seen, 
 at an early hour, each with his taleth"^ under his arm, en- 
 gaged in a long and animated conversation. One of the 
 two, still youthful in appearance, replete with cunning, 
 and gifted with a pair of keen, glowing and knavish-look- 
 ing eyes, contemplated for a long time the windows of the 
 apartment wherein lay the body of the dead man ; then 
 he began : 
 
 " Bah ! Tell me, Koppel, how much time do you still 
 grant him?" 
 
 " Whom ? " demanded the other. " Do you mean the 
 Kebb Isserl Gloser? He has been dead but two hours." 
 
 " Ninny ! " rephed the first, " am I an ass that I know 
 not what I say ? Have. I lost my wits ? I am speaking 
 of Eebb Isserl's son — of Schlemiel." 
 
 " By the prophet's rod," protested Koppell, " may I die 
 if I understand you ; what do you wish to tell me con- 
 cerning Schlemiel?" 
 
 " Heed well my words," rephed he of the shrewd fea- 
 tures, whose eyes at this moment were lighted up by a 
 singular expression, " heed well my words ; but, before- 
 hand, truly inform me if it has ever been suspected by 
 you that Schlome Katz has hed ; that he is a braggart, 
 or is given to impose upon people ? " 
 
 To this question, Koppell, whose eyes twinkled, offered 
 no answer ; he simply held his peace. 
 
 " Listen, then," pursued our cunning rogue, " and heed 
 my words : before ten years have elapsed, you shall have 
 the pleasure of beholding, at the windows of that very 
 room, where Rebb Isserl Gloser is now stretched, a cer- 
 tain honorable individual, royally enveloped in a rich and 
 luxurious morning-gown, hke the administrator of our 
 commune ; you shall, hkewise, behold that aforesaid in- 
 dividual quietly smoking from a massive pipe, inlaid with 
 silver, and, finally, that respected individual shall be 
 known as Schlome Katz !" 
 
 " Are you mad, Schlome ? " exclaimed Koppel, shout- 
 ing with merriment. 
 
 " Laugh to your heart's content," responded the other, 
 "treat me, if you will, as a do? -^d har ; say that I am 
 
 * Bol)e worn in Synagogue. 
 
12 ANSCHEL, THE SCHLEMIEL. 
 
 a fool who does not merit being spit at Only recoUect 
 this : through that door shall I enter, out of that door 
 shall I drive the Schlemiel, and, only afterwards, shall I 
 don my morning-gown. Ten years hence, you may either 
 chance or wish to pass by here, and then I shaU recall my 
 prophecy and apostrophize you thus : ' Koppel, what did 
 I once say unto you ? Is this house mine, yes or no ?' " 
 
 Schlome had spoken with some degree of animation. 
 After having heard him to the end, Koppel gazed atten- 
 tively into his eyes, and thus naively addressed him : 
 
 " By the prophet's beard, Schlome, I do beheve it is or- 
 dained you shaU succeed in all your undertakings. Not 
 in vain were you named Schlome Katz ; like a cat, you 
 have watched for Rebb Isserl Gloser's death, and here 
 you are now, quite prepared to spring upon poor Schle- 
 miel. Spring, if you will, my dear Schlome, but take my 
 word for it, with no such springs will you fall before the 
 gates of Paradise." 
 
 " He is a Schlemiel! " Schlome sharply and curtly re- 
 pHed ; then he departed, threading his way through a 
 narrow adjoining by-street. Koppel, on his side, went 
 about on his way. 
 
 This was one of those conversations which affect the 
 welfare and prosperity of a whole lifetime ; impossible to 
 foresee or prevent ; speculating upon dreadful contingen- 
 cies ; meditated and nourished in private ; a species of 
 mental brigandage, ruthlessly operating upon and re- 
 morsely destroying a futui'e. The reader is, no doubt, by 
 this time aware, that we are standing before Schlemiel's 
 house, and we can only regret that not a sound of these 
 words has reached his ears ; siace they would have ben- 
 efited him far more than if his father had bequeathed 
 him another house, and thousands of florins besides. 
 
 Our Schlemiel belonged to that class of creatures 
 whom one meets only in the ghetto. Anschel was his 
 veritable name, but, since he had attaiued his thirteenth 
 birthday, the people of the ghetto recognized him by no 
 other title than SchlemieL But herein is the reason. 
 Anschel had just reached his bar-mitzvah, that is to say, 
 he had arrived at the prescribed legal age when, accord- 
 ing to the rabbins, man is accounted capable of support- 
 ing the burden of the six hundred and tlurteen commaijd^ 
 
ANSCHEL, THE SCHLEMIEL. 13 
 
 ments of God, traditional as well as additional. This 
 day of initiation into manhood is, for every child, a pe- 
 riod fraught with importance ; to it one may point as to 
 a landmark, set up in the long journey through life ; 
 around which cluster memories of happiness or sorrow, 
 weeds or pleasant flowers growing by the wayside. 
 
 And so was our Anschel elated, this day, with all his 
 joys, with all his emotions. It was the Sabbath. Anschel, 
 in accordance with the custom, was obhged to read be- 
 fore the assembled congregation, in a loud and intelligi- 
 ble voice, the weekly chapter of praj'-ers from the Thora.* 
 It was not, as might be surmised, a task easily accom- 
 phshed ; nay, many a professor, profoundly versed in the 
 grammar of the Hebrew tongue, would have sacrificed 
 much to have acquitted himself of such an undertaking. 
 In the first place, it is to be remarked that in the Thora 
 the words are not punctuated ; still further, while read- 
 ing them, it is necessary to accompany their utterance by 
 a species of chant, which has its measure and notes ac- 
 curately and definitely determined ; an error is only too 
 easily committed, particularly before an audience, who 
 punish more vigorously each mistake in the reader, than 
 a false note by a pubhc singer would be condemned, see- 
 ing that the faithful are assembled, their prayer books 
 open before them, the text accentuated and punctuated ; 
 consequently, they detect, at the instant of its commis- 
 sion, any blunder in the reader. These are but a few of 
 the shoals and breakers ahead. 
 
 But Anschel himself was devoid of all apprehension ; 
 so confident, indeed, was he of his capabihty and prepar- 
 ation that, even in his sleep, he could not be deceived in 
 a single iota of it. He had advanced, his heart replete 
 with courage and determination, as the officiating minis- 
 ter called him to the almemar,f before the Thora. Too 
 small to reach it, he had bravely mounted the stool, 
 which the foresight of the Shamas had placed there for 
 him. So far everything had passed off marvellously 
 well ; a rabbi could not have performed it better. An- 
 schel's father, Kebb Isserl Gloser, had already, on diverse 
 occasions, blown bis nose in token of his satisfaction, 
 
 * Book of the Law. f Reading desk. 
 
 2 
 
14 ANSCHEL, THE SCHLEMIEL. 
 
 and had thus allowed his emotion to be observed. 
 Above, in the gallery, allotted to the women, one of the 
 f)articipants in the ceremony bent so lowly over her book 
 that she touched it with her face — perha^DS to conceal 
 her tears. For it was Anschel's mother. But, at the 
 veiy moment when everything was progressing most 
 favorably, Anschel, standing above and behind the Thora, 
 perceived httle Schlome, his elder by a few years, whose 
 fe-ther had just administered to him a shai-p thump in 
 the ribs to recall his scattered senses ; for, instead of 
 listening to and attentively following the reader, he had 
 preferred to cast his wandering eyes upon the women's 
 galleiy above, behind the railings of which appeared 
 many a pretty head and shoulders. This circumstance 
 so vi\-idly impressed itself upon Anschel, that he lost 
 both his soul and body's equilibrium at the same time, 
 and tumbled quite heavily from the top of his stooL 
 And then it was all over v>ith his har-mitzvah. 
 
 It was this accident which produced the gi'eatest influ- 
 ence upon the hfe of our friend. In fact, when Anschel, 
 utterly disconcerted and overcome, was withdrawing, he 
 heard Schlome Katz, as he passed before him, whisper 
 in his ear these words, while accompanying them with a 
 hideous grimace : 
 
 " WTiy then are you such a great Schlemiel ? " 
 
 Let us now introduce to our readers this self-same 
 Schlome Katz, since he is to play no unimportant part 
 in the Hfe of oirr AnscheL Schlome, to begin with, was 
 his personal enemy. 
 
 His enmity, to sj^eak the truth, extended back to the 
 grandparents of the two young people, and rested upon 
 a very sohd basis, neither more nor less than a house. 
 The fact is, the house which was the property of Eebb 
 Isserl, had formerly belonged to the Katz family. The 
 grandfather of Schlome had turned out to be one of 
 those cireless and indifferent sort of men who preferred, 
 the hvelong year, to enjoy all the comforts and pleasures 
 of life, rather than overburden himself with any work ; 
 furthermore, he had displayed so great a fondness for gam- 
 ing that, in a short time, the beautiful two-storied house 
 disappeared, a prey to the service of " the king and ace." 
 
ANSCHEL, THE SCHLEMIEL. 15 
 
 In the ghetto, it was reported that Anschel's grand- 
 father had won the place of him ; a statement, however, 
 entirely false, the truth being he bad purchased it at a 
 pitiably mean price. Suffice to say, the Katz family could 
 never resign itself to the loss of that dear house, where 
 they had all been born and bred. It was a wound which 
 rankled and bled unceasingly, but at no time more strong- 
 ly than on the Sabbath, whenever the elder Katz, after 
 having enjoyed his customary siesta, beheld, through the 
 windows of his own dwelling, the house which faced him 
 on the opposite side of the street. Then, giving an indo- 
 lent yawn, he would breathe forth a profound sigh, and 
 thus address his better half : " By my faith, it strikes me 
 my dead father — rest his bones — acted a little inconsid- 
 erately and precipitately in the matter of that house : it 
 might just as well have belonged to us still, whereby I 
 would not have been constrained to pay this never end- 
 ing rent. Ah ! formerly, people were but too wont to 
 take httle interest in the welfare of their descendants, 
 and my poor father, to have obtained his good cheer on 
 the Sabbath, would not have hesitated to have gotten rid 
 of ten houses more into the bargain." Now, it will be 
 readily understood how that, hearing these selfsame 
 words repeated fifty-two times in the course of the year, 
 Schlome should have felt them infiltrated, as it were, in- 
 to the heart like so many drops of gall, and end by hav- 
 ing them petrified therein ? Often was he tutored : 
 " Schlome, when you grow to be a man, it will become 
 your duty to endeavor to restore that house to its right- 
 ful owners ; for^ you know, our neighbors opposite have 
 robbed us of it." Thereupon, he would face it, at each 
 successive repetition, with a vicious grimace which seem- 
 ed to say : " Oh ! only let me once become a man and 
 I'll have it back again, you may be sure." 
 
 The more he grew, the more that animosity took deep- 
 er root in him ; it became the settled aim and thought 
 of his life, and was heightened by the difference in the 
 characters of the two young people. The one was un- 
 gainly, awkward and timid, Schlome, on the contrary, 
 was lively, alert and quick of speech. He had very ear- 
 ly XDcrsuaded himself that it was his right and duty to 
 make Schleraiel undergo all kmds of affronts, without in 
 
16 ANSCHEL, THE SCHLEMIEL. 
 
 any way troubling himself as to the results. Besides, it 
 is in the nature of men of Schlome's stamp to find un- 
 sufferable the clumsiness and awkwardness of othera. 
 They are not accustomed to regard these defects of their 
 neighbors as a punishment of heaven, but as a species of 
 merchandize, scattered upon the highways of Hfe, and at 
 the sei-vice of the first comer. 
 
 The two youths, after their bar-mitzvah, had been put 
 to business. Schlome immediately set about afi'airs in a 
 most intelligent manner, and, in a very short time, he 
 was rewarded for his assiduit}^ by becoming a perfect adept 
 in all the chicanery and rascahty demanded by his trade. 
 Thus, he had very soon excelled in holding and exhibiting 
 to the best advantage, a piece of old stuff, in such a way 
 that one was quick to conclude it was new ; he was equal- 
 ly conversant with the method adopted in displaying a 
 fi-ayed silk, so as to conceal its blemishes ; and, in short, 
 all the ti-icks which tradesmen learn after a due appren- 
 ticeshij), but which seemed, in his case, to be constitu- 
 tionally and intuitively his o^ti. He was a source of 
 amusement to all who beheld him, when, at the fail's, 
 now within, anon without, his booth, he cried across the 
 market-place his lazinj, lazinj, kupte — here you are, for 
 sale cheap — in such wise as to make the purchasers flock 
 to him in crowds. 
 
 Then was he to be seen in the zenith of his glory, 
 pinching the ripe cheeks of one peasant gii'l ; patting 
 the chubby hands of another ; of a third demanding, 
 with an air of tender sohcitude, news of her worthy hus- 
 band, Pan Waczlaw, or her httle Honza. It must be 
 confessed, however, that he was indifferently acquainted 
 Avith the existence of either, albeit this trifling considera- 
 tion in no wise prevented him expressing his fi-iendly 
 anxiety. By this mode of procedure, Schlome ordinarily 
 attained a double result ; the peasants voluntarily paid 
 him a few pence more than to others, and, on the other 
 hand, were accustomed, in speaking of him, to observe : 
 " Little Schlome is a clever fellow ; he will turn out a 
 bright man." 
 
 How poorly, in business capacity, did Anschel com- 
 pare mth him. His lazinj sounded across the market- 
 place in so weak and melancholy a tone, and in so hesi- 
 
ANSCHEL, THE SCHLEMIEL. 17 
 
 tating a manner, that no one expressed the sHghtest sur- 
 prise at his inabihty to attract customers. And yet no 
 one could question the goodness or sufficiency of his in- 
 tentions ; on the contrary, he had enough and to spare ; 
 only, as it often happens among people of his nature, his 
 good intentions walked on such lofty stilts that he tum- 
 bled the more heavily each instant. Thus, did he desire, 
 emulating the example of Schlome, to pinch the ruddy 
 cheeks of some pretty peasant girl ; he pinched them so 
 rudely as to leave, a moment after, the heavy impress of 
 his fingers on them ; or, otherwise, he pinched them so 
 Hghtly she did not feel him at all, and that was just as 
 bad. Did he strive to gain a mother's good will ? he in- 
 variably put his finger in her baby's eyes, or squeezed it 
 until it turned black in the face. 
 
 Now Schlome accomphshed everything to a nicety, 
 and was rewarded by the good wishes and praises of 
 every one, who attributed all his actions to his naturally 
 buoyant and effusive nature. Anschel, on his side, ren- 
 dered himself ridiculous in almost everything he under- 
 took. " He is a Schlemiel," said Rebb Isserl, saddened 
 and discouraged ; his mother attempted no reply ; she 
 thought he would mend his ways. But as he failed to 
 improve, Rebb Isserl reiterated : "He is a Schlemiel, 
 and I should certainly like to know how I came by him." 
 And again the silent mother offered no reply. Many 
 years after, the old man Isserl, who, at the best, was no 
 gi-eat talker, undertook to affirm : " I'll wager that one 
 day he will be the ruin of our house ; he is too great a 
 Schlemiel ! " The silent mother did more than not res- 
 pond ; for she was dead — and, to day, there is another 
 death in the street. Anschel was still the Schlemiel we 
 have seen. 
 
 2* 
 
18 ANSCHEL, THE SCHLEMIEL. 
 
 IL—NOON. 
 
 Not a person in tlie ghetto could offer an explanation 
 of Anschel's gestures of intense despair when, on the 
 morrow, they laid the dead man in his tomb. So violent- 
 ly did he tremble in every hmb, when the Shamas ap- 
 proached him, in order to cut a rent in his gaiments, 
 according to custom, as a sign of mourning, that thei 
 knife pierced his hand and the blood spurted fortli. 
 
 Upon beholding him in the state we have described, 
 those who had taken part in the burial service, and who 
 were wont to view matters only as they appeared super- 
 ficially, began to question each other : " Why does he 
 lament so deeply ? Has he not reached his manhood ? " 
 Bat there are things which he too deep for the world to 
 see or to know ; the great, silent sorrows of the heart, 
 borne wearily to the grave. 
 
 There are moments when even natures constitutional- 
 ly unhappy hke Anschel's, grow to recognize their own 
 miseries. He had felt, in that great moment of his gi'ief, 
 how irreparable had been his loss in his father's death. 
 Before him stood revealed all his past life, all his awk- 
 wardness, all his clumsiness ; never had the e^dl star of 
 his destiny shone -VNith such a sinister and threatening 
 aspect It seemed to him that the time had, at length, 
 arrived when he should appear in his true character of 
 Schlemiel, and that what had hitherto been himself was 
 about to be buried with the dead. Suddenly, on raising 
 his eyes, he beheld Schlome Katz beside him, who, vdth 
 a terrible activity, was throwing into the gi'ave handful 
 after handful of earth. A bitter and sombre remem- 
 brance of youth crossed Anschel's mind ; he seemed to 
 be once more reading the Thora ; he saw the ovei-tumed 
 
 stool and then he thought he heard the hoarse voice 
 
 of Schlome Katz crying out to him ; " Why then are 
 you so great a Schlemiel ? " This is why he irembled in 
 so strange a manner, when the Shamas made the sht in 
 his garment ; it seemed to him that the knife was held 
 by Schlome Katz in person. 
 
ANSCHEL, THE SCHLEMIEL. 19 
 
 During schiver,^ Anscliel reflected very seriously upon 
 his past, and debated, poor fellow, with himself as to the 
 possibility of amending his future, and becoming a dif- 
 ferent man. A thousand various plans suggested them- 
 selves to his mind, a thousand various plans were each 
 in turn rejected ; only one he had determined to adopt 
 — was he not a Schlemiel ? — he concluded to get mar- 
 ried. 
 
 In the ghetto there is but Uttle difficulty in obtaming 
 a wife. Already the schadchan,-f Rebb Hasch, was en- 
 gaged in this important business, for even during his 
 father's hfe he had cast his plottmg eyes upon him, and 
 had marked him for his prey. One day he came upon 
 Anschel, and, after quite a lively conversation, he pro- 
 posed to him an excellent match. His decision was quick- 
 ly taken ; he agreed that at the approaching Hoi emoed\ 
 they should both betake themselves to Collin, to see his 
 intended wife. For the rest, the affair was to be kept so 
 profoundly secret, that no one should surmise what his 
 intentions were. 
 
 The Hoi emoed having arrived, Anschel found himself 
 among a number of those who were also bent on matri- 
 monial missions, in order to try their luck in obtaining 
 young and pretty brides. Beyond the town, where the 
 main roads started in their winding paths, a little one 
 horse coach awaited the arrival of our friend, and stood 
 prepared to convey him to the blessed abiding place of 
 his promised bride, to the haven of his rest, Rebb Hasch, 
 the schadchan, had been expecting him for some time ; 
 for it was a thing, much to be desired, that the neigh- 
 bors should not obtain the slightest clue or information 
 of the place to which they meditated going. 
 
 And so they started upon their journey. Anschel was 
 seated in the carriage, quiet and meditative ; he saw in 
 his mind's eye, ascending as upon a new Jacob's ladder, 
 the pretty image of his, as yet, unknown fiancee ; he met 
 her but half way, and already he felt a better man. Mean- 
 while, his companion, Bebb Hasch, drew out his phylac- 
 teries, and began to offer up his prayers. Anschel had 
 
 * The week of mourning. t Matrimonial agent. 
 
 X Days intercalated during the Passover and Feast of Tabernacles. 
 
20 ANSCHEL, THE SCHLElVnEL. 
 
 said his at home : he preferred to reserve the interval of 
 his journey to reflection. Suddenly, at the very moment 
 they were approaching an inn bordering on their road, 
 the schadchan uttered a cry. 
 
 " "WTiat is the matter, Rebb Hasch ?" inquired Anschel, 
 unexpectedly startled from his pleasant day dreams. 
 
 "By my beard," shouted he, "there is Schlome Katz!" 
 
 " And then ? " asked Anschel. 
 
 The Schadchan bowed his head ; he was plainly dis- 
 concerted and annoyed at encountering Schlome Katz 
 upon his route, and, more particularly, upon this event- 
 fid day. 
 
 Before the inn, which they were rapidly approaching, 
 stood a carriage drawn by two horses, which were, at 
 that moment, being watered. Upon the threshhold, there 
 indeed stood Schlome Katz, whom the Schadchan's 
 piercing eyes had immediately recognized. He was just 
 about iilling his silver-mounted i^ii^e, and, employed in 
 this operation, he discovered his fingers and their ght- 
 tering rings. 
 
 " Malediction ! " exclaimed the Schadchan, " he, also, 
 is engaged in a matrimonial expedition." 
 
 " May Heaven assist j^ou ! " cried Schlome, as they 
 passed him. " AYhere are you going, Anschel ! " 
 
 Anschel blushed as red as a cheny on seeing his pro- 
 ject thus discovered. 
 
 " Good luck to you ! " said Schlome, gi'inning, " and, 
 by the way, my dear feUow, try and not be — a Schle- 
 miel ! " 
 
 They were ah'eady far away from the inn ; still, Bebb 
 Hasch continued to look uneasily back, whilst his coun- 
 tenance betrayed his inquietude. Anschel did not, in the 
 least, comprehend this precaution. 
 
 " AMiat is the matter ? why do you persist in looking 
 behind you, Bebb Hasch ? " 
 
 " Because I fear that Schlome Katz will put himself 
 on our track ; because he was in his holiday costume ; 
 and, finally, because I was convinced he is^also seeking a 
 matrimonial alhance." 
 
 Hereupon he commanded the coachman to drive more 
 rapidly ; and it was only upon finding himself a league 
 in advance of his dsmgerous enemy, that he slackened 
 
ANSOHEL, THE SCHLEMIEL. 21 
 
 his speed, while his countenance began to re-assume its 
 wonted serenity. The reason was plain enough ; he en- 
 tertained fears for his match. 
 
 At noon they arrived at their destination. Anschel 
 was hugely dehghted at the effect his arrival had produc- 
 ed in the neighborhood. The truth was his countenance 
 too plainly betokened that his errand was matrimonial 
 in its nature. While E-ebb Hasch was taking the initia- 
 tive, in his position as ambassador for Anschel, by an- 
 nouncing to his parents-in-law his approach, Anschel 
 himself remained at the inn awaiting the progress of 
 events. Meanwhile, he was compelled to undergo a sharp 
 interrogation on the part of madam, the inn-keeper : 
 *' Whence came he ? Whither was he bound ? What 
 were his intentions ? " But he was as uncommunicative 
 as a fish, not permitting the slightest hmt to escape 
 which might betray him. At length, the Schadchan 
 reappeared, and whispered in his ear that everything 
 was in readiness for his reception, and that his arrival 
 was momentarily looked for. 
 
 On the road, Rebb Hasch instilled some excellent ad- 
 vice into his listener's mind, as to the manner in which 
 he should comport himself in the presence of his intend- 
 ed : he should avoid eating much, but, to compensate 
 for this deprivation, he should, in no wise, hmit his talk, 
 so that he should be set down, not for a gourmand, but 
 for an intelligent and agreeable speaker. He ought to 
 gaze full into the eyes of his future mate, m such wise 
 as to make her blush at every moment ; the more she 
 blushed the better, on the whole, might it be taken. He 
 ought, in general terms, his wife being well brought up, 
 to display his manifold knowledge of various matters 
 and things, to converse in French, and, in other ways, 
 exhibit his literary and scientific culture. These con- 
 cluding details somewhat disconcerted Anschel ; however, 
 he brushed up his courage and entered the house. But, 
 at the very moment he was about to mount the stairs, 
 he encountered,, descending the same route, whom? — 
 Schlome Katz ! Anschel shivered in every limb as he 
 recognized him. As to Schlome, he smiled with an ami- 
 able air, and said to him : " Maadtoph ! "* 
 
 "••' Good Inck. 
 
22 AKSCHEL, THE SCHLEMIEL. 
 
 Anschel stood stupefied on the stairway, uncertain 
 what ought to be done. "He has forestalled me," thought 
 he, " what is to be done ?" However, he could not en- 
 tertain that idea, seeing that he was individually a better 
 match than Schlome. " She will take me in preference 
 to him," said he, and, with a heroic determination, he 
 opened the door. 
 
 He found the family all prepared for the reception. 
 The father of his intended, in a friendly manner, preced- 
 ed him into the room, while the mother, a stout woman 
 with a rather imperative and decisive air, saluted him 
 graciously in German. They entreated him to be seated, 
 and the mother retired in order to prepare refreshments 
 for their guest. During this interval, Anschel was obhged 
 to submit to a seai'chmg interrogation fi'om the father, 
 concerning his condition, his family and his fortune. He 
 only half repHed to all these questions ; what chiefly pre- 
 occupied him was the desire to learn if his intended were 
 handsome. 
 
 A moment after, the mother re-entered the room, ac- 
 companied by her daughter, who held in her hand a 
 plate filled with cakes and confectioneiy, which she pre * 
 sented to Anschel. But he, instead of paying any atten- 
 tion to this proceeding, gazed intently into the black eyes 
 of the young girl, and was so enraptui'ed and fascinated, 
 that he still continued to gaze and gaze, although for 
 some time ah'eady, both plate, confectionery and bonbons 
 had fallen from the gM's hand, and lay scattered upon 
 the gi'ound. The future bride laughed slyly, the mother 
 looked at the wi-eck as if annoyed, and the father wound 
 Up with a hearty burst of merriment. 
 
 At table, they placed Anschel by the young girl's side. 
 But the incident which had ah'eady taken place rendered 
 him somewhat sober and gloomy, and so he maintained 
 a sombre silence besides her whom he ought to have en- 
 tertained and overcome by his affability and pleasant con- 
 versation. Instead of eating but little, he devoured 
 everjiJiing before him, swept the table clean, without 
 even leaving before him the moiety demanded by darech 
 eretz, that is, etiquette. The guests looked on with eyes 
 that spoke voluuies. Anschel saw all, but his evil star 
 was in the ascendant, and he plunged deeper and deeper 
 
ANSCHEL, THE SCHLEMIEL. 23 
 
 into the mire. He did nothing, he said nothing, but what 
 was totally opposed to the Schadchan's advice. Sudden- 
 ly, he heard the mother observe in an under tone, in her 
 daughter's ear : " He is, truly, a gi-eat Schlemiel 1" All 
 the blood congealed in his veins ; he became alarmed, 
 and, once in this frame of mind, his unhappy nature re- 
 sumed its undisputed sway. 
 
 On withdrawing from the table, he was left alone with 
 his intended. The father and mother had purposely de- 
 parted ; and now, properly speaking, was the real inter- 
 view about to take place. 
 
 Anschel's alarm exceeded all bounds, when he discov- 
 ered himself face to face with her. Not a single word 
 escaped his Ups ; he seemed spell-bound, although the 
 young girl appeared to await his introduction to the con- 
 versation. The perspiration started to his brow. Sud- 
 denly — and this was a real ray of light — he pictured to 
 himself how Schlome would conduct himself under sim- 
 ilar circumstances. He would not, thought he, hesitate 
 taking her gently by the hand, pressing it tenderly, and 
 accompanying it by some affectionate and endearing 
 term ; and, wrapped up with this idea, he desired to pur- 
 sue the same course. But, meanwhile, he had uncon- 
 sciously approached so near the young girl, that she 
 could not repress a violent cry : 
 
 " My corns ! my corns ! " she exclaimed, as she began, 
 with loud lamentings, to limp around the room. 
 
 " What ! you have corns ? " demanded the terrified An- 
 schel, " I didn't know it." 
 
 The young girl, half laughing, half weeping, still hop- 
 ped about the room. 
 
 " 'Tis plain enough," said she, " that your companion, 
 Katz, was right when he said " ? 
 
 " And what did he say ? " inquired Anschel, bending 
 to the blow. 
 
 " That you were a Schlemiel ! " 
 
 Anschel sought to hear no more. "What more could 
 be said to him ? The term Schlemiel was now a by-word 
 with the young girl. And before dehberating what ought 
 to be done, he had already hastened to the door, and 
 slammed it behind him. He rushed down stairs, foui 
 steps at a time ; when, suddenly, he encountered Schlome. 
 
24 ANSCHEL, THE 8CHLEMIEL. 
 
 " Well ! *' demanded the latter, " may we congratulate 
 you?" 
 
 " Clown ! " muttered Anschel, as he fled with all haste. 
 
 He was at first so utterly cast down, that he debated 
 with himself whether he should return home or not ; it 
 was more than he could bear. "WTiat would they say 
 when they should hear of this interview, which loaded 
 him down with disgrace? "Would Schlome Katz fail to 
 seize the opportunity of making pubhc his shame ? The 
 very idea of returning drove him well nigh to despair ; 
 he longed only to escape in flight. Impressed with this 
 determination, he hastened fi'om the town, while Rebb 
 Hasch sought him on exery side. He, on his part, was 
 as inconsolable, if not more than Anschel ; for were not 
 his* hard earned laurels as Schadchan concerned ? 
 
 It was late enough at night when Anschel returned to 
 the town ; he only wished to seek his inn, harness his 
 horse, and retreat homeward as expeditiously cs possible. 
 To accomplish this manoeuvre, he was compelled to jDass 
 before the house of his intended bride. Bright lights 
 ghttered through the windows, and joyous peals of laugh- 
 ter echoed on the street. 
 
 " Even now," he communed with himself, " they are en- 
 joying themselves at my expense ; Schlome Katz is seat- 
 ed in theu' midst, and I suppose is, at this moment, re- 
 peating to them with infinite satisfaction i ' He is a Schle- 
 miel, he is a Schlemiel ! ' " And, overcome with shame, he 
 crouched as he darted by. On turning a comer of the 
 street, from which a few steps would have brought iiim 
 to his inn, he foimd himself before a httle house, in which 
 the light was still burning. "Perhaps," thought he, "there 
 is otie I seek within;" and prompted by an irresistible de- 
 sire he approached the wine ow. At first he only leaned 
 against the wall ; then, his courage revising, he boldly 
 peered into the room. He beheld an old man seated at 
 the table, a book opened before liim — doubtless a Geinara^ 
 — and in which he seemed absorbed. The light stood 
 near him ; the rest of the place was shrouded in obscur- 
 ity. Suddenly, Anschel heard a voice, full of sweetness, 
 proceed from the comer of the room : 
 
 * Oral Law. 
 
ANSCHEL, THE SCHLEMIEL. 25 
 
 *• Father," said the voice, " look here, please ; Fischele 
 will not say his evening prayers." 
 
 Anschel strained his eyes in order to catch a ghmpse 
 of her who had just spoken ; for this voice touched every 
 chord in his heart. 
 
 By good luck, the old man took up the light. " Look 
 out, Fischele, I am coming after you !" and as he advanc- 
 ed, Hght in hand, the room became more and more illu- 
 mined, until Anschel observed a- young girl seated near 
 a child's bed. As he saw the old man approaching, the 
 child obeyed, and the girl proceeded to make him repeat 
 the prayer after her, word for word, as she breathed it 
 fervently forth in her own clear and melodious voice. 
 When she came to this passage, "On my right stands 
 the angel Michael, on my left the angel Gabriel," etc., 
 Anschel, who had Hstened outside, absorbed in breath- 
 less attention, and wholly charmed with the beautiful 
 group, was at a loss to understand why this prayer affected 
 him so deeply on this evening ; it seemed to him that, 
 until now, he had been taught to repeat it only mechan- 
 ically and incompletely, while, as he heard it then ut- 
 tered by the pure lips of this innocent girl, a new mean- 
 ing, a new force was imparted to it, and he felt it was 
 not an appeal in vain. 
 
 Suddenly the Httle boy cried out: "There is some 
 one looking through the window ! " and immediately hid 
 his head beneath the coverlet. Anschel might easily 
 have escaped detection, but his courage failed him ; a 
 voice like to that of the j^oung girl seemed to call out 
 to him — remain. He distinctly heard the door facing 
 the street open ; he heard himself called ; instead of 
 replying, he followed in the steps of the young girl ; and, 
 before he had time to recover from his surprise, found 
 himself within the room. 
 
 In a short time, he became accustomed to his odd po- 
 sition, made himself perfectly at home, and remained 
 seated at his ease, as if he had known the family for 
 years. Nay, so thoroughly dehghted was he with his 
 adventure, that he never gave a thought upon the pro- 
 priety of retiring. The father was shochet to the com- 
 mune, that is to say, he slaughtered, according to the 
 Mosaic laws, both beasts and birds. His daughter. 
 
26 ANSCHEL, THE SCHLEMIEL. 
 
 Esther by name, was both good, industrious and pious, 
 and excited such admiration in our friend that he could 
 scarce withdraw his gaze from her downcast face. And 
 as he looked, his ovm face brightened, aud he communed 
 with himself : " If you should become engaged to this 
 girl ! You cannot return without a promised wife ; be- 
 sides, in taking this young girl, you perform, at once, a 
 kind and meritorious action. Her entire affection wiU 
 be centred in you, and, certainly, never will she enter- 
 tain the idea of calling you Schlemiel." 
 
 No sooner thought than done. He demanded, much 
 to the astonishment of both father and daughter, the 
 hand of Esther as his bride. But their astonishment 
 was changed into delight when he communicated to them 
 his name and condition. Standing there beside her, for 
 once a proud and happy man, his whole face illumined 
 by the new passion which had entered his soul, he drew 
 the trembling girl towards him, and asked her if her 
 consent were given. She, blushing and hangiug low her 
 head, answered in scarce a whisper : " I do not think 
 that I dishke you," and so was silent 
 
 Eischele, who had been a witness to aU that had been 
 said and done, sprang with many an antic from the bed, 
 whilst shouting : 
 
 " Oh ! I am going to let every one know Esther is en- 
 gaged to be married.'' 
 
 "There will be time enough to-morrow," said Esther. 
 
 " No, no, let him alone," entreated the happy Anschel ; 
 " let the contract be immediately dravni up." 
 
 In the presence of the family council, summoned by 
 Fischele and assembled during the evening, Anschel was 
 formally declared the Chosan*^ of Esther. As to any 
 other agreement or arrangement, nothing was to be done, 
 for the Shochet of the commune was too poor to bestow 
 any dowry upon his daughter. 
 
 Ah ! was not this a noble example of romantic heroism 
 in the life of our Schlemiel ? But what wiU the ghetto 
 say ? Already I hear their shouts of sarcastic laughter, 
 and see their mockery and their raillery. 
 
 * Betrothed 
 
AKSCHEL, THE SCHLEMIEL. 27 
 
 m.— NIGHT, 
 
 A year after, Anschel led Esther to his home as his 
 wife. The marriage ceremony had been performed joy- 
 ously, and celebrated amidst all the happiness and revel- 
 ry which its advent demanded, and now, for the first 
 time, was the youthful bride about to be conducted to the 
 synagogue, an important and traditional ceremony among 
 the people. 
 
 As might be expected, this was an occasion which the 
 amiable gossips — those social hawks, ready to pounce up- 
 on and rend to pieces — could not well permit to escape 
 them, and so they repaired in full force to the synagogue, 
 satisfying at once their consciences by this liberal display 
 of piety and their instincts by the opportunity afforded of 
 tearing their poor and unresisting prey. 
 
 " Have you seen Schlemiel's wife yet ? " demanded 
 one. 
 
 " Not I," rephed the other ; " what sort of a creature 
 is she?" ^ 
 
 " Of course, just what the wife of a Schlemiel ought 
 to be. The barrel always smells of the herring." 
 
 " What do you mean ? " 
 
 " Oh ! only that she has a hump large enough to build 
 a house upon." 
 
 "It's my opinion," chimed in a third, " he would have 
 done as weU here, without taking the trouble to go such 
 a distance, and for such a thing. And then, after all, to 
 think she hasn't a florin to her name." 
 
 " Why, bless your heart, the very chemise and dress 
 she has got on came out of his pocket." 
 
 " As for her gold chain, every one knows that he bought 
 that at Hirsch, the jeweler's, for a hundred florins." 
 
 " Well, what would you have ?" added another, with an 
 air of sanctified resignation. " Once a Schlemiel always a 
 Schlemiel ; and he can't alter the case." 
 
 How far thitf amiable conversation would have been 
 carried, and how much of the poor girl would have es- 
 caped their beaks, it is impossible to say, had not the 
 sounds of a joyous refrain suddenly interrupted them. 
 
28 A^SCKEL, THE SCnLEMlEL. 
 
 Soon after, a long file of married men, clad in holiday 
 costume, appeared, turning the corner of the street lead- 
 ing to the synagogue. Anschel to-day, for the first time, 
 attended schule* in his position of balbos.f He approach- 
 ed, his countenance radiant with happiness, between 
 two friends, who had also officiated at his marriage, and 
 had conducted him beneath the choupe.'l To have beheld 
 him at that moment, no one would have thought of de- 
 manding, who, in the wide world, was the most content- 
 ed of mortals. 
 
 Behind him, already his wife for two days, came Es- 
 ther, with downcast head, amidst a bevy of young and 
 old women, who esteemed it a duty to accompany the 
 newly made wife, betaking herself, for the first time, to 
 the synagogue. Music, hght and mirthful, echoed along 
 the street ; and, wherever she passed, the windows flew 
 open, and a score of inqusitive heads peeping out, said : 
 *' Come, let us see what this Schlemiel's wife is really 
 like ! " 
 
 Having reached the synagogue, the music ceased, and 
 the young married couple entered, followed by their cor- 
 tege. Anschel, as he moved along towards his seat, was 
 saluted on all sides with the cry of maseltoph.\\ "\\Tien 
 the weekly chapter had been read, the chasan^ called An- 
 schel before the Thora, accompanying this call with a sol- 
 emn chant. Happy and auspicious moment, thrice happy, 
 when even the remembrance of youth and manhood were 
 blotted from his memory ! 
 
 Meanwhile, following an old estabhshed custom, and 
 one impossible to avoid, Esther, in the woman's gallery 
 above, distributed Corinth raisins and sweetmeats to the 
 assembled people. Although in the midst of utter strang- 
 ers, where no sympathy was to be expected, and none 
 was found, still they exacted from her all the obhgations 
 of derech eretz, as, amidst their sneers, their laughter, 
 and their ridicule, she committed fault aiter fault. 
 
 " Not the slightest conception of good society ! " said 
 the -ttife of the administrator of the commune, curling 
 her hps with an air of complete contempt. 
 
 * Synagogue, t Old member. t Canopy nsed at weddings. 
 II Gooi luck. § Minister. 
 
ANSCHEL, THE SCHLEMIEL. 29 
 
 Par parenthese, it must be known, that Esther, who 
 was wholly -unacquainted with her person, had approach- 
 ed another woman, and had presented to her the plate 
 filled with bo'nbons, before paying this sign of respect to 
 the first. 
 
 " What could you expect, my dear Madame Gitel ?" re- 
 marked a neighbor, who considered herself no less in- 
 jured ! " Think you a. woman can learn good breeding 
 among geese and ducks ? At home, she has nothing else 
 to do but watch for the poultry sent to her father to be 
 killed. How can you expect her to know better ? " 
 
 " Yes, and she even scrubbed the dirty floors at her 
 father's," sneered another. 
 
 " Do you not see, Madame Gitel, that she still carries 
 the signs of her drudgery with her ? Besides that Httle 
 hump well becomes her," added a small, weak-haired and 
 weak-eyed woman, breaking into a fit of laughter, to 
 which the rest lent their voices. 
 
 These remarks were not pronounced in so low a tone 
 but that the poor woman, against whom they were di- 
 rected, heard them all, and distinctly. Nothing so sharp- 
 ens our senses as the excitement resulting from being 
 placed in unusual cii'cumstances. Then, every sense is, 
 so to speak, on the look out, and our soul extends itself 
 into a thousand different channels. Singular to remark, 
 it suffers less, at seeing itself reproached with its real 
 faults and ignorance of customs, than at hearing attri- 
 buted to it defects which it does not really possess. So 
 with Esther. Beyond, in truth, an almost imperceptible 
 inequahty in the height of the left shoulder, which the 
 cruel and piercing eyes of a woman alone could have so 
 readily detected, there was absolutely nothing in her ap- 
 pearance which could be pronounced a blemish. 
 
 Weighed down with insufferably shame, she felt her 
 remaining strength desert her, as, with wild and uncer- 
 tain air, she wandered through the throng of women who 
 pressed forward on all sides to wish her welcome. Amidst 
 such circumstances, where she was in need of all her 
 senses, she committed fault after fault against the rules 
 of derech eretz. 
 
 In the synagogues there are neither the grand and 
 majestic tones of the organ, nor the deHcate fumes of in- 
 
30 ANSCHEL, THE SCHLEftHEL. 
 
 cense, nor sackbuts wherewith to subdue, alleviate or ex- 
 alt the soul, and make it cease to remember its anguish 
 and its soitows. Here, the silent tear cannot fall, nor 
 the sigh nor sob be uttered unless the world should see 
 and know it all. And Esther wept, wept tears of inquie- 
 tude and embarrassment ; amidst all these whisperings, 
 all this laughter and ridicule, she beheved she beheld 
 herself mocked and pointed at as some di-eadfully de- 
 formed wretch, and she thought, at length, that she was 
 rea]ly so. 
 
 The serrice was over, and Anschel returned homeward 
 with his wife, while the music, as before, preceded them 
 on their way with its meriy strains. Esther was silent, 
 sad, and deeply afflicted ; he demanded of her the cause 
 of her seeming trouble ; to which her mut<^, appealing 
 and uptm-ned face, the eyes still ghttering with their 
 heavy tears, was her only reply ; but, as he continued to 
 repeat his question, sobbing, she responded : 
 
 " Oh ! do not ask me, Anschel, do not ask me ; if you 
 had but heard what they said ! " 
 
 " Stay !" said he, ■v\dth a profound sigh, in which were 
 blended resignation, anguish and despair," Stay, my wife, 
 speak not to me. Oh ! Esther, let there be no word, at 
 least, upon this subject." 
 
 And so silently, hand in hand, they wended their steps 
 along ; Esther spoke not, from womanly vanity, per- 
 chance ; Anschel, because his soul abhorred to hear pro- 
 nounced by her to whom he had forever united himself, 
 the sad, the weaiy, the gloomy foi-mula of his destiny. 
 
 Was it not a truly melancholy sight, thus to behold all 
 the efforts and struggles, all the good resolutions ma- 
 tured through many a sleepless night, adopted as a last 
 resource and rehance, was it not a melancholy sight to 
 see these cast aside, overcome by the omnipotence of 
 prejudice ? Often, in the battle of life, fought on many a 
 bloody field, when, breathless with the contest, the ene- 
 my seemingly overthrown, you rest and dream of future 
 quiet and happiness, how often does the dreaded serpent 
 of prejudice raise his crested head again, recalled by his 
 own blood iuto renewed life and vigor ? Oh ! it is, indeed, 
 immortal Many a weary year had flown by, and still our 
 friend had failed to make the least advance in pubhc opia- 
 
ANSCHEL, THE SCHLEMIEI,. 31 
 
 ion ; on the contrary, lie lost ground more and more 
 each day. 
 
 No one wished to transact business with him, for was 
 not the malediction of Heaven plainly visited upon a 
 Schlemiel ? Had he silver ? Did it not turn into lead ? Or 
 a good idea ? Did it not end in discomfiture ? Or did 
 he calculate upon a certain profit ? Did not this profit 
 escape him ? Who, then, in view of this, could desire to 
 enter into any business relations with him ? Who would 
 seek to attach the bark of his own existence to the debris 
 of a vessel, wrecked and fatally predestined to misfortune ? 
 
 Anschel perceived, on all sides, the general aversion of 
 which he was the object In no way could he give satis- 
 faction. Often on Sunday, when the traders were gomg 
 to business, might Anschel have been seen, resting tran- 
 quilly in the street. Then they said : " What does he do 
 here ? while he is standing idle, business is done under 
 his very nose." If, on the other hand, he preceded the 
 others, they were wont to remark : "What ardor ! wouldn't 
 you think that he was afraid of losing his engagement ?" 
 Often he returned from his rounds wliile it was still 
 Thursday, impatient to behold once more his dear wife 
 and children. " Why does he return of a Thursday ?" 
 was the next query. And if, in order to concede to them, 
 he did not return until late on Friday, when the hghts 
 were already burning in honor of the Sabbath, they con- 
 tinued to reproach him : " He is not only a Schlemiel, 
 but even a Fosche-Israel, " 
 
 Thus, on every side, they fell upon Anschel, as, on 
 every side, they equally avoided him ; and, as he could 
 in no wise satisfy the people, he finished by domg noth- 
 ing at all — and herein was his iU fortune. 
 
 It were difficult to decide exactly when or how his ill 
 fortune began or ended. In a very short time, the in- 
 heritance of Rebb Isserl had disappeared, to the entire 
 wonderment of Anschel. For a long time, already, had 
 he known the progress and intentions of Schlome ; for 
 this latter made no hesitation in informing all, who would 
 give ear to him, that he had engaged the workmen to re- 
 pair his house, and that he only awaited an opportune 
 moment. Of course, with commendable kindness, they 
 hastened to inform Anschel of these words, and to add 
 
32 ANSCHEL, THE SCHLEMIEL. 
 
 thereto, as their proHfic minds suggested, other remarks 
 which fell Hke so many drops of scalding water on his 
 souL He could do no more than redouble his efforts. 
 
 But it was all in Tain ; Schlome Katz was on his track 
 like a blood hound. Had he for a long time meditated 
 some happy speculation? he might rest assured that 
 Schlome had got wind of it and forestalled him. Had 
 he a business appointment for five o'clock ? Schlome had 
 already, at three, settled it for him. A thousand demons 
 seemed to note his inmost thoughts and carry them, at 
 once, to Schlome. 
 
 Meanwhile, Schlome had espoused the beautiful Colli- 
 nese who had occasion to remember, for so long a time, 
 her first interview with Anschel. Although he possessed 
 absolutely nothing in his own right, still no one hesita- 
 ted to give to him, since it was plainly evident he was a 
 fellow of remarkable tact and capabihty, and thus had 
 he realized the prediction of the ghetto : " Schlome had 
 made his mark." 
 
 From time to time, while returning homeward on the 
 Friday, Anschel and Schlome would encounter each oth- 
 er at the entrance to the ghetto. 
 
 "Well! is business prosperous?" constantly demand- 
 ed the latter, slapping his leathern girdle full of money. 
 
 " I am thoroughly prostrated with fatigue ; but, 'tis 
 all the same, the house shall not be yours ; you are only 
 going to useless trouble." 
 
 But, alas ! of what avail, however heroically, to strug- 
 gle against a power confessedly superior ? AVhen mis- 
 fortune pui'sues a poor wiretch, it prides itself neither 
 upon generosity nor hiunanity ; it attacks, at once, front 
 and rear. 
 
 Anschel finally came to the conclusion that alone there 
 would be no business success for him ; he thought of tak- 
 ing a partner ; but, unfortunately, there was no one of his 
 acquaintance who had the shghtest desire to associate 
 himself with him. He prayed, he entreated, his appeals 
 were in vain ; he addressed himself to the deaf, and reap- 
 ed for his reward naught but rephes replete with gall 
 and bitterness. However, when all hope had vanished, 
 he did succeed in obtaining a partner who would try the 
 thing with him. It is true, the partner in question had 
 
ANSCHEL, THE SCHLEMIEL. 33 
 
 not, exactly, mucli to risk ; for the conditions were that 
 Anschel should furnish the capital and he the brains, and 
 the profits should be shared equally between them. But 
 it made no difference ; Anschel was in the seventh heav- 
 en at his good fortune in securing a partner. 
 
 At the start all went well. Six months having passed, 
 the partner took his share of the profits, while Anschel 
 let his remain in the common stock. Hard times follow- 
 ed, and, although affau-s afterwards took a favorable turn, 
 still the final result was the same. The gold turned into 
 brass, and the brass into lead. 
 
 When Anschel and his companion balanced their ac- 
 count at the end of the year, both found themselves far 
 from their reckonings ; so that the latter, exasperated be- 
 •yond all bounds, pounded with his clenched fist the ta- 
 ble, and taunted him with being nothing but a Schlemiel, 
 a miserable Schlemiel. He attributed to Anschel all the 
 ill success of the enterprise, and only regretted one thing 
 — that he was fool enough to put any confidence in him ; 
 then, with an air of desperation, he rose and departed in 
 a whirlwind of rage. The Saturday following, Esther ap- 
 peared in the synagogue without, this time, wearing the 
 customary golden chain about her neck. 
 
 " What has she done with her chain ?" inquired one in 
 her neighbor's ear. 
 
 " She has pawned it to Hirsch, the jeweler." 
 
 " Already ? " 
 
 "What else ought you to expect from such a Schlemiel?" 
 
 Hpwever, Schlome Katz seemed to await patiently the 
 opportune moment before tightening his hold upon his 
 house. Quite frequently was he heard to repeat : " If 
 he do not wish to yield with a good grace, he will be 
 compelled, that is all ; let him alone ; I predict that 
 Anschel Gloser will, of his own accord, come here, to my 
 house, to bargain with me about his property. There is 
 still a to-morrow." 
 
34' AKSCHEL, THE SCHLEMIEL. 
 
 IV.—T0-3I0BB0W. 
 
 " There is still a to-morrow !" How many weary souls, 
 such ias our Anschel, have striveu in the bitterness of 
 their spirits to forget, to annihilate that word ? To-mor- 
 row! — It beai's in its train naught but the promise of 
 new-bom anguish and misery ; the story of the past re- 
 vived, renewed ; the rising of a sun obscured by clouds 
 and gloom. Perhaps the people of the ghetto had so 
 concluded, for, fi'om the very moment when Anschel was 
 declared a bankrupt man, he rose in the pubhc's estima- 
 tion. An inward voice seemed to repeat to them that 
 there was a beiQg stricken with the plague of misfortune, 
 and that to continue to molest him was to commit a 
 crime and mortal sin. 
 
 They sought then to assist and counsel him ; but their 
 assistance came too late, and their counsel was too harsh 
 and cruel to endure ; they advised him to sell his house. 
 Purchasers were not found wanting ; but Anschel revolt- 
 ed against this last proposition ; he became furious when 
 they suggested it. 
 
 " I am well aware," he cried out, " that it is Schlome 
 Katz who sends you on this mission ; but whoever dares 
 to offer me such advice I consider my bitterest enemy. 
 Yes, sooner would I become schulklopfer* aye, sooner 
 read the ThiUim,f than suffer my house to pass into his 
 villainous clutches." 
 
 Thereupon, he attached an inestimable value to that 
 house ; in his eyes, there was not money sufficient in the 
 world to purchase it. He clung to it like some jDOor ship- 
 wrecked sailor to his storm-tossed vessel. On her side, 
 Esther complained but httle, although she suffered and 
 wept in silence. 
 
 " If he had not married me," thought she, '•' he would 
 have made a good match ; yes, 'tis I alone, who am the 
 cause of all Ins unhappiness and misfortune." 
 
 The period estimated by Schlome, when the house 
 should finally come into his possession, had nearly elapsed; 
 misery hastens forward ^vith redoubled pace. 
 
 * Sexton. + PsalnLs. 
 
ANSCHEL, THE SCHLEMIEL. 35 
 
 One day, during his lonesome tramps, Anschel recol- 
 lected that it was the very anniversary of the occasion 
 when he had conducted his Esther to her nuptials. His 
 heart mellowed in a tender joy ; he saw himself again 
 beneath the windows of the room, wherein, for the first 
 time, he had beheld her ; he heard anew the sacred even- 
 ing prayer, repeated to her brother : " On my right stands 
 the angel Michael ; on my left, Gabriel ; before me, Ra- 
 phael stands ; behind me, Uriel ; but above me hovers 
 the majesty of God." 
 
 Wrapped up in these sweet and consolatory fancies, 
 he experienced anew what, poor fellow, he had not enjoy- 
 ed for many a long and sorrowful day — a few moments 
 of happiness unalloyed. In this frame of mind, he has- 
 tened onward until he met a peasant girl, bearing a goose 
 to the market ; a bargain was quickly struck, and he re- 
 ceived the goose in exchange for a piece of cloth. This 
 purchase he intended should serve for the ensuiug Sab- 
 bath's feast. It cannot be denied that the cloth which 
 he gave was thrice the value of the bird ; still, Anschel 
 believed he had effected a very good bargain, and went 
 on his way exceedingly contented in mind. He traveled 
 nearly three miles, carrying this feathered burden under 
 his arm ; and so satisfied and overjoyed was his whole 
 expression that, to have seen him, one would have thought 
 he carried along with him an inestimable treasure. He 
 stopped for a few hours at an inn situated at the entrance 
 to the town ; for it wa^ still broad dayhght, and he hes- 
 itated crossiQg the ghetto with the living purchase under 
 his arm. He waited until it was night. 
 
 "Look, mother, see what papa has brought home," 
 cried httle Schimmele, as Anschel entered his house with 
 his burden, which he held prudently concealed beneath 
 his overcoat. In his anxiety to display his bargain the 
 bird dropped to the ground. 
 
 " A goose ! a goose !" shouted the all-joyous Schimmele, 
 clapping his hands in delight. Esther looked on and 
 smiled, and with the smile — a thiug of rare occurrence 
 with her of late — brought back to Anschel's mind some 
 old and well nigh forgotten recollections. 
 
 "You shall see, Esther," said he, "that this goose 
 brings us good luck. It is ten years to day since we 
 
36 ANSCHEL, THE SCHLEMIEL. 
 
 ■were led beneath the ckoupe. Let us make a merry Sab- 
 bath with this goose ; it "will do us, I am sure, no harm 
 to enjoy ourselves again "with a few hours of happiness." 
 
 He pronounced these words sadly, yet hopefully, too. 
 
 *' Yes, dear wife, I have faith that aU Ts-ill be well yet ; 
 heaven cannot, surely, wish that 1 should be utterly for- 
 lorn and lost. I have faith." 
 
 He spoke now with so great a confidence in the future, 
 that one would have imagined he held in his hand, al- 
 ready written and sealed, the promise that his lot was, 
 hcDceforth, to change, and for the better. 
 
 Although it was only Wednesday, Anschel remained 
 at home, forgetting, for the time, all thoughts of busi- 
 ness. He wished, so to speak, to sanctify himself for that 
 day of feasting, as, fonnerly, did his ancestors at the foot 
 of Sinai. 
 
 Saturday aiiived, Anschel was seated at the table, sur- 
 rounded by the many pleasant faces of his httle children, 
 and felt as happy as the veriest child among them. Es- 
 ther's features shone with a transparent flush, like a 
 bright halo, behind which ghttered an expression of in- 
 tense and complete joy. It was plainly apparent that 
 she trusted and had hope in her husband. 
 
 After they had washed their hands, and Anschel had 
 blessed the Sabbath white-bread, the meal commenced in 
 earnest, much to the evident satisfaction of the children, 
 who waited in anxiety the advent of the treasured goose. 
 
 *' To day, children," said Anschel, " you may eat and 
 drink as much as you like ; for, on this day, ten years 
 ago, your mother and I, after our chasene,"^ were led for 
 the first time to schule." 
 
 The children laughed, clapped their hands, and gave 
 evidence of their approbation, which overcame, for a 
 time, their uneasiness at the non-appearance of the fowl. 
 Anschel, intoxicated with dehght, gazed round upon 
 their smiling countenances, and thought within himself : 
 "Does Schlome Katz, Katz as he is, does he enjoy the 
 pleasures of such a Sabbath ? No, no ; for this he must 
 have children, and God has not blessed him with such 
 treasures." 
 
 * Marriage. 
 
ANSOHEL, THE SCHLEMIEL. 37 
 
 The impatient murmurs of the youngsters recalled him 
 to his senses, and the long and anxiously expected goose 
 was brought in amidst a breathless silence. It was a 
 magnificent example of judicious roasting, and looked 
 tempting enough to move an epicure. Anschel himself 
 determined to carve on this occasion, and, with this in- 
 tention, he dehberately rolled up his sleeves, seized the 
 carving knife, plunged the fork, after a moment's hesita- 
 tion, into the breast, then, with an air of mingled trepi- 
 dation and solemnity, commenced his work. To convey, 
 however, any adequate idea of the expression of his fea- 
 tures at this moment were beyond the powers of mortal 
 being. 
 
 The goose was, at length, completely carved, and still 
 rested in dehcious morsels on the plate before him, when, 
 suddenly, little Schimmele cried out : " Look, look, there 
 is a nail driven in the goose ! " 
 
 " "Where ? where ? " demanded, at the same time, both 
 Anschel and Esther. The child pointed to the place, and 
 there, indeed, the nail was revealed. 
 
 The knife dropped quickly from our Anschel's hand, 
 who stood transfixed, his face paler than the cloth before 
 him on the table. Esther at once removed the bird, and 
 ordered Schimmele to hasten to the rabbi's house, and 
 enquire of him if it were trefe^ or not. The boy seized 
 the dish, covered it with a napkin, and staggered away 
 under his tempting load as fast as legs could bear him. 
 
 Meanwhile, gloomy and melancholy silence reigned 
 throughout the house. The children gazed on with an ex- 
 pression of disappointment and dismay. Anschel lowered 
 his eyes, whilst Esther sat immovably in her seat without 
 uttering a word. 
 
 A few minutes afterwards, Schimmele returned, but 
 his countenance foreboded no good ; tears were in his 
 eyes. 
 
 "Well?" demanded Esther, as he stood irresolutely 
 on the threshold. 
 
 " The goose — the goose is trefe" repHed the boy, after 
 a desperate effort, and sobbing. 
 
 Esther, calmly, in a low tone, her head resting gently 
 
 * Unclean. 
 
38 ANSCHEIi, THE SCHLEMIEL. 
 
 on her hand, said : " Aiische],you are truly a great Schle- 
 miel!" 
 
 Thus had she in her turn, pronounced the fated word ! 
 And all his future, as all his past, was now condemned ! 
 What wound could, thenceforth, make bleed his heart af- 
 ter this blow, which she had leveled at it ; she who alone, 
 of all the world, should have guarded and redeemed him ? 
 
 " I shall not survive this," he said to himself, with an 
 air of sad and mournful resignation ; then he arose, put 
 on his overcoat, and left without a word of adieu. He did 
 not return until late at night. Esther had awaited him, 
 a prey to uneasiness and alarm. As soon as he entered, 
 she threw herself upon his breast, and wept bitter tears 
 of sorrow. 
 
 " Nay," said he, releasing himself gently from her ca- 
 resses, " it is not your fault ; but you can never repair the 
 injury you have done. God knows how I have toiled and 
 struggled ; stiU, I see it, I am a Schlemiel ; I have just 
 come from Schlome Katz ; I have sold the house ! " 
 
 Schlome Katz had estabhshed himself for some time in 
 his ancestor's, or, rather, in our Anschel's house. He had 
 repainted and refitted it, and, under his supervision, it 
 assumed an altogether new and comeher appearance. Al- 
 most the livelong day did he gaze from the windows, en- 
 veloped in his rich and comfortable morning gown, and 
 smoked his silver-mounted pipe, even as, years before, he 
 had so confidently predicted. 
 
 There was one day in the year, when Schlome appeared 
 a different man — it was Youm Kippur* On that occa- 
 6ion,he never quitted the synagogue, he prayed and mor- 
 tified himself, and, when the chasan came to this passage : 
 " "What deeds preserve the dead from the torments of the 
 hereafter ?"andthe congregation responded, "Prayer, jus- 
 tice and repentance ; " then was he seen to beat, with 
 violence, his breast, as a sign of penitence and sorrow. 
 
 As he had no children of his ovm, he adopted the or- 
 phans of Anschel and Esther his widow. 
 
 * Day of Atonement. 
 
ANSCHEL, THE SCHLEMIEL. 39 
 
 The very day, in fact, when he had effected the sale of 
 the house, Anschel departed, none knew whither, and 
 never returned. 
 
 Many weeks subsequently, some peasants in the neigh- 
 borhood brought back his dead body, which they had 
 discovered in a field where the river had cast it up. It 
 was reported that he had met with some accident. 
 
 Thereupon was he buried. Now it happened that one 
 of the grave diggers slipped on the moist and freshly up- 
 turned sod of the grave ; and, at the same time, the dead 
 body, which he was holding by the feet, escaped from his 
 grasp and rolled headlong into the ditch. Schlome Katz, 
 who stood near by, observing the accident, looked into 
 the grave, and said : 
 
 " He is dead, poor fellow, and may he forgive me ; but 
 I cannot help saying it : he is, to the very end, a Schle- 
 miel ! " 
 
 And this was the last stone thrown at the unhappy 
 wretch. 
 
THE SABBATH EYE. 
 
THE SABBATH EYE. 
 
 A TKUE STOKY OF BERLIN. 
 
 •ooo^o 
 
 In the year 1750, when he was fifteen years old, 
 Joseph Lehman left his father's house. 
 
 He had been an unusuaUy bright boy, obedient to hig 
 teachers and parents, of handsome and cheerful appear- 
 ance, a promising student. In the Hebrew he had made 
 marked advance for so young a " seeker after knowl-. 
 edge," so that his friends all anticipated for him a bril- 
 liant future. 
 
 Herr Moses Lehman was a well-to-do merchant of 
 Berlin, of good repute among the citizens. His wife, 
 Frau Bertha, was widely admired for her beauty of mind 
 and person. She had married Lehman when she was 
 only fourteen years of age, and at the time the events 
 here recorded occurred, although the mother of ten chil- 
 dren, she yet looked remarkably young and attractive. 
 Joseph, being her eldest, was, as usual, the favorite 
 child. It is no wonder that she had so strong a love for 
 him, for he was in every feature her " own son." 
 
 On the night of September 14th, young Joseph Leh- 
 man left his father's house, to the astonishment of all 
 who knew him. Herr Lehman and his comely wife 
 were spending the evening at the house of a friend, 
 some distance from their home. Theresa and Isaac 
 were at the theatre in company with their uncle ; the 
 other children were abed. Joseph was asked to go with 
 
44 THE SABBATH Fl'E. 
 
 his parents on their -visit, but he told them he preferred 
 remaining home, so as to devote a few extra houi's to the 
 mastering of some difficult passages in the Gemara, in 
 time for the morning recitation ; for he was a student of 
 Rabbi Menasseh, the noted preacher of the city. 
 
 The Lehmans retm-ned home at about eleven o'clock, 
 and retu'ed. In the morning the family assembled in 
 the parlor for prayer, as was the custom in most private 
 famihes of Germany. It was noticed that Joseph was 
 absent, and this was remarkable, for he was ever the first 
 to arise, and was regular and devout at prayers. His 
 brother Isaac ran to his room ; his bed had been un- 
 touched, and the coverings lay as smooth and unruffled 
 as if they were just put in oixier by the seiwant. He 
 hunied down to tell this circumstance to his father. 
 Fi'au Lehman, suspecting that something was amiss, 
 went herself to Joseph's room, and perceived a letter 
 lyiQg on his httle table, addressed, in a firm hand, " To 
 my ever dear mother, Frau Bertha LEHiL\^\" 
 
 She hastily opened the note, but had scarcely read the 
 first few words before her shrieks summoned the house- 
 hold to the room, where they found her lying on the floor, 
 unconscious, her fingers holding the folded letter. — 
 These were its contents : — 
 
 *' I have left my home never to return nntil it is God's will that 
 I shall introduce to you and my family the Light which I have this 
 day been permitted to see. Tell my father that, however much I 
 thank him for his oft-repeated instructions to me, all his attempts 
 to make me a believer in the doctrines of his faith are in vain. I 
 can no longer think or act as a Jew ; and I pray to God that the 
 hat piness which I now feel as a faithful Son of the Church will be 
 soon participated in by all those beings I love on earth. 
 
 "May God bless you, my dear mother. I shall never forget 
 your sweet face. Your portrait is the only article, except my 
 clothing and the Httle money that I have saved, that I take away 
 with me. 
 
 *'I go far away from Berlin. I go in company with a good 
 man, who will see that I am provided with everything needful lor 
 my happiness. It is useless for you to seek me. Fare you well ! 
 *' Your Son, Joseph." 
 
 Astonished, grieved and terrified were the inmates of 
 Lehman's house that eventful day. Never before had 
 such a misfortune happened to any Jewish family in 
 
TH3 SAEBATH EVE. 45 
 
 Berlin. So intelligent and promising a youth as Joseph, 
 so mild and obedient, thus to break his connection with 
 his family without any apparent cause, or suspicion of a 
 cause, was a circumstance that could not long remain a 
 secret. In a few hours, the fact was known throughout 
 the whole Jewish quarter. Herr Lehman alone bore the 
 sad event composedly, and sought to allay the violent 
 grief in which his wife and daughter Theresa indulged. 
 Fmitless inquiries were made of the neighbors as to 
 whether they had seen Joseph leave the house. Herr 
 Lehman suspected that, ere nightfall, the wanderer would 
 return, as he could not realize that his son could thus 
 sever the tie which had bound them so pleasantly 
 together. 
 
 Night came, but no Joseph. 
 
 Then the old spirit of the patriarchs came upon him. 
 He summoned his family to the parlor, called in a few 
 of the neighbors, including Eabbi Menasseh, and in a 
 low but firm voice he said to those around him : 
 
 "My friends, my eldest son, my first-born, Joseph, has 
 abandoned the faith of his fathers. I and my family will 
 now mourn him as dead. We will keep Shiva.'^ And 
 from this moment I do not wish his name to be men- 
 tioned in my presence nor befcre any of my household." 
 
 Silently and sadly the Lehmans sat on the humble 
 seats that were provided by the congregation for mourn- 
 ers, the Rabbi rent their garments, the customary 
 prayers were recited, friends briefly offered the usual 
 words of condolence, and Joseph Lehman was of the 
 dead. 
 
 n. 
 
 It was Sabbath on the night of September 14th, 1765. 
 The moon was shining brightly ; the air was clear and 
 mild. The service at the synagogues was concluded, 
 and the pious worshippers were hurrying hungry to their 
 homes and the genial Sabbath meal. 
 
 In the house of the Lehmans there was unusual ex- 
 citement. Rebecca, the youngest child, was on this night 
 
 * The seven days of monming. 
 
46 THE SABBATH EYE. 
 
 to present to the family her betrothed, yotmg Emil 
 Stem. Three of her sisters and two brothers were al- 
 ready married. Isaac was quite a patriarch himself, 
 having not only his own five young ones, but his mother 
 and her unmarried children, to care for; his father, Moses 
 Lehman, having died twelve years before ; — some say of 
 a broken heart, although he preserved his outward calm- 
 ness to the last ; but it is probable that the apostacy of 
 his son was instrumental in the causing of his early 
 death, for he was a man of strict probity and ^reat family 
 pride, and his sensitive feelings had been terribly wounded 
 by that severe blow. 
 
 Grand preparations were made that night to celebrate 
 the auspicious event that was to introduce the Lehmans 
 to a new member of the family, as well as to welcome 
 the regular weekly guest, or rather " bride," as the good 
 people of Berlin called the Sabbath. The spacious din- 
 ing-room of Isaac Lehman's house seem furnished as for 
 a banquet , for chairs and dishes were placed for nearly 
 thirty people, the married couples, old Mrs. Lehman, the 
 venerable Rabbi Menasseh, the family doctor, such of the 
 grandchildren as were allowed to be present, and a few 
 intimate friends besides. Old Mrs. Lehman had just 
 ensconced herself in the great arm-chair which had been 
 in use for almost a century. Mrs. Isaac was busy in the 
 kitchen giving final orders and superintending the bits 
 of ornament which were being placed on the several 
 savory dishes — the young Misses Lehman being engaged 
 in carrying them, when decorated, to the huge table in 
 the dining-room ; the married daughters and daughters- 
 in-law conversing in low tones as to the subject of Re- 
 becca's engagement and her " future prospects " ; while 
 Rebecca herself was in a maze of excitement, now open- 
 ing the window to see if the people were returning from 
 Schule, then looking at the clock and wondering whether 
 it was not time for her betrothed to arrive, for his busi- 
 ness that day was such as to prevent his attending Syn- 
 agogue. 
 
 At last the table was laid, and the ladies had nothing 
 else to be busy about, except probably to consult the 
 quaint miiTor occasionally, and endeavor to discern some^ 
 thing amiss with their personal appearance, wlien the 
 
THE SABBATH EVE. 47 
 
 welcome sound of hurrying footsteps was heard, and the 
 door was scarcely opened when the happy and hungry 
 men and boys rushed in, eager to receive the Sabbath 
 kiss and exchange mutual congratulations. In a few 
 moments young Stern arrived, and the circle was com- 
 plete. Mr. Lehman introduced his future brother-in- 
 law to all assembled. Emil was previously known to 
 Isaac alone, having lived in Frankfort, where a month 
 ago he had met and loved Rebecca, who Vv as spending a 
 short visit there with a school friend. Mr. Stern was 
 cordially welcomed by all, both because Rebecca was the 
 favorite child, and also by reason of his prepossessing 
 appearance, and the reputation which had preceded him. 
 Then Rabbi Menasseh having recited the usual Sabbath 
 blessing, the company, in the best of humor, proceeded 
 to enjoy the sumptuous fare which their generous host 
 had provided. 
 
 Amid the general hilarity that prevailed, the animated 
 conversation and hearty laughter, no one observed the 
 unusual dejection which preyed upon old Mrs. Lehman. 
 The conduct of her eldest son, and the untimely death 
 of her beloved husband, had combined to deprive her of 
 the vivacious spirits which had formerly characterized 
 her as the happy wife and mother. She was frequently 
 addicted to nervousness and low spirits, but time had 
 gradually reconciled her to her bereavement, and after a 
 few years she never betrayed to those around her, that, 
 despite the benign and cheerful look which her face al- 
 ways presented, her loving heart often felt for the one 
 who was absent and perhaps forgotten by all but herself, 
 and her mind never ceased to remember the pretty boy 
 who was so fond of her, and who had promised in that 
 last cruel letter of his never to forget her who was still 
 his mother. So, on this joyous night, when more than 
 at other times she should have been happy and con- 
 tented, she felt strangely indifferent to the merriment 
 and happiness around that Sabbath table. To her never- 
 forgetful mind, one loved face was absent — ^her first-born, 
 who should have sat in the seat of honor which Isaac 
 now occupied — and as she reflected on the sad past, so 
 she inwardly prayed that the wanderer might soon re- 
 turn and be an honored member of the community, as 
 was his father before him. 
 
43 THE S-iBBATH FV-E. 
 
 But hark ! "Wliat noise is that in the street ? "Who, 
 on this peaceful Sabbath, can be so forgetful of the rest 
 that all good Israehtes should enjoy every Friday night ? 
 The noise becomes louder, curses strong and deep appall 
 the startled ears of the listeners. 
 
 "Never mind, good folks," said Isaac Lehman, ** pro- 
 bably the noise comes from some drunken brawlers. 
 Don't mind them, the pohce will soon " 
 
 His words came to a sudden stop, when the sound of a 
 heavy fall, directly in front of their door, aroused their 
 feelings of humanity, and the men rushed outside in 
 time to hear the words, " Die then, you beggar, if you 
 wish it," and a taU man dressed as a priest ran at full 
 speed up the street. Isaac and the others hfted his un- 
 fortunate companion and carried him indoors, laying 
 him on a servant's bed adjoining the kitchen. 
 
 This untoward occurrence cast a gloom over the spirits 
 of the little assemblage, and they now spoke in subdued 
 tones, waiting with some anxiety to hear a report from 
 the doctor, who at once proceeded to the room where the 
 man lay, to discover the extent of his injuries, and to use 
 such remedies and restoratives as his knowledge of his 
 art afforded. 
 
 Soon he appeared at the door of the dining-room, and 
 his pallid face and nervous manner betokened that his 
 patient was dangerously wounded, if not already past all 
 medical aid. 
 
 " Mr. Lehman," he asked, " will you come in the haU 
 for a moment ? " 
 
 Isaac quickly answered the summons. 
 
 " ^liat is it ? Is the man dead ? Who is he ? " 
 
 The doctor made no answer to the three questions, 
 but gravely begged Lehman to dismiss the company, as 
 it would be necessary for the well-being of the sufi'eret, 
 who he was pained to say was a Jew, that the house 
 should be kept perfectly quiet. 
 
 Mr. Lehman then returned to the room, and briefly 
 informed his relatives and friends of what the doctor 
 had told him ; on hearing which, the guests silently rose 
 and prepared to depart. They all felt sorry for the poor 
 man who had met with such severe treatment, and had 
 so rudely disturbed their comfortable meal, although 
 
THE SABBATH EVE. 49 
 
 they did feel rather shocked when it was told them that 
 the sufferer was an Israelite ; but their sorrow was in 
 truth the more heartfelt for poor Rebecca, who was sob- 
 bing piteously, crying that it was a " cruel shame that it 
 should have happened just on the first night that dear 
 Emil was home v. ith us." Emil, too, looked rather woe- 
 begone, but he was restored to good humor when the 
 time for departure arrived, and to him of course was as- 
 signed the agreeable task of taking Rebecca home. She 
 lived only a few yards' distance from Isaac's house, but 
 this made no difference to Emil, for he purposely walked 
 home in the wrong direction, and failed to see his error 
 — as did pretty Rebecca also — until he had gone over a 
 mile, when he gallantly said, " So much the better, my 
 dear. There is, then, a mile more for us to walk back." 
 
 So, lovers-hke, they slowly retraced their steps, stop- 
 ping every now and then to gaze at the glories of the 
 moon, which seemed to smile at their devotion, until 
 they arrived again at Isaac Lehman's abode. Rebecca 
 was surprised to see that the dining-room was still alight, 
 and the shadows of figures, sitting near the window cur- 
 tams, betokening that the family had not yet retired for 
 the night. 
 
 "Let us go in, Emil, dear," said she, "probably we 
 can hear more about the poor man whose unfortunate 
 accident spoiled our evening's enjoyment." 
 
 Emil knocked at the door. 
 
 Isaac Lehman answered the knock himself. His face 
 was ghastly pale. 
 
 "Why, Isaac, what is it? Are you sick?" anxiously 
 asked Rebecca. 
 
 "Alas, Rebecca dear, little did you know what you 
 were saying an hour ago, when you declared what a shame 
 it was that our enjoyment should be so interrupted. Re- 
 becca, I grieve to tell you that the man who is dying in 
 this house, dying from the blows of an assassin, is our 
 long lost brother — Joseph ! " 
 
 "O, no, Isaac, teU me that you are mistaken. It can 
 
 not be that our poor brother should perish thus, and on 
 
 this of all nights," cried Rebecca. She was a baby when 
 
 the trouble had occurred, but ignorant as she was con- 
 
 6 
 
50 THE SABBATH EYE. 
 
 ceming her misguided brother, she could never think of 
 him without pity and regret. 
 
 They entered the dining-room "which they had so re- 
 cently left, but with such different feelings. Rebecca 
 sobbed convulsively ; the Lehmans sat around quietly 
 •waiting for intelligence from the adjoining room. Old 
 Mrs. Lehman was by the bedside of her son, cooling his 
 feverish brow, soothing his pain, and talking to him with 
 those words of endearment which only a mother can ut- 
 ter. Isaac stood by her side, anxiously watching the 
 broken breathing of the sufferer, and at every apparent 
 change ghdiug softly into the room where the gi'ie-sing 
 relatives were seated, and answering their numerous in- 
 quiries as best he could. 
 
 Isaac had recognized his brother as soon as he beheld 
 him. He was deeply shocked, but his grief was the more 
 lest his widowed mother should become aware of the sad 
 fact. Could she survive the blow ? He expressed his 
 fears to the doctor, but that worthy man, who had at- 
 tended Mrs. Lehman since her marriage, fe!t convinced, 
 from his knowledge of her character, that no ill effects 
 would result from her being acquainted with the sad 
 truth. Besides, the sufferer, in the midst of his parox- 
 ysms of pain — for the wound was mortal, and he had but 
 few hours to hve — was continually moaning "Mother!" 
 " Come to me, mother," so that at last Isaac willingly 
 consented that she should be told the truth. ^\Tien INIrs. 
 Lehman heard who was lying in the next room, she at 
 first felt incHned to faint, but, by a strong effort, she com- 
 posed herself, calmly said, " God has heard my prayers. 
 He has allowed me to see my first-bom before I die," 
 and in a moment she was with her son, kissing his thin 
 Hps, and gazing tenderly on his never-forgotten, although 
 greatly changed, features. She ceased to think of his 
 early abandonment of her and his home, of his apostacy, 
 of his reckless hfe — for reckless it must have been to have 
 come to so wretched an end — but thought of him only 
 as he was in the days of his boyish innocence, when he 
 was the pride of the community. 
 
 Joseph lay in a state of unconsciousness for about an 
 hour, when his senses returned, and he beheld strange 
 faces about him. He gazed at them for some time, won- 
 
THE SABBATH EYE. 61 
 
 dering, amid all his pain, where and among whom he was 
 lying. At last, Mrs. Lehman, prompted by the physician 
 who saw that reason had returned to the sufferer, and 
 that but a little time was left him wherein to recognize, 
 and be consoled by, his relatives — said, in a low voice : 
 
 " Do you know me, Joseph, my son ? Do you not re- 
 member your mother, my dear boy ? Speak to us, Jo- 
 seph, and tell us where you have been since last we saw 
 you." 
 
 Joseph knew the voice at once. With a loud cry, he 
 lifted himself from the bed, threw his weak arms around 
 his mother's neck, and begged her to kiss and bless him 
 before he died. 
 
 " O, mother, I have not long to live, but something 
 tells me that I shall live long enough to tell you all I have 
 suffered since I became the great sinner I am. But, 
 mother, tell me, I implore you, that you forgive me for 
 the wrong I have done, and then I am ready to die." 
 
 " Forgive you, my child ! I have never forgotten you 
 since the cruel night you left us. Forgive you? Alas, 
 my boy, I would I could give you a life to Hve again, and 
 be to me the good son you always were. See, Joseph, 
 here is your old playmate and brother, Isaac, and there 
 are Theresa and Moses, and here, my dear boy, is your 
 little sister Rebecca, who, to-night, celebrates her be- 
 trothal." 
 
 The brothers and sisters in turn pressed Joseph's hand, 
 and spoke to him words of comfort. 
 
 Joseph had sinned, and greatly, but now that he was 
 about to leave this world, and stand in the presence of 
 the great Judge, it was for them to make his last hours 
 as cheering and happy as possible. 
 
 Death levels all earthly feehngs. In the presence of 
 the great Destroyer, pride, anger, hatred, revenge, stand 
 abashed, and Love alone should remain to solace the 
 helpless victim. 
 
 " Mother, dear mother," said the dying man in broken 
 accents, " before I die, let me tell you how bitterly I ac- 
 knowledge my great error. That man who struck me 
 this blow which is hastening my death, was my early 
 tempter. Years ago, when I was a young student at the 
 Rabbi's, he would waylay me on my path to the school, 
 
62 THE SABBATH EVE. 
 
 and, in honeyed words, attempt to seduce me from my 
 religion. Flattered by his praises, I yielded to his wishes, 
 and became a Christian ! That night I left my home, I 
 met him just outside of the Judeiigasse, and begged him 
 to go with me to the priest who had baptised me, to ask 
 him whether I could not renounce my newly-made vows 
 — but he refused me, said I was now a Christian, and 
 could never return to my old faith. I stayed at his house 
 some days, fearing to walk out lest I should meet some 
 one who knew me. One night, Strasser — ^my tempter — 
 told me that he had been in the Judengasse, and had 
 heard that my father was keeping Shiva for me, that I 
 was dead to all my house, and I could never return. — 
 
 " Oh, mother, that was a hard blow for me. I had 
 hopes of going to my home on some night, of seeing you 
 alone, and of asking you to intercede for me with father ; 
 — but this intelhgence made me resign all idea of return- 
 ing to you. Then Strasser made me think ill of you all, 
 for forgetting me so soon and giving me up as one dead, 
 instead of searching the city everywhere to find and re- 
 claim me. — 
 
 " Then, mother, I went to Vienna, entered a church as 
 a chou'-singer, would have risen in the estimation of the 
 priests, but the other singers taunted me about my Jew- 
 ish countenance, and I, afraid lest they might discover 
 who I was, left the church, and wandered about the city 
 for months in search of employment. Jews I would not 
 apply to, for I could not mingle with them for fear of be- 
 ing detected. Christians would not trust me, so they 
 said, for I looked like a Jew. 
 
 " O, mother, I cannot tell you the life I then led, with 
 whom I associated, what I was forced to do, what, alas ! 
 I did of my own accord. For ten years I Hved a life of 
 wrong, of crime, a life of constant fear, never illumined 
 by a ray of joy, my hopes blasted, my youth wrecked, my 
 future cursed. 
 
 "Never may any of you realize the wretchedness 
 which overwhelmed me when I learned of the death of 
 my father. None but the son, who is a wanderer, an 
 outcast, can properly picture the utter desolation which 
 I felt when I heard that all my expectations of paternal 
 pal'don and blessing were in vain. My father — he whom 
 
THE SABBATH EVE. " 63 
 
 I had always reverenced — ^worshipped — died with no 
 words of forgiveness or remembrance for his sinful son. 
 
 " Three years ago, I again met Strasser, who knew me 
 at once, and employed all his wily eloquence to make me 
 his tool. Driven by want and despair, I consented to 
 act as agent in Pesth for a despicable society with which 
 he was connected, whose object was to kidnap Jewish 
 children and turn them into holy adherents of the church ! 
 I tried to do as my associates did, lure little boys and 
 girls from their homes and set them against their par- 
 ents and their God. But, mother, I could not ; villain 
 as I was, but not so bad as that. I could not destroy the 
 peace of others as mine had been destroyed. Again I 
 fled, and happily fell in with a benevolent man who took 
 pity on my forlorn condition and made me the tutor of 
 his children. He was a kind-hearted Christian. His sons 
 profited by my instruction, and I took every opportunity 
 to instill into their young minds, a love for aU mankind, a 
 pity and respect for the Jews, feehngs to which the young 
 of our day are strangers. 
 
 " Inspired by the peaceful surroundings of that good 
 family, my thoughts gradually returned to their old chan- 
 nels, and I began to feel again as a Jew. 
 
 "O, mother, earnestly and tearfuUy I prayed every 
 night to God to give me hope for future pardon, and to 
 strengthen me in my endeavors to do what was right. — 
 
 " My strength is fast faihng me, I cannot linger much 
 longer. This night, being in BerHn, a strange curiosity 
 impelled me to approach the old house and see whether 
 you all hved there. I saw you sitting by your Sabbath 
 table, looking happy and merry, while I, your first-born 
 son, was an outcast and an apostate. Suddenly a man 
 approached me, touched my shoulder, and, in a sneering 
 voice, asked me if I would like to be one of the merry 
 party. I knew the man — it was Sti'asser ! In a moment 
 the history of my past Hfe passed before me. I thought 
 of nothing save this one cruel fact, that I was a vagabond, 
 and this man was the cause of my suffering. I struck 
 him, grappled with him — he plunged his dagger into my 
 side — and I knew no more until I found myself in this 
 welcome room, with you, my deai-, dear mother, by my 
 side." 
 
 5* 
 
64 THE SABBATH EVE. 
 
 Joseph's voice grew weaker and weaker, until it was 
 almost inaudible. 
 
 " Mother, will you forgive me — Mother — ^kiss me once 
 more. Say the Shemang for me ! — Mother ! " 
 
 And Joseph Lehman was no more among the living. 
 
A TALE OF THE nQUISITION. 
 
A TALE OF THE IIQUISITIOIf. 
 
 -OOO^OO" 
 
 It was a cold night in the month of December, 1660. 
 The wind blew with force ; and in the intervals of its most 
 violent blasts, the hail came through the thick fog which 
 covered the city of Amsterdam, that rich capital of Hol- 
 land, lying on the borders of the Zuyder Zee ; that in- 
 dustrious city, so proud of its bold dams, of its edifices 
 built on the water, and of its navies of vessels which 
 come to the very doors of its warehouses to pour in the 
 riches of the two worlds, and leave it as soon as winter 
 comes and when the fogs reign. For then this Batavian 
 metropolis presents a very sad spectacle ; everywhere 
 water, everywhere canals overflow ; large mud puddles, 
 and the admirable dikes built by the l3utch, seem each 
 moment to yield to the efforts of the waters which threat- 
 en to submerge that fertile region. 
 
 It was nine o'clock, and the city seemed deserted (for 
 the storm obhged the citizens to remain in their homes), 
 when two men might have been seen advancing towards 
 a small public house, having for its sign Absalom hung- 
 up to a tree by the hair, and which was situated near 
 the place which is now called Juden-Herren-Gracht. 
 
 They proceeded with caution, wrapped up in large 
 cloaks, and, after many efforts to resist the fury of tlie 
 wind, and not to fall in the canal bordered with trees, 
 which they were coasting, they entered the inn in good 
 
58 A TALE OF THE INQUISITION. 
 
 health and spirits. A smell of rancid oil, juniper and 
 burnt wine welcomed them upon their entrance ; and 
 when they had divested themselves of their dripping 
 cloaks and had approached to the fire to dry themselves, 
 the drinkers arose, recogniziQg in one of the new comers 
 their friend Van Khef, proprietor of the inn of Absalom. 
 
 It was in fact the host Van Klief, wlio had just pro- 
 cured a physician for his wife Boby, suddenly taken with 
 a violent nervous attack. Not being able to find their 
 family physician, the honest inn-keeper had decided to 
 procure a Spanish physician, lately arrived in Holland, 
 and who gave his name as Don Balthazar Orobio. As 
 soon as the host and the doctor had entered the sick 
 chamber, the guests recommenced their playing and con- 
 versation. 
 
 The inn of Van Klief was not much patronized except 
 by IsraeHtes, who, through the spirit of nationality, came 
 by preference to a co-religionist ; and HoUand, which has 
 always distinguished itself for the liberty of conscience, 
 which she has accorded to the followers of the laws of 
 Moses, contained already several Israelitish communities, 
 who were noted for their wealth and good conduct. The 
 Israelitish congregation of Amsterdam, especially, had 
 floui'ished since a few centui'ies ; and, as if they had un- 
 dertaken to answer to the reproach of idleness so unjust- 
 ly attributed to the IsraeHtes, had for a long time em- 
 ployed their children in rude works at the docks, in the 
 exercise of the most difficult trades and in selhng at re- 
 tail, in the open au', in wheelbanows. It was to this 
 class of society, then, that the numerous guests assembled 
 on that night in the Inn of Absalom belonged, and the 
 discussion was on the sacrifices they had made for reli- 
 gion. 
 
 " I," said a big merchant of fruit, having a double chin, 
 an inflamed face and a large bald head, " I remember 
 having had, one Friday, fruit in my wheelbarrow which 
 was beginning to spoil. I was going to sell it, when the 
 clock struck six and announced that the Sabbath prayers 
 were beginning. I hurried to my house and put away 
 my merchandise, which on Sunday morning had become 
 unsaleable." 
 
 "I," said another, "was employed in a brewery, and 
 
A TALE OF THE INQUISITION. 59 
 
 at the coming of the Feast of Passover, did not wish to 
 continue working a substance which contained leaven, so 
 I preferred being dismissed.'* 
 
 " I," spoke a third, " was travelling, and not being able 
 to procure food prepared according to the rites of our 
 rehgion, I fed myself on bread, water and eggs during a 
 fortnight," and, added he, with a deep sigh, " I did not 
 have the pleasure of eating cheese during all that time." 
 
 "What is all that !" observed a tall, lean, yellow-faced, 
 long and bony armed, negro-haired individual, " hear 
 what I did one Yom Kippur evening. I was coming from 
 the synagogue, when I heard a man, getting in his chaise, 
 say to his two porters : ' Do not cross the street of the 
 Jews ; those dogs have a feast, and I wish to have noth- 
 ing in common with them to-night.' I said to myseK : 
 * Stop a moment, old carcass of herring ; wait a bit. I 
 will pay you for your words.' Thereupon I very slyly 
 followed the steps of my man ; and on arriving at the 
 borders of a muddy rivulet, I seized the chaise and flung 
 it in the mud, together with the two porters." 
 
 A loud burst of laughter welcomed this good trick, and 
 the hero proudly brandished his nervous arms, and 
 walked the smoky room with a triumphant air, when, to 
 the astonishment of all present, a clear firm voice cried 
 out loudly : " And you have done very wrong." At those 
 words a great din was raised in the assembly. 
 
 " Who says that ? " rose from all parts of the room. 
 
 " I," quietly answered a man, who being occupied in 
 warming himself for a few moments, had escaped the no- 
 tice of the guests ; and as he rose to repeat the observa- 
 tion, he was recognized as Don Balthazar Orobio, the 
 physician that Van Klief had brought with him. He was 
 a tall man, of noble carriage and distinguished air ; his 
 hair was of a beautiful black ; his small moustaches were 
 shaped in points ; the color of his complexion, and es- 
 pecially his accent, indicated, if his name had not akeady 
 done so, that he was a Spaniard. 
 
 When he saw tliat he was heard, and that his audience 
 gave proofs of discontent, which might have been mani- 
 fested otherwise than by words, he added with energy : 
 
 " Violence against a man who does not profess our re- 
 ligious belief, ought not to be tolerated by liim who is tru- 
 
60 A TALE OF THE INQUISITION. 
 
 ly pious. If such were not the case, it would be in fact 
 estabhshing the power of the strong over the weak, and 
 the omnipotence of the majority against the minority. It 
 would be lowering faith — that Divine torch — to the con- 
 dition of ignoble merchandise, which is bought and sold. 
 It would be transforming rehgion — that language of con- 
 science — into a contagious disease, which obhges those 
 who are attacked by it, to conceal it, for fear of being 
 pursued, sequestrated, and even assassinated judicially." 
 
 Don Balthazar, seeing that his auditors were moved 
 with the solemnity of his words, quietly sat down near 
 the fire to dry himself thoroughly ; and they were about 
 to request of him an explanation, when Van KHef enter- 
 ed, bringing a large tumbler of smoking hot wine, on the 
 sui'face of which Seated a citron peel. 
 
 " Drink this," said he, to the Doctor ; " it will warm 
 you ; and since you are pleased to wait until my poor 
 wife awakes, relate something to us, you who have come 
 from so far. This recital wiU help us to pass our time, 
 and wiU give an opportunity to make the medicine you 
 have ordered for my Boby." 
 
 "I consent," rephed the physician, with mildness. 
 " That which I will relate will serve as an expHcation of 
 what I have been teUing these gentlemen ; and wiU prove 
 to them, perhaps, that the sacrifice I have made to my 
 behef was more difficult than to throw a man into the 
 water." 
 
 The guests, on hearing this peroration, immediately 
 left their tables and formed a circle around the stove, in 
 which was put an additional quantity of combustibles. 
 
 All the animated figures that placed themselves on the 
 dai'k side of the blackened inn, hghted only by the re- 
 flection of a smoky lamp, recalled a tableau of Teniers, 
 illuminated a la Rembrandt. At the same time, the storm 
 which raged without, adding, by its irregular blasts, to 
 what was awful in the words of Orobio, accompanied by 
 a rain which splashed against the octangular windows, 
 cased in lead, seemed like a terrible confirmation of his 
 words. He commenced as follows : — 
 
 " The scenes which I am about to relate to you are 
 very sad : great misfortunes have crossed my path, and 
 yet I am but thirty years old." 
 
A TALE OF THE INQUISITION. 61 
 
 " Thirty years ?" exclaimed the assembly, with painful 
 astonishment ; for Orobio seemed at least fifty. Grief, 
 no doubt, had drawn those deep lines which furrowed 
 his face, otherwise so noble and distinguished. He pro- 
 ceeded : — 
 
 " My father, Don Csesar Orobio, a wealthy citizen of 
 Madrid, possessed an immense fortune — the handsomest 
 palaces, the richest meadows, gold in immense quantities, 
 sumptuous furniture, and servants in gTeat numbers. 
 These are objects which surrounded me from my infancy. 
 
 " These riches had not been acquired by my father, 
 but descended to him by paternal inheritance. To pre- 
 serve them, very heavy sacrifices had been imposed upon 
 his ancestors. You have, without doubt, heard of that 
 iniquitous tribunal known as the Inquisition, which, un- 
 der the pretext of protecting the Cathohc faith, has sul- 
 lied it with an eternal blot of blood ? From the first 
 years of its existence in Spain, the Inquisition has perse- 
 cuted the Israelites ; and, finally, on the 31st of March, 
 1492, it forced them to quit the Peninsula. 
 
 " To know how difficult it is to separate ourselves from 
 Spanish life, one must have lived under that beautiful 
 sky ; one must have trod upon the soil of so rich a vege- 
 tation. Exile became impossible to my ancestors. They 
 preferred abjuration, and were among those hundred 
 thousand Israehtish famihes — forming nearly one miUion 
 of individuals — who changed the religion of Moses for 
 Christianity ; but, as it was necessity, and not convic- 
 tion, which had led them to apostacy, they remained Is- 
 raelites at heart, and Christians but in appearance. 
 
 " Then the Inquisition, seeing that its mandates were 
 disregarded, took the most severe measures against those 
 who followed the customs of the Jews. Its atrocious 
 punishments will appear to the eyes of future generations 
 as merely the effects of a disordered imagination, so dif- 
 ficult will it be to believe these cold-hearted cruelties. 
 
 "My great-grandfather, although appearing in the 
 churches, and acting the character of a pious Cathohc, 
 had his son secretly circumcised ; and he did the same 
 to my father. But Don Cassar, in whom the Israehtish 
 zeal had faded, baptized me, and endeavored to train me 
 in the Cathohc faith. He did not do this as an act of 
 
62 A TALE OF THE INQUISITION. 
 
 conscience, for he himself was not a believer ; but when 
 he saw that the vengeance of the Inquisition became 
 daily more terrible, he resolved to break off entirely his 
 connection with Judaism, and to make of his children 
 good and sincere Catholics. 
 
 " Unfortunately for these projects, my mother had yet a 
 spark of Jewdsh feeling in her bosom. By her discourses 
 and her writings she accustomed us — my two brothers, 
 my sister, and myself — from our infancy, to trust only 
 in the Israehtish faith for the salvation of our souls. 
 This often occasioned discussions in our household, which 
 were, however, quickly ended, because Don Caesar adored 
 his wife. 
 
 " We were growing up, and our education was advanc- 
 ing. Destined for the medical profession, I made rapid 
 progress in that science. My sister was very beautiful, 
 and was to be married to a noble hidalgo, when, in less 
 than a week, a fatal disease carried her off, together with 
 my mother and two brothers. My affliction was without 
 Hmit ; but it is impossible to describe the despair of my 
 father. Sorrow placed even him at the bimk of death ; 
 and he revived but slowly to life, and the consciousness 
 of the a^vful loss he had sustained. 
 
 " Since that day his character became morose. Any- 
 thing irritated him. His eyes were bloodshot ; and I 
 soon perceived that painful sensations continually op- 
 pressed his heart. I was not long in learning this terri- 
 ble secret. My father, tortui'ed with remorse, attributed 
 the misfortunes which had befallen him, to the coldness 
 he bore for the Israehtish faith. The voice of conscience 
 told him that the time of disguise was past ; that he was 
 an Israehte at heart, and that he should not fear to show 
 himself one. 
 
 " In vain I remonstrated with him on the danger of so 
 foolish a project. He would understand nothing. ' I am 
 guilty towards God,' he would reply to me ; ' and I owe 
 Him atonement.' And when I proposed to fly from Spain, 
 he told me that he ought to die there where was the 
 grave of his wife. His conduct was no longer a mj- steiy. 
 One night we were both arrested and conducted to the 
 cells of the Holy Office. 
 
 "How can I relate to vou all the terrors this tribunal 
 
A TALE OF THE INQUISITION. 63 
 
 had in its proceedings ! After a first interrogation, in 
 which they made use of every thing in their power to 
 persuade me to accuse my father, I was left alone, during 
 fifteen months, in a dismal dungeon. No books were 
 given me. I was in the most complete solitude ; and it 
 was so damp that the matting decayed from mere con- 
 tact with the ground. I would have forgiven them, those 
 infamous jailors, for forbidding me to complain — for gag- 
 ging my mouth when I spoke out — for striking me when 
 I cried aloud — for leaving me without a piece of furni- 
 ture, without clothing — for causing me to sleep on the 
 ground — for feeding me only on rotten bread — ^for tor- 
 turing me amid an unhealthy atmosphere. But yet the 
 most odious punishment they inflicted on me was that 
 they did not speak to me of my father during those long 
 fifteen months ; that they did not answer me when I 
 asked them if he yet lived,and contented themselves with 
 laughing cruelly when I wished to know how soon my 
 trial would come on. 
 
 ** At length, one night, two jailors, with sinister coun- 
 tenances, came to lead me away, and conducted me 
 through an innumerable number of windings. Having 
 lost the habit of walking, I tottered. I was no longer 
 accustomed to hgbt, and my eyes could not bear the pale 
 brightness of their torches ; and, instead of supporting me, 
 those two guides struck me with cruelty to make me has- 
 ten my pace. "We reached an underground cave, where 
 reigned the most profound silence, and on which was 
 written this terrible inscription, ' The Chamber of Torture.' 
 
 " In the centre were erected the dreadful instruments 
 of torture, and on a sort of stage were seated three In- 
 quisitors — their features hidden beneath a hood, just as 
 if they were frightened to appear with uncovered faces 
 before their victims. One of them asked me to accuse my 
 father ; I strenuously refused, but endeavored, on the 
 contrary, to exculpate the author of my existence. He 
 then made a sign, and two men advanced towards me. 
 They were dressed in black robes, and likewise had their 
 heads covered with a hood of the same color, with a place 
 cut out for the eyes, nose and mouth. These men were 
 the executioners. They seized me and stripped me of 
 my ragged garments. 
 
64 A TALE OF THE INQUISITION. 
 
 " Then the Inquisitor again urged me to confess the 
 crime of my father ; and, as I refused, he ordered that 
 the torture of the cord should be appHed to me. My 
 hands were bound behind my back, by means of a rope 
 passed through a pulley, attached to the vault. The ex- 
 ecutioners thus elevated me in the air, and after having 
 left me a few minutes in this position, let the rope go 
 with violence, and I remained suspended in the air at 
 about half a foot fi'om the ground. This terrible toss 
 dislocated all my joints, and the cord which squeezed my 
 w^rists entered through the flesh as far as the nerves. 
 Here, gentlemen, is the mark." 
 
 The audience drew back with horror at this. 
 
 " At this period I was twenty-three years of age. I 
 was vigorous,, and my soul, especially, was well tried. I 
 courageously bore that terrible pain, while I affirmed that 
 my father was innocent. 
 
 " They then passed to the second torture, which was 
 administered by means of water. I was laid on a kind 
 of wooden horse, made in the form of a gutter, without 
 any other bottom than a stick which traversed it, and on 
 which the body, falhng backward, was bent by the effect 
 of the mechanism of the wooden horse, and assumed 
 such a position that the feet were more elevated than the 
 head. This position was extremely painful, and my limbs 
 experienced the most distressing suffering, occasioned by 
 the pressure of the rope which bound them. Then the 
 Inquisitor introduced through my throat a w^et piece of 
 fine linen, a part of which covered my nostril. Water 
 was poured in my mouth and nose so slowly, that it re- 
 quired an hour to swallow the smallest quantity. I could 
 not respu-e. Each moment I made an effori to swallow, 
 hoxDing to give passage to a httle air ; but as the wet hn- 
 en put an obstacle, the water entered at the same time, 
 through the nostrils. You may conceive the sufferings 
 which I had to bear. 
 
 " I was on the point of suffocating : I made a sign that 
 I wished to speak. They then released me, and conduct- 
 ed me near the Inquisitors. Then I declared that I was 
 an Israehte, that I merited death, and that I sought to be 
 led to it, but that these sufferings were useless. 
 
 " * It is not you of whom it is questioned,' repHed the 
 
A TALE OF THE INQUISITION. 65 
 
 chief of the Inquisitors, in a sepulchral voice, ' but of 
 your father.' 
 
 " ' My father is innocent,' I replied, with firmness. 
 
 " ' Well,' coldly rephed the same famihar of the Inqui- 
 sition, 'pass on to the torture of fire.' 
 
 " The executioners bound my legs and hands in such a 
 manner that they could not change their position ; then 
 they rubbed my feet with oil, and I was placed before a 
 strong fire, where I remained until my flesh was cracked, 
 and the bones and nerves appeared at all parts. At that 
 moment I thought I would die, and I fell insensible. I 
 learned since that the physician attached to the establish- 
 ment had declared that I could not support any more. I 
 was reconducted to my cell, and it was six months before 
 I recovered from those atrocious tortures of that night. 
 But my heart was tranquil. 
 
 " I had not accused my father. 
 
 " AVhen I recovered, it was announced to me that I 
 should appear at the next Auto-da-fe. This ridiculous 
 word, which signifies act of faith, is the appellation given 
 the execution of the decrees of the Inquisition. In fact, 
 a few days after, I was wrapped in a cloak which is worn 
 by condemned heretics, consisting of a shirt without 
 sleeves, a large yellow cross on the breast and back, and 
 a pasteboard bonnet, on which were painted devils and 
 flames. Thus attired, I was obhged to follow a solemn 
 procession. 
 
 " We started from a church where the service of the 
 dead was celebrated. Thence, we proceeded to a large 
 pubhc park, on one side of which were erected stages for 
 those invited, and on the other hand an amphitheatre 
 for those condemned.' Surrounded by soldiers, priests 
 and penitents, of aU grades, we arrived there, chained 
 and gagged, with our feet bare. I imagined I was walk- 
 ing to death. I felt happy in the thought that the term 
 of my sufierings was at an end ; but, after a sermon, 
 which was dehvered to us by a friar, our sentence was 
 read, and I learned that I was condemned to pass my 
 days in a convent, where I must pronounce the vows of 
 seclusion and poverty. All the wealth of my family was 
 confiscated for the benefit of the Inquisition. At a dis- 
 tance of about twenty paces from me, an aged man was 
 6* 
 
66 A TALE OF THE INQUISITION. 
 
 advancing with tottering steps. His cloak was drawn 
 over liis face, his trembling hand was swinging to and fro 
 a taper of yellow wax, his white hair discovered a fore- 
 head marked with deep lines of sorrow. Those attenu- 
 ated features appeared familiar to me. But judge of my 
 horror when his sentence was read aloud, thus: — ' Thou, 
 Caesar Orobio, art condemned to die ! ' That man was 
 my father. In less than two years, he had become an old 
 man, through suffering and grief. 
 
 " The barbarians would not allow us the pleasure of 
 embracing each other for the last time. He was con- 
 ducted and tied to the stake, and there he cried in a loud 
 voice : — ' I merit death, because I have, against the voice 
 of my conscience, forsaken the faith of my fathers. I am 
 a Jew ; and I die beheving in the Jewish faith. May 
 the Almighty pardon me ! And thou, my son, do not^or- 
 get that the religion of Moses is the only true one, and 
 mayst thou return to it some day ! ' 
 
 " After these words, the smoke chpked his utterance, 
 and hid him from my view. 
 
 " Conducted into a convent, I remained there three 
 months, crazy, and when I regained my strength and in- 
 telligence, I formed the resolution to exert my utmost en- 
 deavors to fly to a foreign land, where I would embrace 
 the religion of Moses as the last will of my dying father. 
 I had the appearance of submitting to my lot ; I affected 
 great zeal in the cause in which I was engaged, and, at 
 the end of two years of constraint, I was charged to col- 
 lect alms in the city for our convent. During several 
 weeks I prepared for my escape, and, at last, one morn- 
 ing, I was fortunate enough to fly from Madrid in a se- 
 cular habit. I took the road to Portugal, and after a 
 long and fatiguing march, in which I was burnt by the 
 sun, and devoured by thirst and dust, I arrived at Lisbon. 
 
 "The Inquisition was so powerful in this city that I 
 had not the coiu'age to stop long. I found some relations 
 of my family, and they gave me enough money to embark 
 for England. We were on the deck discoursing with the 
 sailors and passengers, when the conversation turned on 
 
A TALE OF THE INQUISITION. 67 
 
 religion. I declared that I was a Jew. I was now re- 
 garded with an evil eye, and was no more questioned. 
 
 " But the next day we were assailed by a violent tem- 
 pest, and the mutinous sailors declared that there was a 
 Jew on board, and that I was the cause of the tempest, 
 which every moment threatened to submerge our vessel. 
 The captain and some passengers greatly remonstrated. 
 The squall became stronger, the foaming waves rose high- 
 er, and the thunder rolled with more violence. The sail- 
 ors insisted anew, that, as there was a Jew on board, they 
 had no hope of safety ; and, notwithstanding my pray- 
 ers and my o£fers, they seized me, and cast me into the 
 sea. Luckily, the captain threw me a hencoop, to which 
 I clung with energy. After some hours of a terrible strug- 
 gle and horrible agony, I commended my soul to the God 
 of fcael, and I thought that my end had arrived. 
 
 " On my revival, I found myself lying in a good ham- 
 mock. I was dry and warm, but weak. A fly boat had 
 rescued me, and I recognized the finger of Providence 
 when I learnt that the Portuguese ship, whose crew had 
 treated me in so inhuman a manner, had perished, with- 
 out one of all those who manned her being left to tell 
 the tale. 
 
 " I landed, fortunately, in Holland, and it is a month 
 since I came to Amsterdam, where I propose, first, to 
 become an Israelite, and then to exercise the profession 
 of physician. I have been happy enough to show you, 
 by the recital of my misfortunes, that violence is a dan- 
 gerous auxihary for rehgion, and that we Israelites ought 
 to interdict all species of religious tyranny, in thinking 
 of the evils which fanaticism has caused to fall on us." 
 
 The good innkeeper now announced that his wife had 
 taken the medicine prescribed by the doctor, and had re- 
 covered. Van Khef, pleased with his success, offered him 
 pay, which, however, he refused, and the auditors, pitying 
 him for his misfortunes, forebore to speak in reference to 
 his somewhat rude interruption of their previous discus- 
 sion. As the night was dark, they led him to his home, 
 in order that he might not fall into one of the numerous 
 canals, which intersect the goodly city of Amsterdam. 
 
 Don Balthazar Orobio became a Jew, and exercised 
 with honor his profession as a physician. 
 
68 A TALE or THE INQUISITION. 
 
 He also distinguished himself by his beneficence to- 
 wards the poor of all sects, and by the Hberality of his 
 religious sentiments. 
 
 He died in Amsterdam, in 1687, beloved, esteemed and 
 regretted by alL 
 
RACHEL'S SLEIGH RIDE. 
 
RACHEL'S SLEIGH RIDE 
 
 A STOKY FOR "CHANUCKA." 
 
 -XX>^<X>o- 
 
 A pleasant evening at Mr. Mendoza's elegant brown 
 stone, $50,000 mansion on the avenue. A cheering fire 
 nestling in the capacious grate ; Mendoza, enveloped in 
 his well-lined dressing-gown, comfortably ensconced in his 
 new chair, — which Sarah Mendoza had surprised him with 
 last New Year's — his gouty feet encased in warm slippers, 
 and perched on the fender, and his spectacled eyes greed- 
 ily absorbing the remarks of the evening paper upon the 
 late " fall in gold." What cared he for the snow and 
 wind without, for the cold and misery of the wintry 
 blast, the wretchedness of the poor boy who had but a 
 moment ago timidly tapped at the basement-door, and 
 asked for a little food, only to " keep out the cold ? " He 
 was comfortable and warm — why should others be cold ? 
 And if they were hungry and poor — was that his fault ? 
 The world is a " raffle ; " there are " numbers " for all, 
 but every speculator can not expect to draw a prize. He 
 belonged to the lucky ones ; had money, house, banker's 
 office, a seat in synagogue near the pulpit, a plot in the 
 cemetery — centrally located, — he was a director in the 
 Hospital, belonged to the " club," had a wife, who was a 
 prominent member of four ladies' societies, a daughter 
 who excelled all her coterie in beauty and taste. Why 
 should he care, then, if there were some people in the 
 
72 Rachel's sleigh bidk 
 
 city less fortunate than lie, compelled to dress in cast-off 
 garments, to sit among the "poor worshippers," to be 
 buried by the Charitable Interment Society, who lived on 
 the sixth floor of a wretched tenement-house in Baxter 
 Street, peddled matches, begged for a half-ton of a coal 
 from the Give-a-Httle-to-the-Poor Association, and had 
 large famihes crying for bread ? 
 
 So thought this Mr. Mendoza, who was "universally 
 considered one of the first and finest gentlemen of the 
 Hebrew persuasion in the City of New York." As he 
 laughingly said one day to a member of the brokers* 
 board, he "never could understand why these poor peo- 
 ple have such large famihes. It seems, the poorer a man 
 becomes, the more pleasure he feels in seeing a dozen 
 ragged children crying about him, and calling him * fath- 
 er.' Children ought to be taxed, and then their number 
 would be speedily reduced." Mendoza was a hvely fel- 
 low, when he felt in the humor ; but the humor was 
 seldom on him, except when any extraordinary streak 
 of luck made him pecuharly jovial. What little pleasant- 
 ness he did have, however, was reserved for his business 
 acquaintances and the members of the Brokers' Board. 
 At home, he was exceedingly austere and cold. 
 
 Raphael Mendoza was a pecuHar man, and he was es- 
 pecially eccentric in his ideas of Judaism. At the time 
 when the Insurance Companies made such an outcry 
 against "Jew risks," he did not — nor could not — see 
 the necessity of his co-rehgionists taking any active 
 agency in removing the obnoxious clause fi*om the circu- 
 lar of the Underwriters. He felt that he was not in- 
 cluded by the officials in their definition of " Jew Risks," 
 or " Hebrew traders ; " they knew him too well, to sup- 
 pose that he would ever be tempted to burn his office or 
 dwelling, for the sake of the insurance money ; they 
 were always so friendly with him, had wined with him at 
 his house, and dined with him at Crook's. And why 
 should he take upon himself others* troubles, even if they 
 did worship in the same language as he occasionally 
 deemed it proper to do ? Mendoza had this fault, among 
 many others, that he would not identify himself with 
 Israel as a people ; he was averse to their distinctiveness 
 as a sect He expressed himself in favor of breaking 
 
eachel's sleigh eide. 73 
 
 down all the barriers that lay between his and the domi- 
 nant faith. Even that day, he had peremptorily dechned 
 a request made by some of his Jewish relatives and 
 friends, to serve as one of the committee in charge of a 
 ball in aid of an "Israehte Benevolent Society," on the 
 ground that it was too sectarian in its objects ; but he 
 had, with the same pen, graciously accepted the position 
 of one of the board of fifty managers, who intended to 
 hold a fair in aid of a *' Roman Catholic Mission School," 
 whose object was to disseminate the principles of the Holy 
 Cathohc rehgion ! This was Mendoza's liberahsm ! 
 
 But to my story. 
 
 It was just at the time that Mr. Mendoza was reading 
 the financial reports, and was regarding with anxiety the 
 depression in the market, when his wife — a portly, digni- 
 fied woman, about forty years old — entered the room, 
 and attracted her husband's attention. She was evident- 
 ly annoyed at something; so much so, that Mendoza 
 folded his paper, took off his spectacles, and asked her, 
 " What's the matter, Sarah ? Anything gone wrong ? " 
 
 " Everything is wrong, Raphael," said Mrs. Mendoza. 
 " Jenny tells me that Joseph Lazarus was here this after- 
 noon, in a sleigh, left a letter for you, and took our 
 Rachel out for a ride, and she has not yet returned." 
 
 " Young Lazarus, again ? Didn't I tell Rachel posi- 
 tively to forbid him the house ? You know I don't Uke 
 to speak so myself ; but the girl should have told him. 
 Where were you, not to prevent her leaving her home ? " 
 
 " I was out shopping till five, and then I was compell- 
 ed to attend a meeting of the " Children's Aid Society," 
 at Mrs. Belknap's. It's too bad. They will be seen 
 riding together — and what will our friends say? And 
 besides I expected the Montmorencys here to-night — 
 George with them, who has just returned from Europe, 
 and who thinks so much of Rachel. But read the letter, 
 and tell me what it contains." 
 
 The letter was simply a brief note from young Lazarus' 
 parents, inviting Mr. and Mrs. Mendoza to spend the 
 evening with them, in " good old Hanucka style," hoping 
 that their early acquaintance, and the promise of an 
 enjoyable evening, would induce Mr. and Mrs. M. to 
 accept their invitation. 
 1 
 
74 
 
 EACHZL 8 SLEIGH BEDE. 
 
 " Sarah, this thing must stop. It's getting tmbearable, 
 that this Lazarus must ever remind me of my* hateful 
 * eaiiy acquaintance ' with him, and his desire to be 
 fiiendly as of old. My position in society demands that 
 I must give up Jewish intimates one by one, — Lazarus, 
 especially, as he is so infernally pious, and fond of old- 
 time ceremonies. Mendoza, the banker, must not asso- 
 ciate with the ex-clothing dealer, the Jew Lazarus. Go 
 to his house to-night ! Enjoy his 'Hanucka ! ' I'll write 
 to him at once, cutting Ins acquaintance, ond advising 
 him to explain to his son how that it wiU be impossible for 
 him to continue visiting my daughter." 
 
 " I fear our great trouble will be with Rachel," said 
 Mrs. Mendoza. " She could never endure a separation 
 from the Lazaruses. Every day in the week she is with 
 them, so that it is almost her home." 
 
 "I can't help it; her intimacy must cease, and at 
 once." 
 
 The unpleasant interview was terminated by the en- 
 trance of the footman, who announced the amval of 
 the Montmorencys. 
 
 n. 
 
 Joseph Lazams had known Rachel Mendoza from 
 childhood. They had always been to each other as 
 brother and sister. Of late, however, Joseph, perceiving 
 the growing coohiess of the elder Mendozas, felt that 
 soon her position towards him would be materially 
 changed. He had heard rumors of a favored suitor call- 
 ing frequently at the house, and he feared the worst. 
 Rachel, too, noticed that Lazarus was occasionally given 
 to moments of abstraction and moodiness, but she could 
 not divine the cause. 
 
 That afternoon Lazarus called for her in a sleigh, and 
 she gladly accepted his invitation to a drive through the 
 park. It was cheering, clear weather. The snow lay a 
 foot deep, the wind was not impleasantly sharp, and the 
 drive was agreeable — at least to Rachel. Lazarus was 
 rather dull at times. It was only on the return-drive, 
 as the stars appeared, and the noise of the city grew still, 
 and the sleigh jingled merrily over the smooth Park 
 
kachel's sleigh ride. 'J 5 
 
 road, that his spirits arose, and his old merriment came 
 upon him. Some unaccountable desire to speak his 
 mind, a consciousness that this would be a favorable, as 
 weU as the last opportunity, startled him from his usual 
 mood ; and as, for a while, Rachel sat quiet, and the 
 horses trotted swiftly across the snow, the jingling of the 
 bells seemed to have for him a pecuhar significance. 
 He no longer heard their " Jingle, jingle, jingle," but it 
 was a repeated " Tell her, Joe ! " " Now's your time ! " 
 " Take her, Joe ! " — and he did speak ; and right elo- 
 quently, too, for he spoke truly and honestly, which is 
 the height of eloquence. How breathlessly he listened 
 for her reply ; how cunningly he checked the speed of 
 the horses, for he saw by the street-lamps that he was 
 nearing her home ; and how fondly he kissed her when 
 her lips utterfed responsively, " I have always loved you, 
 Joseph ! " 
 
 Leave her at her own house, after that answer, he 
 would not ! She must drive to his ; to his dear father's 
 and devoted mother's and fond sisters', who all loved her 
 better than even her parents did, and to whom she was now 
 so much the dearer. And when the sleigh stopped at 
 the house of the Lazaruses in Tenth Street, and Joseph 
 hfted out his dear burden, and rang the beU, and with 
 mock gravity introduced her to the family, who were 
 expecting him for supper, as "Mrs. Lazarus, Jr.," the 
 general joy knew no bounds, but the Lazaiiises deemed 
 themselves and Eachel the happiest people on earth. 
 And by the time the general congratulations ceased, 
 Joseph had returned the sleigh to the stable, and the 
 family sat down to their Chanucka supper. 
 
 And there was a supper ! Such fish had never been 
 fried or stewed before. The tea and the cream, and the 
 sweet, white bread, not to forget the jeUy and the her- 
 rings, and the cake, were never on better behavior, nor 
 more acceptable to the hearty, healthy appetites of the 
 happy ten, gathered around the festive board. And after 
 supper there was a repetition of the congratulatory scene, 
 the story of the eventful ride was told agaiD, and Joseph 
 must of course kiss his Ma ; and sister Judith would 
 have been mortally oifended if he had not treated her to 
 a like token of his brotherly affection. And then the 
 
V6 kachel's sleigh kide. 
 
 young ones laughed and hugged each other, and told 
 Mary and Bridget, and even Sam, the butcher's boy, 
 who called to know what meat was wanted for the next 
 day. Only Mr. Lazarus was quiet, for a few minutes 
 before Bridget had handed him a note, which was left at 
 the door, and which seemed to give him pain. It was 
 from Raphael Mendoza, and told him in a few, cruel 
 words, that theu* acquaintance — it could hardly be call- 
 ed friendship — was at an end; that his Joseph must 
 cease his visits, and pay his attentions to a more humble, 
 — and, Mendoza hoped, — more congenial lady than Rach- 
 el. Mr. Lazarus said nothing of the letter to those pres- 
 ent, but pleaded a headache as his excuse for not joining 
 in their amusements. 
 
 Then followed the merry Chanucka games. The table 
 was cleared of dishes and cloth, a huge papfier was untied, 
 and candies and bonbons innumerable were rolled out 
 upon it. A cui'iously marked trendl was produced ; and, 
 as each of the company spun it around, the happy faces 
 and merry laughter of all betokened the joy with which 
 the " old-time ceremony " was received. And when the 
 trendl had done its share in amusing the company, the 
 more exciting " snap-dragon," in which every one was 
 compelled to join — from father to cook — was hailed with 
 glee. Then succeeded songs and refreshments, and 
 more games, and finally the grand old Hanucka hymn, 
 until midnight put an end to the festivities, and all 
 sought their much needed repose. Rachel did not go to 
 her house, Judith insisting that as it was so late she 
 could not do better than to spend the night with her. 
 
 But as to the letter, Mr. Lazams held his peace, pre- 
 ferring to call on Mendoza and seek an explanation be- 
 fore acquainting the family with its contents. Mendoza 
 and he arrived in New York in the same ship, thirty 
 years ago. They were then friendless and almost penni- 
 less. Together they shared their first meal and bed; 
 together they traveled thi'ough the country, seUing petty 
 wares in exchange for worn-out clothing, which brought 
 them small profits on their return to the city. Together 
 they opened a small store, and carried on the humble, 
 but with them honest, business of a " second-hand cloth- 
 ing shop." They prospered, removed to a better local- 
 
Rachel's sleigh ride. 77 
 
 ity, bought a large retail establishment on Broadway, 
 and thrived exceedingly well. Mendoza married a wo- 
 man of high notions, a dislike for the clothing business, 
 and a peculiar aversion for her husband's partner and 
 life-long associations. She gradually sowed dissensions 
 between the two, so that they dissolved partnership just 
 twenty years after their arrival. With their separation, 
 Lazarus' good influence was lost upon Mendoza, who 
 had ever been peculiar in his rehgious ideas, and who 
 rapidly grew worse and worse, until his Judaism was re- 
 stricted to a seat in Synagogue, w^hich he attended but 
 twice a year, — the anniversary of his father's death and 
 Atonement Day, — a plot in the cemetery, and a member- 
 ship in a few societies. He became a speculator also, 
 opening a broker's office, diving into gold, petroleum, 
 and anon attacked by the whiskey mania. 
 
 Lazarus was natiu'ally sorry to have received such a 
 note from his old companion, and he mentally determin- 
 ed, before closing his eyes in sleep, to call on him at his 
 office in the morning, and seek an explanation, and also 
 to inform him of his son's desire to marry his daughter 
 Rachel. 
 
 But a surprise awaited him the next day. On reach- 
 ing his store he met a friend,- — Ostheim, a broker, who 
 asked him if he had heard the news ? 
 
 " "Wliat news ? " indifferently asked Lazarus. 
 
 " Of Raphael Mendoza's failure ? " answered Ostheim. 
 
 •* Of Raphael Mendoza's what? " repeated Lazarus. 
 'His failure, man. You know he speculated largely 
 in gold and stocks ; the firm of DooHttle, Makeanoise & 
 Co., with which he was largely interested, has suspend- 
 ed ; and Mendoza to-day is not worth ten thousand 
 doUars." 
 
 Mr. Lazarus at once hurried off to Mendoza's office, 
 V, here he found the unfortunate man alone in his misery. 
 The story was true. The once wealthy Mendoza was a 
 bankrupt. Nobly — as a true friend wiU always act — Mr. 
 Lazarus offered Mendoza the use of his purse and pres- 
 ence. He said not a word in regard to the letter of the 
 previous night. Mr. Mendoza, in broken accents, craved 
 his pardon for the coldness with which he had lately treat- 
 ed him, and thankfully accepted his offer of assistance. 
 7* 
 
78 RACHEL'S SLEIGH RIDE. 
 
 The failure was not so bad as at first reported. Men- 
 doza is by no means a poor man ; but the lesson was 
 rich in its teachings. He is now more God-fearing in 
 his ways ; more of a Jew in heart as well as in actions; 
 and he is rapidly becoming respected in the community. 
 
 Joseph and Rachel will be married next month. And 
 as a poetical conclusion to my story, it will be interesting 
 to note that Joseph has bought the sleigh and horses 
 which proved so effective in his love-making. 
 
UNABLE TO DIE. 
 
UNABLE TO DIE. 
 
 A TALE OF THE GHETTO. 
 
 — --*-»^>jV\AOAr\JVUVVvv>.<~---" 
 
 A night of darkness, a night of gloom 
 Hung o'er the Ghetto, and silence deep 
 Held sway ; long since \Tithin each room 
 The taper had gone out, and'all in sleep 
 Was hush'd : a calm, so full, so deep, 
 It seemed like Death much more than sleep. 
 
 The clouds in volumes roll'd, 
 
 The air was sharp and cold, 
 And no wind still ; 
 
 When sudden, through a rift, 
 
 In the dark and heavy drift, 
 Shone the moon chill. 
 *Twas shown so suddenly, so suddenly pall'd. 
 That resting on elbow and rubbing his eyes, 
 The Schulklopfer* thought, half in doubt and surprise, 
 The old wooden hammer he saw gently rise — 
 The hammer with which he to synagogue call'd, 
 Morning and evening, the faithful to prayer — 
 And tap on the wall as it hung ready there. 
 
 *'No sleep, not a wink, for that hammer! " he cries 
 To his daughter, who also had heard in the night 
 
 • Schtc/klopfer—nn oflacial of a congregation, whose duty it is to arouse or 
 ■ knock up " the members for early morning service. 
 
82 UNABLE TO DIE. 
 
 Those strange and soft blows ; and, sadden'd her eyes, 
 
 Says "One of our neighbors, alas! surely dies." 
 
 And then her poor heart a prey to affright, 
 
 " Schmah Tisroel,"* she says, "'tis our rabbi who dies ! 
 
 At that moment the hammer ceases its taps. 
 
 But without, at the door, some one hastily raps, 
 
 And a voice is soon heard there, calling aloud, 
 
 "Up, up, and away! 
 
 Wake the people and say, 
 
 They must rise nor delay 
 
 From Schule,t for at day 
 The rabbi shall rest in his funeral shroud. 
 
 Let ThillimJ be said 
 
 For him ere he's dead." 
 Then, through the stillness of the night — 
 At day a sad and solemn sight, 
 But now how mournful — at each door 
 The hammer beats its three short blows 
 So well known to all inmates, for 
 The life that comes as quickly goes j 
 Yes, life's a tide that ebbs and flows. 
 
 Her breast the Schulklopfer's daughter beats 
 As she stands, all chill'd with bated breath, 
 To hear her father tramp, tramp the streets, 
 And warn each house of the coming death. 
 To her each blow seems a pulse's beat 
 
 Of the dying man, and when 
 The last one sounds in the gloomy street 
 
 "Which is now alive with men ; 
 " Woe's me," she cries, "the rabbi's dead, 
 
 He died with that last stroke," 
 And tears unbidden fill her eyes, 
 
 And she weeps as her heart were broke. 
 But the sacred words of the Thillim restrain 
 
 The rabbi's soul from its flight, 
 And death flies hovering round in vain 
 
 To claim his prey that night. 
 
 • Schmah Tisroel—'' Hear, O IsraeL*' 
 t Schule — synagogue. 
 t Thillim— -paahsxB. 
 
UNABLE TO DIE. 83 
 
 The rabbi lives when the morning dawns, 
 But worse and worse each moment grows. 
 His Boch'rim* roxuid his bedside stand, 
 They beat the breast, they clasp the hand. 
 Each throbbing heart in silence mourns. 
 Though plain each eye its sorrow shows. 
 
 Some wax they take, 
 
 A wick then make, 
 And measuring the body from the foot to the head, 
 
 "With this as a guide, 
 
 Soon they form by his side 
 A taper as large as the poor shape on the bed. 
 And this taper they clothe in a winding sheet, 
 To the beschoyimf bear with trembling feet, 
 And bury it there as they bury the dead. 
 
 But their efforts are vain. 
 
 Too soon will the same 
 Sad fate be meted to the rabbi ; they fear 
 They must measure, in turn, the six planks for his bier. 
 *' Oh! just, powerful God," the grieving Boch'rim cry, 
 *' Reveal, in thy mercy, what else we must try 
 To save him a while yet. Oh ! let him not die ! " 
 
 And at length, how they start, 
 
 With rejoicing at heart, 
 
 "When a Bocher replies, 
 
 With glad hopes in his eyes, 
 *' Come gamer for him ; let us gather some years, 
 And perchance the good God wiU hark to our pray'rs." 
 
 Then one sallies forth with a paper in hand, 
 
 At the door of each house in turn takes his stand ; 
 
 And the people inscribe the years, months, days they give 
 
 Of their own mortal lives that the rabbi may live. 
 
 By her door stood the Schulklopfer's daughter to hear 
 
 When the Bocher pass'd by on his holy mission. 
 
 He said, "For the rabbi will you not give your share ? " 
 
 *' Yes, life, my whole life, with kind heaven's permission; 
 
 All, all," with a sob, "though I give from to-day." 
 
 " And shall I write that ? " " Write, write, no delay." 
 
 And the Bocher inscribed the whole life of Hannel^. 
 
 Boch^rim — student?, or followers. t Beschoyim — cemetery, 
 
84 UNABLE TO DIE. 
 
 From that moment the rabbi's health was restored, 
 For the pray'rs of the Boeh'rim were heard by the LokI ; 
 But one life was shorter, 
 One grave open'd there. 
 
 For the Schulklopfer's daughter 
 
 Lay dead on her bier. 
 And as much as the girl had surrender'd of life, 
 So much was the rabbi compell'd to support ; 
 Ah ! little he reck'd of the toil and the strife, 
 And Uttle the struggles to be breasted and fought. 
 Full joyous, good-humored, he felt at the start. 
 And flourish'd again as he flourish'd of old. 
 But soon a sad change crept over his heart, 
 And his sorrowing looks secret troubles foretold. 
 
 To none was it known 
 
 How that once till alone, 
 The rabbi, one evening, while plunged deep in thought. 
 
 Back reclining at his ease. 
 
 His Gemara* on his knees, 
 Heaxd a sweet chant ascend from below in the court. 
 And each time that he open'd the lattice he saw 
 Before him a maid, young and fair to the sight. 
 Whose looks through the veil of the deep shadows bore 
 The gay, happy smiles which death froze in his flight. 
 "Now, alas! " cried the rabbi, "she might have been free, 
 Might have sung the long day like the bird in the air," 
 And in the quiet of night fell his tears silently. 
 Fell his tears on the Gemara as it lay open there. 
 And once, towards midnight, were heard to arise, 
 Around the whole house of anguish loud cries, 
 And soon after that, such sobs, short and wild. 
 As are utter'd, at birth, by the newly-born child. 
 Thus the rabbi. "Unhappy, oh! unhappy the day. 
 'Tis I, I alone who this joy stole away." 
 
 Each night he hears a childish cry, 
 
 And songs, celestial in their sweep, 
 
 Such as mothers at the cradle try 
 
 When restless babies they lull to sleep. 
 
 But not to him they brought repose, 
 
 • Oemara— the oral law and commentaries. 
 
UNABLE TO DIE. 86 
 
 Ah ! not to him they brought relief, 
 
 Each song in turn renewed his woes, 
 
 And found response in tears and grief. 
 
 A hearth made desolate by him, 
 
 A girl cut off within her prime. 
 
 He felt how great had been his sin, 
 
 He long'd but to recall his crime. 
 
 Six times arose those sounds of pain, 
 
 The new-bom infant's wail six times, 
 
 And then those tender songs again. 
 
 Mingled with plaintive and pleasant rhymes. 
 Then came a silence which was deep and long, 
 Unbroken by cry, by laugh, or by song ; 
 And the rabbi mused in these long, long years. 
 And enacted the life of the girl the day long, 
 And sweet though the vision, full bitter his tears. 
 All ashes the heart, though the spirit seem'd strong. 
 
 First Hanneld stood as the blooming bride, 
 Her husband, a strong and kindly man, 
 Came loving, guarding by her side. 
 And the woman s life in earnest began. 
 
 The morning meal, ere work begun. 
 Her husband to his work depart. 
 He saw each day both fought and won. 
 He saw the bliss that fill'd her heart. 
 
 Day after day the kindly greeting. 
 The welcome work, the household care ; 
 At last, a child their joy completing, 
 What other pleasure wish'd they there ? 
 
 And oh ! that infant's look and dress. 
 Sure never child was half so fair : 
 "What words can mother's joy express, 
 , Or paint the pride of father's air. 
 
 The boy grows up, and other faces 
 In turn appear upon the scene, 
 He sees the sixth child born, and traces 
 Nothing but peace within his dream. 
 
86 UNABLE TO DIE. 
 
 Nothing but peace, and love, and joja 
 Such as pure nuptials ever give. 
 Ah ! such as these time ne'er destroys 
 While hearts beat true and virtues live. 
 
 But hark to the sound, again and again. 
 
 The joyous peals of laughter as of yore, 
 
 The songs of jubilation, the music's merry strain, 
 
 The greeting and the welcome at the door. 
 
 ** 'Tis the JBarmitzvah,"* cries the rabbi, *'of her boy," 
 
 And fuU sadly fell his head on his breast. 
 
 He felt in his soul that also this joy 
 
 He had kill'd as he had kill'd all the rest 
 
 And a silence lasting long came once mora 
 
 Years after, came the merry-making song, 
 Said the rabbi *' To the Choupet she is leading 
 Her son ; ah ! who shall know all the wrong 
 I have done, so much all others exceeding." 
 
 Whene'er the voice appears 
 
 Never sound of woe or tears, 
 But songs of pleasure, both sweet and unalloy'd ; 
 
 *' A happy mother had she been 
 
 But for my folly and my sin. 
 Yes, 'tis I who her happiness destroy'd." 
 And so the rabbi lived the young and joyous life 
 Of the girl who had died Ms death to stay. 
 How dearly did he long, but to hear one word of strife 
 For the songs which came welling up each day. 
 
 But his wish, ungranted goes, 
 
 Not one mournful sound arose. 
 His tears to the Gemara force their way ; 
 
 *' What ! " cried he with a groan, 
 
 *' Had she naught but pleasure known ?" 
 And he long'd to be blotted from the earth ; «* 
 
 For let him whereso go 
 
 He heard these songs of woe. 
 These songs which were daily in their mirth. 
 
 * ^armiteraA— admiseioc of the lad into the congregation, on his attaining 
 his thirteenth year. 
 
 t C%oup6— canopy held over bride and groom at the wedding ceremony. 
 
UNABLE TO DIE. 87 
 
 But decrepit and old, even death was denied, 
 He lived wearily, lamenting his doom ; 
 Long since had his friends, near relations all died. 
 And had sought sweet repose in the tomb. 
 
 So that he could find, 
 
 Amongst those left behind. 
 But a few he'd gebenscht* in their pride, 
 
 Who, now aged and grim, 
 
 Weak, tott'ring and thin, 
 Death in vain, with their crutches defied, 
 For despite their defiance they died. 
 
 Deserted and weary, 
 
 Life void, sad and dreary, 
 He stood 'midst his people a poor wreck of time 
 
 Heart and soul deep opprest, 
 
 How he long'd but to rest 
 By her who had perish'd for him in her prime. 
 How eager he ask'd "Oh! tell me, I pray. 
 Poor maiden betray'd, when comes that release ; 
 How long yet you'll live, how distant the day 
 When God, in His mercy, shall grant me such peace ? " 
 Then once, towards midnight, with the moon on his face. 
 He heard a low wail like the cry of the dying ; 
 " She is dead, she is dead, praised be God for this grace." 
 And where they had left him the night before, there, 
 
 Full early the morrow. 
 
 With weeping and sorrow. 
 His Boch'rim discover'd him dead in his chair. 
 Whilst on the Gemara his white head was lying. 
 
 * &«&enscA^blessed. 
 
THE TEPHILII. 
 
 8* 
 
THE TEPHILIN. 
 
 AN HUNGARIAN COUNTRY TALE. 
 
 — — "^s^NAAAAAAAfVWVw^— — 
 
 Whoever has the misfortune to travel in the passes of 
 the Basca, might indeed find himself in an embarrassing 
 situation if he were left to his choice whether to travel 
 when it rains, or when the ground is frozen hard. 
 During a rain, or immediately after, one can rarely es- 
 timate the duration of his journey even if he is going to 
 the nearest village. As often as your horse digs his 
 hoof into the soft yielding mud, it requires a double 
 horse power to draw him out again. In general this 
 new horse power is urged on by the coachman's whip, 
 which never ceases its flagellations ; and, when the whip 
 cord becomes no longer serviceable, then the handle 
 must be brought into play. 
 
 On the other hand, when it freezes, the disagreeable- 
 ness of travelling in the mud is set off by the dangers 
 of a sHppery road. After riding over such an ice-bound 
 street, nothing but a rather rickety woman could be 
 formed out of a man's rib. 
 
 In the year 1854, in the midst of winter, business en- 
 gagements brought me to this neighborhood. The cold 
 was intense, and the streets were all frozen. It was only 
 in the morning, after a long night's rest, that I could teU 
 whether my bones were yet unbroken by the many faUs 
 of the day before, and that I could thank heaven for 
 
92 T HK TEPHILIN. 
 
 sparing me any misfortune. However, wliat I was daily 
 in fear of, at last actually came to pass. I had occasion 
 to employ a wagon ; we had scarcely started, when the 
 wheel suddenly struck a rock, and, breaking, the wagon 
 overturned, and I was unceremoniously thrown out. I 
 fell between two frozen lumps of ice, and, in vain, strove 
 to extricate myself, ^\^lether the pain I felt was caused 
 by my fall, or by the previous josthng of the wagon, I 
 was then unable to say. My coachman, who came out 
 of the affair lucky enough only to have had his finger 
 broken, his head wounded, and a leg badly injured, be- 
 gan to cry out ; and I, having notiiing better to do, 
 followed suit in my topmost pitch. Luckily the village 
 was near, and our cries brought out a few peasants, who 
 carried us indoors after considerable trouble. The 
 building was w^hat they call an inn. They placed me in 
 a pretty large room which contained two beds, a chest, 
 a long table and some benches. It was both the recep- 
 tion and bed room of the host. Near by was a smaller 
 room, which characterized the business part of the build- 
 ing. But the host assui'ed me that, since the existence 
 of the town council, not a soul had remained there over 
 night ; for this reason, we were, as is usually expressed 
 in advertisements regarding steamboat berths, surround- 
 ed with every comfort. He offered me one of the beds, 
 which was well bolstered, whilst he retained the other ; 
 an arrangement which I accepted, especially as I couldn't 
 very well help myself. And, as the accommodations of 
 the establishment extended no fui'ther, my coachman 
 was lodged with a neighboring farmer. 
 
 I suffered agonizing pains, especially in my left leg. 
 The clothes had to be cut away in order to get them off. 
 A maid w^as despatched to the house of the village priest, 
 who lay sick in bed and whom the physician attended 
 daily. It happened luckily that the girl met the physi- 
 cian, and, after the lapse of not more than an hour, the 
 doctor was at my bedside. He examined me carefully 
 and gave me the joyful assurance that, by keeping very 
 quiet, I would be able at the end of six or eight weeks to 
 get- quite well. The doctor ruled as impracticable my 
 desire to be put in more comfortable quai'ters, inasmuch 
 as the \illage contained no better, and it would have 
 
THE TEPHILIN. 93 
 
 been dangerous to move me. He, however, promised to 
 send me a competent nurse and to visit me daily, in both 
 of which respects he faithfully kept his word, 
 
 In this way I dragged out three weeks of pain, al- 
 though, in the interval, I had a very entertaining com- 
 panion in the person of my host, commonly called Squire 
 Mathis. He was very kind and attentive. He manifest- 
 ed an interest and sympathy for me w^hich I scarce ex- 
 pected to find in a farmer's hut. As soon as the physi- 
 cian deemed it admissible to move me, he told me that 
 if I desired he would take me to his own house, about 
 a mile distant. I readily consented. Four peasants 
 came after me, and, carefully stretched on a litter, I was 
 borne to my new home. This arrangement gave me en- 
 tire satisfaction, as I was about to receive more comfor- 
 table quarters, and my physician was a co-religionist — 
 an Israehte. 
 
 It was the day before I changed my residence, about 
 one o'clock in the afternoon ; my nurse was busy in the 
 kitchen, and Mathis was seated at my bedside, watching 
 the slightest movement I should make in order that he 
 might immediately respond to my wants, should I call 
 for anything. Suddenly, the door opened, a stranger 
 appeared at the threshold. He had the features of an 
 Israelite. He entered, and, after a respectful salutation, 
 inquired whether Squire Mathis hved there. 
 
 " I am he," rephed my host, " what is it ? " 
 
 The Jew thereupon took from his coat pocket a small 
 worn out green bag which contained a set of Tephilin, 
 (phylacteries) and, without saying a word, handed to my 
 host. 
 
 Scarcely did he obtain sight of them that he sprang 
 from his seat and uttered a joyful exclamation. He 
 eagerly seized the bag from the stranger and pressed it 
 to his bosom ; two large tear drops trembled on his eye- 
 lids. 
 
 " What have you to say to me ! " inquired Mathis, 
 handing the tephilin back again to the stranger. 
 
 " I am to tell you much of good and pleasantness.- 
 Matters are going on well, and, if possible, I am to bring 
 back a thousand dollars." 
 
 " Where ? " inquired Mathis. 
 
94 THE TEPHILIN. 
 
 The stranger cast Ms eyes in the direction of my bed- 
 He seemed to notice me for the first time. He looked 
 at me distrustfully and answered softly : 
 
 " I shall leave here only in a couple of hours, after my 
 horses have been fed." 
 
 "Do you intend going away again, to-day? " 
 
 " Certainly," rephed the stranger, " I must reach Szeg- 
 edin to-day, in order to meet the night train." 
 
 "I will go out then, and feed the horses," said Mathis. 
 He beckoned to the stranger, and both quitted the room 
 together. They had evidently jnore to say to each other 
 which they would not repeat in my hearing. 
 
 This httle episode was calculated to rouse my curios- 
 ity in the highest degree ; whilst I was left to myself in 
 the room, I began to make all kinds of reflections and sur- 
 mises, puzzling my brain over what I had heard, and 
 wondering what in the world these two men had to say 
 to each other that I was not permitted to hear. 
 
 An hour passed away, when the two made their re-ap- 
 pearance. Mathis went to his chest and took therefrom 
 a well-fiUed purse. He opened it and, counting out very 
 distinctly the sum called for, handed it to his guest who 
 put the same into his pocket. Then he gave him an ad- 
 ditional amount in small bills, adding, at the same time, 
 " Here are your traveling expenses." 
 
 I saw that Mathis felt a httle ill at ease. The stranger 
 had eaten nothing since morning. Mathis was well aware 
 that the laws of the Jewish rehgion prevented his guest 
 eating the food that was cooked in his kitchen, and he 
 was embarrassed as to what he could offer him. My meals 
 were cooked daily according to strict kosher requii^ements, 
 and I still had a portion of my dinner left. I whispered 
 to my nurse to run to the kitchen and bring up the re- 
 mains. I received the hearty thanks of my host and his 
 guest, the latter of whom partook of my cheer in a man- 
 ner that gave evidence of his extreme hunger, and mani- 
 fested complete satisfaction at the excellence of the food. 
 
 He had scarcely finished eating, when the servant an- 
 noimced that the horses were ready to start. The Jew 
 bade his host an affectionate good by, bestowed on me a 
 fiiendly farewell, turned from the room and immediately' 
 drove off. 
 
THE TEPHILTN. 95 
 
 Mathis then sat down again by my bedside. He seemed 
 sad, and more than once he drew his hand across his eyes 
 to wipe away a drooping tear. I felt compassion for him 
 without knowing the cause of his sorrow, and I asked 
 him whether his late guest had brought him any bad 
 news. 
 
 " That is just as one might take it," he replied. " Yet 
 why should I be imthankful to our good God ? I have 
 heard that my only well-beloved son is well ; that, at any 
 rate, is gracious intelligence." 
 
 " How, Mathis I You have a son, and, though I have 
 already been here three weeks, I have never heard you 
 speak of him ? Ah, he is perhaps enrolled with the army, 
 and you are now buying him off. Is it not so ? " 
 
 " Let us drop the subject, dear sir ; it will do us little 
 good to discuss these things here. There is no harm in 
 trusting you, but wait, rather, imtil you have been re- 
 moved to the doctor's, and, if you will allow me to visit 
 you, I will cheerfully confide my secret to you. It will 
 even do me good to speak of it." 
 
 The next day, I was brought to the neighboring village, 
 to the house of my physician, where a room had been 
 made ready for me. Notwithstanding the care that had 
 been bestowed on me, there was a fear that the result of 
 my injuries might still prove serious. But I felt certain 
 of such good and successful treatment that the bare con- 
 fidence of recovery accelerated my convalescence. 
 
 Mathis kept his promise ; he paid me a call one fine 
 afternoon, and, as I was strong enough to listen, he began 
 the relation of the not uninteresting story of the Tephilin. 
 I shall content myself with its mere substance. 
 
 Alma and Katany are two villages not widely separa- 
 ted from each other. The latter is chiefly inhabited by 
 Germans, Swabians, who came into the place with the - 
 Emperor Joseph 11. In the former, a more miscellane- J 
 ous horde is congregated, consisting of Hungarians, Ser- . 
 vians and Germans. Here there lived several poor Jew- 
 ish famiUes, and, among them, Schlome, who kept an inn. 
 As the profits from this source were not sufficient to sup- 
 port a family, he started a small miscellaneous business, 
 belling, among other things, wax candles, soap, tobacco, 
 
96 T HR TEPHHIN. 
 
 pipes, matches and salt. This little business was Schlome*s 
 onlj means of keeping his family in decent circumstan- 
 ces ; for his inn brought him nothing, and the authori- 
 ties forced^ him to let his surrounding ground because he 
 could not work it himself six days in the week ; it is an 
 undeniable truth that the Jew with his two days of rest, 
 — his own and that of the Christians (on which he was 
 not permitted to work), can not be a successful farmer. 
 
 Still, with all this, I do not see the right of any govern- 
 ment to make the cultivation of the soil a burthen to the 
 Jew ; for, on the same reasoning, if a tailor were pre- 
 vented from attending to his own business himself by 
 some sickness, they could compel him to close up his 
 workshop. 
 
 Schlome lived a happy life. His only daughter was a 
 thrifty Httle house-keeper, who attended to the kitchen 
 and garden, and assisted her father in the management 
 of his business. 
 
 It was a bright Summer morning in the year 1849. As 
 usual, Schlome rose with the break of day, put on his 
 talith and laid his tephilin, and began to say his morning 
 prayers. He had just concluded, when a man, pale as 
 death, came rushing breathless into the room, and, fall- 
 ing exhausted on a bench, exclaimed : 
 
 " Schlome, help me, I can go no further ! " 
 
 The man that made his entrance r.o suddenly was 
 Ma this, the richest farmer in Rat any. The day previous, 
 insurgents had forced an entry — the Hungarian revolu- 
 tion was then at its height — and had seized quarters in 
 the houses of the peasants. An officer of high rank had 
 quartered himself with Mathis. 
 
 The night was sultry and the officer could not obtain 
 a wink of sleep in the close atmosphere of the room ; so 
 he directed his servant to take a straw mattrass into the 
 court-yard, in order that he might sleep in the open air. 
 The servant had carelessly place his loaded gun against 
 the kitchen door, and then gone to bed. Mathis rose 
 early in the morning, opened the kitchen door, the gun 
 fell down and exploded vdth a sharp report — and the of- 
 ficer lay weltering in his blood. Mathis, frightened, step- 
 ped out, lifted up the ^n which was at his feet, and, at 
 the same moment, the startled servant of the officer, 
 
THE TEPHILIN. 97 
 
 roused from his sleep, rushed out. He beheld his mas- 
 ter bathed in blood and the peasant with the murderous 
 weapon in his hands ; the conclusion that Mathis had com- 
 mitted the murder, was soon arrived at. 
 
 " You German dog," he growled, " You have shot my 
 master ! " 
 
 Undoubtedly he felt himself too weak to seize hold of 
 the powerful looking Mathis ; so, half naked as he was, 
 he ran through the streets gathering his comrades togeth- 
 er. Mathis felt the danger of his situation and that, if 
 he came into the ranks of the insurgents, he would be ir- 
 redeemably lost. A hasty flight was his only means of 
 safety. He did not reflect long, ran into the garden, 
 sprang over the bushes, and shrubs and rocks towards 
 Alma. 
 
 As he for the first time obtained sight of this village, 
 he observed armed insurgents moving towards Alma on 
 the highway. In the fear and agony of the moment, he 
 sought concealment in the house of Schlome. Schlome 
 was under some slight obhgations to him. From him 
 alone could he expect assistance. The other inhabitants 
 of Alma were all in sympathy with the rebels. The inn 
 was at the outskirts of the village. He dared not go fur- 
 ther without fear of discovery. 
 
 So we see Matliis, frenzied and alarmed, appearing in 
 Schlome 's house. 
 
 " My God ! " the latter exclaimed, " what is the matter ? 
 What do you ask of me ? Speak ! " 
 
 In a few words, Mathis related the events of the morn- 
 ing. 
 
 " "Well, what shall I do ? " repeated Schlome. 
 
 " Hide me, that I may escape my bloodthirsty pursuers. 
 The plundering Hungarians will soon be here, and will 
 tansack the whole village in search of me." 
 
 " But, for Heaven's sake, Mathis, you know how little 
 protection this building can afford you. Where can I 
 pat you to ensure your safety? " 
 
 " I do not know. You must devise that, Schlome. — 
 Only do not let me fall into their hands." 
 
 " If they catch you with me, then we are both dead 
 men. You know they are not apt to make much cere- 
 mony with a Jew." 
 
98 THE TEPHILIN. 
 
 " Good God ! What shaU I do ? " 
 
 "We are both lost." 
 
 " No, Schlome, why should I, without any cause, drag 
 you into my unlucky plight ? I will depart ; and should 
 fate bring me in the pow er of my pursuers, then may God 
 
 help me ! But go to the village of D , where my son 
 
 is stopping with his grandmother. Bear him my remem- 
 brance, and dying blessing.'* 
 
 " But you misunderstand me, Mathis. By no means 
 shall you expose yourseK to danger, by leaving my house. 
 Do you suppose me selfish enough or so destitute of 
 friendship for you as to put your life in danger for the 
 sake of saving my own ? You have sought shelter with 
 me, and you shall have it. I have a strong arm, and shall 
 use it in your defence. So long as I can wield it, no one 
 shall menace you with impunity.'* 
 
 " Hark ! do you hear nothing ? '* 
 
 At this moment, Gertrude, Schlome's daughter, de- 
 clared that six armed Hungarians were approaching the 
 village. 
 
 Then a rare thought suddenly occurred to Schlome. 
 He took from the cupboard an old talith and a bag con- 
 taining tephilin, both heirlooms of his lately deceased 
 father. Schlome caused Mathis to bare his left arm, 
 around which he wound one portion of the tephilin, and 
 placed the remaining part around his brow ; at the same 
 time, he robed him with the talith, whilst giving him the 
 following advice : 
 
 " Whoever may enter, take no notice of him. Remain 
 standing, as if you were saying your prayers, and lift up 
 your eyes often and move your body fervently. Do not 
 let any one disturb you in your devotions. Whatever 
 questions they may put to you, I shall take it upon my- 
 self to answer. Hold this book in your hand and face 
 the East. As a further precaution, take those spectacles, 
 a relic of my grandfather's, and let them straddle your 
 nose.'* 
 
 Mathis followed these instructions implicitly. A very 
 few minutes afterwards, several armed insurgents burst 
 into the room, others surroimded the house. Mathis be- 
 gan to put the upper half of his body in vigorous perpen- 
 dicular motion. He might have been taken for a saint. 
 
THE TEPHILm. 99 
 
 He was thus able to conceal his violent trembling, and to 
 make the clattering of his teeth seem as if engaged in the 
 sincerity of prayer. 
 
 " Jew ! " exclaimed the leader of the insurgents ; " is 
 there no peasant from Ratany concealed here ? " 
 
 Schlome, with ready wit, replied : " What have we 
 got to do with the Ratanians ? They are not our broth- 
 ers ; because they are Germans and we are Hungarians.'' 
 
 Whoever understands anything of the character of the 
 Hungarians and their national pride, especially at the 
 time of which we are writing, will at once perceive that 
 Schlome's answer was in itself almost sufficient to dispel 
 any suspicion which Mathis's pursuers may have enter- 
 tained. 
 
 " Oh, well, we will hunt through the house," spoke the 
 leader, " and should we catch the villain here, then both 
 he, you, and that blabberer there " — pointing to Math is 
 — " will be forthwith cut to pieces." 
 
 "As you please," said Schlome. "But I tell you that 
 it is a shame to look for a concealed traitor in the house 
 of an honest Hungarian. Why do you not go to the 
 Germans ? " 
 
 The leader of this gang was quite convinced of Schlome's 
 sincerity ; bub, in order that he might have the satisfac- 
 tion of doing something after he got into the house, he 
 ordered four of his followers to make the search. In the 
 meanwhile, he himself peered into every corner of the 
 room, wherever a concealment might be possible, and then 
 he turned to Mathis. 
 
 " What do you say, chatterer ? Is there really no one 
 hidden here ? " 
 
 Mathis turned his eyes, balanced his head, and moved 
 his hps aloud. 
 
 "He wont answer you for an hour," said Schlome, 
 " not until he is done with his prayers." 
 
 " Ohr* a little for me," said the leader of the insur- 
 gents. 
 
 " What, are you a Jew? " inquired Schlome of the lat- 
 ter. 
 
 " Eh, what! " said the man. " That is immaterial ; we 
 
 • Pray. 
 
100 THE TEPHTLIN. 
 
 are at war now, and Jew and Christian are one and the 
 same." 
 
 Schlome thought this neither the time nor place for an 
 argument against such an assertion. In the meantime, 
 the four men returned. They had, as might weU be im- 
 agined, discovered nothing ; and the whole crowd soon 
 after departed to make further search thi'ough the village. 
 Mathis remained with Schlome the whole of that and 
 the following day and night, when the news came that 
 the Hungarians had withdrawn from Ratany. 
 
 Before Mathis quitted his deliverer, he clasped his hand 
 affectionately^ and said : 
 
 " As long as I live, I shall never forget your self-sacri- 
 ficing kindness to me, and the debt I owe you ; and how 
 I should have been lost had you not so humanely and 
 generously come to my assistance when those savage 
 fiends threatened me with death. Farewell, kind friend. 
 The time may come when I can reward your hospitahty. 
 My hand and heart are forever at your command." 
 
 Mathis took the tephilin and talith with him, as me- 
 mentoes of his past danger, and soon was lost to sight. 
 
 A man nearly dying with thirst, in Alma, one evening 
 sent his daughter, aged ten years, to the inn, to get some 
 brandy. She did not return. The thirsty mortal im- 
 patiently awaited her coming for a full hour ; but the 
 girl did not come. Enraged at the child's delay, he arm- 
 ed himself with a cane, and started out after her, firmly 
 resolved to teach her, by a physical demonstration, that 
 she must not allow a thirsty father to suffer so. He ar- 
 rived at Schlome' s, pjid was by him informed that the 
 girl had started for home an hour ago, taking with her 
 the alcohohc beverage. The angry Servian rushed home- 
 wards again ; but his daughter had not returned ; it was 
 already ten o'clock. 
 
 Evidently there was something wrong. The neighbors 
 were awakened from their sleep, some were sent into the 
 street and others to the houses of the missing child's in- 
 timate friends. Their labors were in vain, and soon nu- 
 merous suspicious thoughts were being hazarded. By 
 
 i 
 
THE TEPHILIN. 101 
 
 some unlucky circumstance, one of the readiest, a Ser- 
 vian, gave it as his opinion that the girl was dead. 
 
 " The Jev s, " he said, " use the blood of Christian chil- 
 dren in their sacrifices ; Schlome has undoubtedly slaugh- 
 tered the child." 
 
 The edict had gone forth. The old man's doctrine 
 found a ready response in the hearts of ^11 his hearers. , , 
 The whole village was alarmed, every ".oiio^s^ai^'^lDiiwling; \- 
 and screaming ; their only cry was : . ' ' ' ' 
 
 "Schlome has murdered a Christi&n, clald'; N^'-iwDl;',] 
 kiU him, too. "We will destroy aU blood'l^^inhers 1' fe • " ' 
 must yield up the dead girl ! We will tear him to pieces ! " 
 
 Such and similar exclamations foretokened the danger 
 that was threatening Schlome. All the peasants armed 
 themselves with weapons of torture and destruction, and, 
 as if there were no longer any doubt as to Schlome's guilt, 
 rushed towards the inn with revengeful cries. 
 
 But Schlome had been forewarned by some friendly 
 hand. A Jewish resident of Alma had hastened to him, 
 and pictured to his mind the storm that was about to 
 burst over his head. When the leader of this rabble came 
 to the inn, he found nobody but Gertrude, Schlome's 
 young daughter, who, suffering under a severe fever, was 
 unable to foUow her father in his flight. Time pressed, 
 Gertrude pledged herself to hurry after him ; and, as he 
 thought himself convinced that she suffered no danger, 
 he left her at home, and fled alone. 
 
 This flight which the peasants, after marching through 
 the house, convinced themselves Schlome had taken, was 
 to their minds sufficient evidence of his guilt. Their 
 wrath increased, and they seized hold of glasses and bot- 
 tles, and knocked them around the room, breaking win- 
 dows and doors. Poor Gertrude lay trembling on her 
 couch, and rude hands seized her person and tore at her 
 hair, and bound her fast. 
 
 " Do not hurt her," said the village magistrate ; " for, 
 even if she be not entirely guiltless, yet we must dis- 
 cover, through her, where her father has concealed him- 
 self." 
 
 I will believe, for humanity's sake, that the magistrate 
 Spoke these words out of pity, and to save the girl from 
 further harm. I am almost convmced now that he did, 
 9* 
 
102 THE TEPHILIN. 
 
 inasmucli as, at a later period, he is said to have express- 
 ed a doubt about Schlome's guilt, as far as the lost girl 
 was concerned ; because, though Jews may use the blood 
 of Christian children in their Easter sacrifices, this festi- 
 val usually occui's in the spring of the year ; and the 
 missing child was lost in July. So pleasant it is to rea- 
 son phHossophically, and to know that passion and preju- 
 dice pifen bjin^ the eyes of men to the truth and proba- 
 bUities of tnings. , 
 
 Mathi^f happened to be in a neighboring house. To 
 hini i^chlome hastened, in the wildness of despair. 
 
 " Mathis ! Mathis ! Now you can repay me ; now you 
 can save me from the undeserved fury of an enraged 
 mob ! " 
 
 Schlome hastily related what had happened. Mathis 
 took his hand lovingly in his own, and said : 
 
 " Fear not, Schlome. Should it become necessary, I 
 will defend you with my life, even as you risked yours 
 for me. It can hardly enter their minds that you are 
 with me." 
 
 " Yet," repHed Schlome, " I fear I was observed to en- 
 ter here." 
 
 "However," said Mathis, "my son shall go to Alma, 
 and bring me the news from there." 
 
 Mathis sent his son Peter, aged sixteen, after acquaint- 
 ing him with the events of the morning, over to Alma, to 
 reconnoitre, and to see how matters stood. Peter went, 
 but almost immediately afterwards returned, looking 
 deathly pale, and announced that intelligence of the* loss 
 of the Christian child had abeady reached Ratany ; that 
 Schlome had been seen to steal his way into the house, 
 and that several of the rabble were approaching, deter- 
 mined to enter and search through the house, and, if 
 they find Schlome, drag him to Alma. 
 
 " Go through the garden into the field," said Mathis 
 to his son, " and over to Alma. You can get there quick- 
 ly. It is dayhght now, and perhaps the child may have 
 been found." 
 
 Schlome likewise requested Peter to look after Ger- 
 trude, and to see whether she were safe. 
 
 " We have no time to lose," said IMathis to Schlome. 
 " Pull this dressing gown over yonr head, and he down 
 
THE TEPHILIN. 103 
 
 on this bench. I will cover you with my furs. Keep 
 quiet, and leave matters to me. Should the mob press 
 in, I wiU so arrange it that they will carry me off instead 
 of you. Then, when I am gone, put on my broad brim- 
 med hat, go through the garden, and take the road to 
 
 D ; you will find a Jewish congregation there, and 
 
 one of your Eabbis, whose duty it will be to protect you. 
 By the time the baffled crowd discover who I am, you wiU 
 be in safety." 
 
 Schlome obeyed orders. Mathis took from his trunk 
 the tephilin presented him by Schlome, untied them, and 
 wound them around his arm, as he had previously been 
 instructed, paying little heed, however, whether or not 
 he had them exactly" right, put on the old talith, and set 
 Schlome's hat on his head. Thus he awaited the attack 
 which could not long be delayed. A loud clamor from 
 the street proclaimed the approach of the peasants' in- 
 quisition. 
 
 Mathis stood in front of the wall, and made religious 
 gesticulations. 
 
 Ten or twelve peasants rushed into the room. 
 
 " Aha ! There is the blood drinker. Away with him 
 to Alma ! " 
 
 Two peasants seized Mathis by the arms and dragged 
 him out of the room, whilst the others pushed him from 
 behind. He held the talith so tightly around his face 
 that his identity could not be discovered, and only the 
 tephilin band around his forehead was visible. The 
 crowd grew as they proceeded in their course. In their 
 mad zeal they never thought of pulling away his dis- 
 guise. 
 
 They had already gone three-fourths of the way. Mat- 
 his began to tire of their pulhng and pushing. Keflect- 
 ing that Schlome must, by this time, be secure, he resolv- 
 ed to put an end to this masquerade. With a powerful 
 effort, he freed himself from the grasp of his torment- 
 ors, threw aside the talith, tore the tephilin from his arm 
 and head, and uttered a loud and defiant laughter. 
 
 The tumultuous rabble were dumbfounded. " Mathis ! 
 Mathis ! " they exclaimed : " godfather Mathis ' cousin 
 Mathis ! neighbor Mathis ! " 
 
 Such were their cries in the first moments of their as- 
 
104 THE TEPHILrN. 
 
 tonishment. But soon the spirit of revenge was again 
 dominant in their breasts. The affair, which they inten- 
 ded for a tragedy, had too much the appearance as if it 
 was to turn out a comedy. It was the furthest from their 
 miuds that Mathis should make a laughing stock of them. 
 Said one : 
 
 " Mathis, that will do you no good. You have hidden 
 the Jew, and we won't let you go till you deliver him in- 
 to our hands." 
 
 Another cried out : 
 
 " Out with the Jew ; give him up ! If we don't bring 
 him back, the people of Alma will bum our houses over 
 our heads." 
 
 And the people began tearing at the talith with the 
 fierce spirit of vandahsm, until they had torn it to tatters. 
 The tephilin might have shared the same fate, had not 
 Mathis, with great forethought, hidden them in his inner 
 coat pocket. Mathis was not in the pleasantest of situa- 
 tions, for the people had resolved to take him to Alma, 
 whose inhabitants would soon bring him to terms, and 
 compel him to disclose the place of Schlome's concealment. 
 
 Suddenly, they saw Mathis' son, Peter, running to- 
 wards them. He was making signals with his hands, 
 but which they could not very well understand, until he 
 came nearer, when he exclaimed : 
 
 " They have got the girl ; I found her : she has suf- 
 fered no harm ! " 
 
 The thing happened thus : -. 
 
 AVhen Peter left for Alma, as he approached the cal- 
 lage, in a little by-path, he came across a young girl who 
 was weeping and wringing her hands. Peter suspected 
 she was the very one they were making such a noise 
 about. He stopped and began talking to her, and, after 
 considerable effort, by much questioning and persuasion, 
 he ascertained that the brandy she had been sent to get 
 for her father, began, in a short time, to have an enticing 
 effect on her lips ; and these being brought in frequent 
 contact with the Kquor in question, soon manifested a re- 
 sult which diminished the quantity of fluid in the bottle, 
 while it at the same time exerted a not altogether bright- 
 ening effect on her mind. As a consequence, instead of 
 taking the straight road, and being a httle too inebriated 
 
THE TEPHILIN. 105 
 
 to see whether she was going home or somewhere else, 
 very naturally did get somewhere else, and a stupor seiz- 
 ing her, she fell into a sound sleep, from which she only 
 awoke a few hours before Peter made her acquaintance. 
 As her eyes opened, they fell on the half-emptied bottle 
 in her hand, and the fear of what she might expect from 
 her father, drew from her bitter tears and lamentations. 
 
 Peter felt compassion for her, and to the eloquence of 
 his words in attempting to persuade her to go home, he 
 added money more than sufficient to purchase the defici- 
 ency of hquor, and save the child from its father's cruel 
 wrath. 
 
 The house in which Gertrude was lying was surround- 
 ed by a mass of bloodthirsty peasants. They wanted, by 
 all means, to have Gertrude out, that they might revenge 
 themselves on her young blood. The poor girl within 
 heard their loud clamor, and trembled. 
 
 Suddenly, everything wdthout was still. Peter arrived, 
 leading the missing child by the hand. He was at once 
 surrounded and eagerly questioned ; in a few w^ords,he 
 told them what had happened, and the weeping girl at 
 his side bore witness to the truth of what he said. Then 
 this rabid horde slunk away one by one. A few only 
 were ashamed of their conduct — many were embarrassed 
 as to how they might excuse their rashness ; and some 
 still held fast to the opinion that, if the missing child 
 had not been found, then Schlome must have murdered 
 her. 
 
 Gertrude could scarcely beheve her senses when Peter 
 hurried to her side, and told her the joyful news ; how 
 that the lost girl had been found, and that she was now 
 safe and could go with him to her father, who, likewise, 
 had nothing more to fear. 
 
 The mention of her father's name recalled him to her 
 mind, and, breaking into sobs, she cried out : 
 
 "My father! Where is my father? Oh, let me see 
 him ! Is he safe ? " 
 
 "Do not be alarmed, Gertrude," replied Peter ; "your 
 father is with mine : no evil has befallen him, and you 
 can go with me and see him." 
 
 Gertrude sprang from her couch for joy. But the fev- 
 er that she had, had Aveukened her so much, that she had 
 
lOG THE TEPHILIN. 
 
 scarcely stood up -when she fell senseless to tlie floor. 
 Peter was somewhat embarrassed. He threw himself on 
 his knees before her, and begged her, with tears in his 
 eyes, to awake. He smoothed back her long silken hair 
 fi'om her round, pale face, and irresistibly pressed a long, 
 burning kiss on her bright, red hps. 
 
 Her eyes opened. 
 
 " Where is my father ? " was her first question. 
 
 " He will be here, soon," Peter rephed ; " I shall bring 
 him with me directly. But — I cannot leave you alone, 
 Gertrude ; you are ill." 
 
 " Oh, no, good Peter ; I feel much better now, and if 
 I only have my father near me again, then all will be well 
 with me." 
 
 Peter went away sorrowfully. We already know in 
 what company he came across his father. He related 
 how everything was cleared up in Alma. The narrative 
 of these events, and the satisfactory reappearance of the 
 lost child, put the crowd somewhat at ease. They regret- 
 ted, however, that they had dealt so harshly with Mathis, 
 who, being rich, was all in all to them — godfather, neigh- 
 bor, cousin and dearest of friends. The latter was too 
 shrewd a man not to derive some advantage from this 
 circumstance. 
 
 Peter ascertained that Schlome had fled to D , and 
 
 thither Peter hastened to find him — both to quiet his 
 fears and to bring him home again to Gerti-ude, as he had 
 promised. He foimd him, and giving him the gratifying 
 assurance of his safety, accompanied him to his home. 
 The meeting between father and daughter was, as might 
 well be expected, cordial and affectionate ; and, as Peter 
 observed their love for each other, a sudden feeling of 
 affection began to struggle in his breast. Gertrude raised 
 her beautiful blue eyes to his, those eyes in which her 
 whole soul breathed forth, and said : 
 
 " You were our protecting angel, Peter." 
 
 Then Peter really felt that he loved her, ana was pre- 
 pared to have his throat cut, if necessary, for Gertrude's 
 Jake. It grew late, and, as Peter felt that it was time to 
 go, he rose, took his hat in hand, and, pressing Ger- 
 trude's fair fingers to his Hp-j, breathed on them his ar- 
 dent love, and bade her a fond g od night. His journey 
 
THE TEPHILIN. 107 
 
 home was dark and drear, and grim phantasms danced 
 in his giddy brain. He loved ; but could he marry her ? 
 Gertrude was a Jewess, and he, alas ! a Protestant. 
 
 Schlome suffered considerable loss by this little dis- 
 turbance, at Alma, for the rabble had not dealt very gen- 
 tly with his wares. But he was soon consoled, and once 
 more his affairs were put in order. Gertrude again re- 
 joiced in the bloom of health, and there was not a man in 
 all Alma who did not soon regi^et the annoyance and dis- 
 asters that had befallen her and her dear father. Ger- 
 trude, too, thought often of Peter, who, besides, paid many 
 calls at Alma, on Sundays. 
 
 One evening, in the quiet of his reflections, Schlome 
 bethought himself of his tej)liilin, and that Mathis still re- 
 tained them. They were given to Schlome by his father, 
 and he regarded them as an heirloom, as something which 
 he could not part with. It seemed to him sinful that he 
 should allow such holy rehcs to remain in the profaned 
 hands of a stranger. He made up his mind, therefore, to 
 go to Ratany, the next morning, pay his friend a call, and 
 obtain the tephilin from him. 
 
 An old Jewish author says : " The height of heaven, 
 the depth of the earth, and the extent of the human 
 heart, are immeasurable." Inasmuch as the mathemat- 
 ical determination of the periphery and diameter of this 
 earthly sphere was at that period an unexplained secret 
 to the good man, we must make due allowance in accept- 
 ing his parallel ; but, in so far as it was his object to ex- 
 press, in a striking manner, the unfathomable mystery of 
 the human soul, we must admit that the simiTe evinces po- 
 etical inspiration. 
 
 After what we have seen of the friendly relations that 
 existed between Mathis and Schlome, any idea of the sev- 
 erance of the friendly link would seem preposterous. Yetj 
 it took but a few minutes' colloquy to rupture what, un- 
 til then, had seemed an irrefragable attachment. Let us 
 see how this matter was brought about. 
 
 Schlome called on Mathis as he had previously resolv- 
 ed. Of course, the meeting between the two friends was 
 cordial in the extreme. 
 
108 THE TEPHILIN. 
 
 " Heaven preserve you, Schlome, what lucky circum- 
 stance brings you here ? " 
 
 " A small matter, Mathis ; it occurred to me, last night, 
 that you still have my tqyhilin, and you T\'ill jDardon me 
 if I have come after them." 
 
 " My dear friend, Schlome, you don't mean that ! See, 
 now, these tephilin have become of redoubled interest 
 to me, since they have been the means, on different oc- 
 casions, of saving both our hves. How can I part with 
 them ? " . 
 
 " But, Mathis, they are precious family reUcs, and I 
 dare not give them to you." 
 
 " Can you not buy others ? " 
 
 " I do not need others, for I have a fine set for daily 
 use. These, however, I cannot give up." 
 
 "Will you take ten dollars for them?" asked Mathis. 
 The blood mantled to Schlome's cheek as he answered : 
 
 "For shame on you, Mathis, to think that I would 
 barter for an heirloom. They are priceless to me, and I 
 must have them." 
 
 •' But I will not give them to you." 
 
 " You must. I never gave you them ; you took them 
 without my knowledge or consent. The tephilin are holy 
 emblems of our religion, and I dare not leave them in 
 unclean hands." 
 
 Mathis, already somewhat displeased with Schlome's 
 obstinacy,' at the words "unclean hands," became greatly 
 enraged. He ran to his coffer, tore open the hd, and 
 brought out the tephiliriy and, flinging them on the table, 
 cried out with passion : 
 
 *' There, take your tephilin, and leave my house, or 
 these ' unclean hands ' will massacre you ! Never darken 
 my doors again with jour presence ; but you shall think 
 of Mathis as long as you hve ! " 
 
 The door closed on Schlome. He heaved many a sigh 
 as he wended his way home, and reflected on the uncer- 
 tainties of this life. His best friend had now become his 
 enemy ; a trifle had made a deep breach in their friend- 
 ship, and would it ever be mended ? 
 
 Mathis, too, had cause for reflection. He conceived it 
 a rehgious duty to revenge himself for what'he consider- 
 ed an outrage on himself and his relisfious faith. He 
 
THE TEPHILIN. lv.9 
 
 formed the bitter determination to ruin his former friend, 
 but now deadly enemy. A plan was soon adopted. 
 
 On that same day we find Mathis at Alma, in close 
 conversation wdth the landlord. He knew very well that 
 the term for which Schlome had rented his house was 
 about expiring. Mathis accordingly offered to take the 
 house fur a number of years, and pay as much as five 
 hundred dollars a year. Schlome had been paying only 
 three hundred. The landlord replied that he was bound 
 to give Schlome the refusal for the same amount that 
 Mathis offered to pay ; but Mathis was well aware that 
 Schlome was not in a condition to afford paying such 
 a high rent. He was not surprised, therefore, when 
 the landlord announced to him that the building was his, 
 and that Schlome would move. Schlome had heard, with 
 pain, that Mathis was at the bottom of these proceedings, 
 and his heart sank within him. 
 
 At the end of his term, Schlome packed up his wares, 
 left his old house with Gertrude, and took two rooms in 
 a remote quarter of the village. Mathis moved to Alma, 
 and entrusted Peter with the inn at Katany. 
 
 Peter was not very well pleased with the turn affairs 
 had taken. He still cherished his old affection for Ger- 
 trude. But how could he visit her, when their parents 
 were on such bad terms together ? Love devises a num- 
 ber of ways to overconre difficulties. Gertrude was in 
 the habit of going to market every Tuesday afternoon 
 to bring thither the little articles she had embroidered 
 during the week. Peter soon heard of this, and, as the 
 stated day came round, he regularly saddled his horse, 
 went into the highway and met her ; he rode with her to 
 market, and rendered her every assistance when she seem- 
 ed in need of help. Then, when her work was disposed 
 of, he would accompany her home again. Every Tuesday 
 was a holiday for Peter. 
 
 Once Gertrude began to think. "Wasn't it very wrong 
 to encourage this young man, whom she could never hope 
 to marry ? " If he were only an Israehte," she would 
 say. And then she would sigh, and sit for hours in deep 
 thought. Yet, when Tuesday rolled around, again v/ere 
 they both found together, on their way to market. Is 
 not love a very strange thing ? 
 10 
 
110 THE TEPHILIN. 
 
 This went on for two full years. But one day Gertrude 
 did not come. In vain Peter waited for her. 
 
 " Poor Gertrude must be sick," he murmured. " "Why 
 she looked very pale last Tuesday, and complained of not 
 feehng well." 
 
 Peter had indeed surmised the truth : for Gertrude 
 was very sick. Her work was resting idle, and her dis- 
 taff was quietly lying with no f au' hands to set it in oper- 
 ation. And here was poor Schlome, with hardly a cent 
 in this world, who could satisfy the parched hps of his 
 beloved daughter with nothing but cold water. The night 
 before, he had sold the last piece of property that he could 
 spare for bread. He httle thought that, on the follow- 
 ing day, he would have to fast, and that the next day there 
 would be no better prospect. Gertrude's illness, how- 
 ever, filled him -svith great anxiety. "WTiat could he do 
 for her ? She herself, the prop of his house, and surmis- 
 ing her father's thoughts, smiling stretched her hands to- 
 wards him and said : " Do not mind me, father, I am 
 not hungry. AVhilst I am sick, I need nothing; and, 
 when I recover, all shall be well again." 
 
 Schlome tui'ned his head aside, wiped away a warm 
 tear that was about to roll fi^om his eyelid, and, going to 
 the closet, took therefrom the small bag containing the 
 tqDhilin, and left the house. 
 
 Was he going to say his prayers? Why, the pious 
 man has done that once already to-day. Was he going 
 to sell them ? "WTio would give him the smallest sum in 
 payment for them ? 
 
 Schlome went straight to the inn, to Mathis. " Mathis," 
 he said, and handed him the tephiiin, " once, you offered 
 me ten dollars for these ; if they have not lost aU worth 
 to you, take them in pledge and lend me two dollars, 
 else I must see my poor Gertrude perish before my very 
 eyes." 
 
 For two years, the once intimate friends had not seen 
 each other. The shrunken, hungry, and wretched look 
 of Schlome, as he appeared tottering and trembhng be- 
 fore Mathis, filled the latter with sohcitude. The knowl- 
 edge that he had made this man unhappy, — this man 
 who had once saved his Ufe, filled his breast with remorse, 
 and his heart sank within him. That man who once be- 
 
THE TEPHILIN. ' 111 
 
 fore stood before him, with a strong arm, and had taken 
 his hand in friendly grasp, now stood there bowed down 
 with grief, and he alone the cause of all this misery. 
 
 Ashamed and sorrow-stricken, Mathis grasped his hand, 
 whilst the tears rolled down his cheeks. " My friend," he 
 said, " I have done wrong, pardon me. Here, take this 
 bank note; I need no pawn from you. "We have been on 
 bad terms together, but I have not forgotten that you are 
 yet *the honest Schlome.' " 
 
 Schlome took the money. He could not speak, and, 
 almost choking with emotion, he gasped the words " thank 
 you, Mathis," and hastened to the relief of his sick child. 
 
 And as Mathis beheld his retreating form, in his re- 
 morse he exclaimed : 
 
 " God pardon my sin. If he did anger me, I could 
 have withdrawn myself from his friendship ; but what 
 right had I to snatch from him his little bread ! " 
 
 Two hours later, he sent to Ratany for Peter. The lat- 
 ter came. 
 
 " My son," said Mathis, " Schlome is badly off." 
 
 Peter trembled. 
 
 "His daughter, Gertrude," continued his father, "is 
 very ill." 
 
 Peter turned pale. 
 
 " Schlome is no longer my friend, — that is true, — but 
 I must not let him starve, and his daughter shall not per- 
 ish for want of help." 
 
 " Certainly not," cried Peter. 
 
 " Do you know what, Peter." 
 
 "Well, father?" 
 
 " Take a bag of flour and one of potatoes to Schlome, 
 together with this bottle of Tokay and this paper of cake, 
 the latter of which you will give the sick girl with your 
 own hand, — and look around a Httle, Peter, and see if 
 they, perhaps, need anything else." 
 
 Peter was only too happy to fulfill this errand, and, 
 with somewhat more foresightedness than, as he suppos- 
 ed, his father possessed, added to the store of provisions, 
 a fine pair of chickens, some butter, cheese, eggs, and 
 other little delicacies. In another hour, he was at Ger- 
 trude's bedside, and reproached her and her father for 
 not having long ago confided their necessities to him. 
 
112 THE TEPHILIN. 
 
 He forthwith despatched a man after the doctor, and did 
 not leave until the latter came, assured him there was no 
 danger and promised to visit his patient daily. 
 
 From this day forth, Peter was at Schlome's house 
 every day, and was, at length, the happy means of effect- 
 ing a thorough reconciliation between his father and 
 Schlome. Then Mathis came over, too, and visited the 
 sick girl, who,* under such kindly care, was fast recover- 
 ing. Then it was, too, that both Schlome and Mathis 
 suspected the feeling entertained for each other by the 
 young persons, and, as they reflected on what differences 
 separated them, they shuddered at the consequences that 
 might ensue. 
 
 In the meanwhile, the affection between Peter and Ger- 
 trude was on the increase. Mathis and Schlome, one 
 day, unburthened their minds to each other. They both 
 saw the folly of allowing such a state of things to con- 
 tinue. It was deemed advisable, however, to wait until 
 Gertrude's recovery, before undertaking such an unpleas- 
 ant duty. 
 
 It happened very suddenly, that Schlome was taken 
 dangerously sick. The physician said the iUness was 
 brought on by over exertion and anxiety of mind, and 
 expressed great solicitude lest it might prove fatal. Ma- 
 this at once took up his residence with Schlome and tend- 
 ed him during his entu-e illness, promptly answermg aU 
 his wants. Matters were growing serious. 
 
 " Mathis," said Schlome, one day, " I feel my end ap- 
 proaching, and when I go Gertrude will have no earthly 
 protector. But I shall die in peace, for I know your trus- 
 ty heart ; and of one thing you must assure me, that my 
 d^dng moments may be without pain. Promise me nev- 
 er to tempt her from the faith of her fathers, but on the 
 contrary, to strengthen her in that behef when there may 
 come temptations to make her swerve from the path of 
 duty." 
 
 Mathis gave him his hand and promised. In a few 
 hours, Schlome breathed his last. 
 
 Gertrude wept bitterly, and sorrow was in Mathis' 
 heart. Peter wept with Gertrude, and grieved with Mathis. 
 
 But neither tears nor sorrow for the departed can tri- 
 umph over the power of Time. 
 
THE ^EPHILIN. 113 
 
 Mathis wished Gertrude to make his house her home 
 and to undertake the management of the inn ; but inas- 
 much as the pious Jewess refused to take her meals at 
 her protector's table, she was placed with a Jewish fami- 
 ly in the village ; she however passed the forenoon and 
 afternoon in the dwelling of Mathis, and it is scarcely 
 necessary to add that from this time Peter visited his 
 father's house much oftener than formerly. 
 
 Mathis soon perceiving that such a state of things could 
 not long be endured without both moral and physical 
 danger, resolved to take energetic steps to put an end 
 to it. He commissioned several Israelites to propose a 
 " good match " for Gertrude ; he promised for her an 
 outfit such as respectable peasants were accustomed to 
 receive, besides several hundred Gulden in money, and 
 the lease of the inn at Alma. 
 
 " If Gertrude is once married," thought Mathis, "then 
 Peter will soon cease to think of her, and will seek and 
 readily find a wife, for he is a fine young fellow and my 
 only heir ; and after a httle time both he and Gertrude 
 will laugh at their youthful folly." 
 
 But the good Mathis was mistaken. The first Israel- 
 ite who presented himself as a suitor to Gertrude, was 
 treated with so much indifference, and even open dislike, 
 that he gladly withdrew his suit, and the only result was 
 that Gertrude now appeared every morning, her eyes red 
 with weeping, and Peter was so affected by her sadness 
 that it was feared his health would suffer. 
 
 "But do tell me, my son," asked Mathis, "on what 
 do you base your hopes." 
 
 " On nothing, father," was the painful reply ; " but so 
 much is certain, that I will not marry, since Gertrude can- 
 not be my wife ; and, if she weds another, I will shoot 
 myself." 
 
 Mathis could not sleep a wink that night. He saw two 
 persons, who were dear to him as life, loving and yet not 
 daring to satisfy that love, and could he blame his boy? 
 Yet how to effect a result without giving pain to their 
 young hearts, or, perhaps, see his son a corpse at his feet ? 
 
 His mind was soon made up. 
 
 On the following morning, he summoned Gertrude 
 10* 
 
114 
 
 • vUk tephilin. 
 
 &nd Peter, bade them to sit down together on a bench be- 
 fore him, and addressed them as follows : 
 
 " Listen to me, children, I am going to bring these 
 inatters to some conclusion. That you two can marry each 
 other, each with a different rehgion, is entirely out of the 
 question. As far as Gertrude is concerned, she can nev- 
 er become a Protestant ; she will never abandon her rehg- 
 ion, and, besides, I promised her father, on his dying 
 bed, that I would never tempt her from her faith. But 
 you, Peter, who are famihar with Jewish customs, and 
 have learnt to consider the God of the Jew as the God of 
 the Protestant, can, without making any sacrifice, change 
 your religion. I interpose no obstacle in your way. But 
 here, where there exist so many prejudices, you can nev- 
 er live safely. Go to America, that land which offers an 
 asylum to all, where you will be protected in your rights, 
 and where you can enjoy your life in quiet and content- 
 ment. Go, and my blessing attend you. I will pay your 
 expenses thither, and give you sufficient to establish your- 
 seljf in some business. The moment you are married, 
 send me a token, Take these Tephilin ; they belonged 
 to Schlome, and may they accompany your first experi- 
 ence in your new rehgion. When you are in want of 
 funds in your new business, or need assistance, send me 
 these Tephilin, and I will transmit you whatever sum you 
 may require." 
 
 Need I go further ? I have already related to you how 
 I saw these tephilin brought to Mathis by the aged Israel- 
 'te. The young couple were married with their father's 
 blessing, and set sail for the land of freedom. 
 
 In a few weeks, I was so far recovered that I was able 
 to travel to Pesth, and there, under skillful surgical treat- 
 ment, I was again restored to sound health. 
 
 About a year later, I ordered a horsebroker to pur- 
 chase two horses for me. It was market day, and he 
 drove me into town, to the horse mart. AYhat was my 
 sui-prise to find Mathis there ! He had four fine looking 
 animals with him, two of which he offered for sale. He 
 recognized me at once, and congratulated me on my be- 
 ing restored to health. 
 
THE TEPHILIN. 115 
 
 A price for his horses was soon agreed on, but I desired 
 tiU the afternoon to try them, and then pay for them. 
 
 " Sir," said Mathis to me, " I am going farther. Though 
 I am in want of money, I can wait yet awhile. At the 
 end of three months, I shall send you my address, and, 
 if the horses suit you, send me the money by post." 
 
 " How ? " I exclaimed, " Do you not return to Alma ? " 
 
 " No. I have just received news that I am a grand- 
 father, and I can't stay here any longer. I am about 
 selling out my stock at Ratany and Alma, as I must join my 
 beloved children." 
 
 Three months later, I sent the price of the horses to 
 New York, where Peter and his wife, child and father, 
 were spending their days happily on a well-stocked and 
 profitable farm. 
 
THE MEBI'S DAUaHTER. 
 
THE RABBI'S DAUaHTER. 
 
 A TALE OF POLAND. 
 
 -OOO^OOO- 
 
 CHAPTER L 
 
 A POLISH RABBI, 
 
 The peace of Westphalia had just concluded a series of 
 wars, through which Central and Western Europe were 
 thrown into confusion and devastation. During eighty- 
 long years had the war raged in the Netherlands ; in 
 thirty years, had it converted the blooming fields of fair 
 Germany into barren wastes, impeded the onward march 
 of art and science, and robbed populous cities of their in- 
 habitants. After long and stormy assembhes at Munster 
 and Osnabrueck, differences were stayed, and a treaty of 
 peace was concluded. Eastern Europe, however, had 
 comparatively not been affected by these long struggles. 
 But it was reserved for the kingdom of Poland alone, — 
 Poland where our coreHgionists most especially dwell, — : 
 to suffer the most unspeakable anguish, to see terrible 
 war waving its flaming torch, bearing to all death and 
 destruction, misery and misfortune. 
 
 Being greatly wronged by a Polish prince, Horonzi,'the 
 leader of the Cossacks, Chamil, had revolted against his 
 ruler, the king of Poland. Horonzi had previously im- 
 prisoned him, and desired to have him beheaded, but 
 having succeeded in making good his escape, Chamil 
 stirred up to rebellion the professors of the Grecian-Cath- 
 
120 THE rabbi's DAUGHTEK. 
 
 olic faith against the Roman-CathoUc Poles. Finding 
 his httle force increasing day by day, until twenty thou- 
 sand men marched under his banners, in order that he 
 might make his success doubly sure, he joined with the 
 Tartars, and soon faced the Pohsh army of six thousand, 
 with a force ten times ass great. The issue was not long 
 uncertain. Her ai-my being routed, the whole of Poland 
 was exposed to invasion, while the inhabitants of every 
 grade and stamp, (especially the Jews), were compelled 
 to submit to the blind fury of their conquerors. We will 
 not delineate the atrocious spectacles that must have met 
 the gaze of the unhappy Poles. We need not enumerate 
 the wi'etched victims, in vain laying down their very lives 
 for the preservation of theii' homes and kindred, nor men- 
 tion the ruined and desolated cities, or the dissolution of 
 large congi-egations by war's fierce hand. Let us rather 
 tui'n our attention from such ten-ible occurrences, and 
 touch upon them only so far as they belong to the coui'se 
 of our narrative ; entering upon matters of a quieter na- 
 ture. Let us approach the wretched abode of one of the 
 greatest men which Israel, so prolific in that particular, 
 has produced. 
 
 In a Httle house in the Jewish quarter of the small Li- 
 thuanian city, Priusk, there Hves Rabbi Sabbathai Cohen 
 and his family. Following the Pohsh custom, Sabbathai 
 maiTied early. His wife, Mmam, is a great-grand-daughter 
 of the celebrated Rabbi Moses Isserles, and is worthy of 
 her distinguished ancestiy, pious and virtuous as the an- 
 cient prophetess whose name she bears. Sabbathai's 
 house can hardly be called the abode of high fortune. — 
 ^Miriam is ill, their only child, Esther, is dehcate and fee- 
 ble. We see the Rabbi standing at his wife's bedside; 
 httle Esther is near, endeavoiing to check her hot tears. 
 The Rabbi holds the feverish hand of his sick wife, who 
 has just awakened from a disturbed slumber. 
 
 "Dear husband," says she, " I fear I am about to leave 
 you and our darling child. Do not check me ; I must 
 tell you something of importance. In my slumber, I 
 dreamed of my grandfather, who bade me bid you * fare- 
 well ! * and speak to you words of comfort in regard to 
 our dark future. For know, over you and our child, sad 
 events are impending. Yet I will watch over you. I will 
 
THE EABBI*S DAUGHTER. 121 
 
 supplicate for you at the throne of the Almighty, and I 
 will not rest until I have placedyou under His protection." 
 
 She sinks back exhausted upon her bed. The Rabbi 
 tries to offer her words of comfort and hope, — she smil- 
 ingly hstens to his attempts at consolation. 
 
 " Beloved," said she, " fortunate was I to be thy wife, 
 but this boon was granted to me only for a brief time. — 
 Farewell, beloved husband ! Farewell, my sweet Esther ! / 
 God protect you both ! " 
 
 Her weary eyes close, her voice fails, the tender heart 
 of an affectionate mother ceases to beat, the soul of a 
 good woman is ascending to its Maker, and as the Rabbi, 
 weeping, repeated the glorious confession of Judaism, — 
 Shemang Yisroel, the dying woman's lips moved slowly, 
 before they closed forever. 
 
 Weeks passed since this sad event The Rabbi sot^ht 
 comfort by a more dihgent study of the Law. Esther, 
 thus encountering the first great sorrow of her hfe, be- 
 came very ill ; and, while she was lying on her bed of 
 sickness, he, sitting by her side, studied the Talmud, en- 
 deavoring to elucidate a knotty point in one of its diffi- 
 cult chapters. Engaged in deep study, he did not hear 
 a certain rumbling noise that was growing more and m*ore 
 distinct. At last, shouts of terror and cries of anguish 
 aroused him, and he started from his seat. " Chamil is 
 coming ! The Cossacks 1 The Cossacks ! " The Rabbi 
 opened the window, and was terrified to find smoke rising 
 from dweUings in the vicinity, to which the Cossacks had 
 set fire. Hastily throwing on his cloak, and wrapping a 
 blanket around his child, he took her in his arms and left 
 his home, taking a direction contrary to thstt which the 
 Cossacks had marked by their confl,a^ations and rob- 
 beries. 
 
 It was Winter — and Friday afternoon. The Rabbi 
 made his way through the heavy snow, hurrying to reach 
 the forest before night-faU. Behind him rose the wald 
 songs of the Cossacks, commingled with the painful slirieks 
 of the unfortunate Poles. Alarm gave the Rabbi super- 
 human power; and just as the sun was setting,he entered 
 11 
 
122 THE rabbi's paughter. 
 
 the friendly forest, and placed Lis d^ar burden on the 
 gi'ound at the foot of a tree. Sabbath was drawing near 
 — a sad Sabbath ; but the pious Rabbi, alone in the wood, 
 with a sick cliild, no friendly being near, stiU thanked 
 God for having dehvered him fi'om the hands of the rob- 
 bers. He said the Friday-evening prayers, and in his de- 
 votions he found some consolation. The night w^as not 
 very cold, and the warm blanket shielded both himself 
 and the child, whom he now held in his arms. Poor Es- 
 ther was in a high fever, and moaned imceasingly. What 
 could the Eabbi do ? He could give her neither drink 
 nor medicine, but he endeavored to cheer her by those 
 little endearments •^hich only a father and mother can 
 employ. At last the child sank into a deep sleep — and 
 woke no more ; and at daybreak the Eabbi held a corpse 
 in his arms. 
 
 Poor Eabbi ! Mother and child dead, he was now alone 
 in the world. His house and precious books, with what- 
 ever other property he possessed, had, in all hkelihood, 
 been destroyed by the invading Cossacks. For a time, 
 despair overcame his better feehngs ; he threw himself 
 by the body of his dead girl, and wished he might die 
 with her. But it was Sabbath. O, sublime hohday of 
 the Lord, what a strength thou hast ! What an influence 
 dost thou exercise over the passions, especially of the pious 
 man! Despair fled from Eabbi Sabbathai's heart, for a 
 feeling, as of divine rest, feU upon him, a resignation to 
 the will of God, which knows of no complaint or hesitan- 
 cy on the part of man. 
 
 " God has so ruled," said he, " His holy will be done I " 
 
 He then began his Sabbath devotions, recited the Sid- 
 rah, (portion of the Law,) and reflected upon the word of 
 God. 
 
 Now, dear reader, do you not admire this remarkabfe 
 man ? Picture to yourself the misery into which he had 
 fallen, the many hardships and misforiunes he was com- 
 pelled to endui'e, alone, without shelter or nourishment, 
 on a cold winter's day, aaid the corpse of his only child 
 beside him — nevertheless, resigned to God's decree, he re- 
 members that the presence of the Sabbath forbids him to 
 indulge in undue lamentations over private woes. Thus 
 Judaism elevates its true professors above earthly cares^ 
 
THE EABBl's DAUGHTEK.^ 123 
 
 causes them to cease desparing, regain courage, and look 
 fi-eely and cheerfully, amid all their affliction, to the 
 throne of God. 
 
 As Kabbi Sabbathai was about to recite the Moosaph 
 prayers, he heard the sound of trumpets, the barking of 
 dogs, and the treading of horses as they tramped through 
 the snow. 
 
 " Alas ! The Cossacks are coming here, too," he ex- 
 claimed, and he was forced to flee again, leaving the dead 
 Esther behind him. He sought temporary protection in 
 a cave, where he remained all day, thinking that, under 
 the cover of night, he might leave the cave, and seek the 
 spot on which he had left his child. 
 
 What was his astonishment and grief to find, on arriv- 
 ing at the well-remembered tree, that the body was not to 
 be found ! The moon showed traces of men and dogs, 
 but the corpse had disappeared. Perhaps they had 
 buried it in the snow :. he examined every footstep but in 
 vain. 
 
 " O, Esther, my Esther, where art thou ? May I not 
 even bury thy lifeless body ? " 
 
 He had lost aU, even the corpse of his child : his God 
 and His law alone remained. 
 
 CHAPTER 11. 
 
 SAVEDFROMDEA. TH. 
 
 Eabbi Sabbathai was, however, mistaken in supposing 
 that tlie Cossacks had stolen his child's body. A greater 
 person than any in their ranks had deprived him unwit- 
 tingly of the sad office of burying his dead daughter. . 
 It was the King of Poland who had but recently defeated 
 the Cossacks in a closely contested fight. The Cossacks 
 in their retreat had surprised and plundered the Httle 
 city of Priusk ; and while they were being hotly pursued 
 by the Polish General, Ossohnski, the king and his suite 
 were liunting in the forest. As the party rode in the 
 vicinity of the tree,- at v/hose foot the child was lying, the 
 king noticed his favorite dog suddenly move from the 
 path which they were all taking, spring hito the thicket 
 
124 THE KABBl's DAUGHTER. 
 
 near by, and tlien utter that peculiar cry which dogs 
 alwaj-s indulge in at the sight of a corpse. He sent some 
 of Lis servants to the spot from which the ciy proceeded. 
 They speedily returned, and stated that there lay, at the 
 foot of a neighboring tree, a pretty and dehcate girl, who 
 probably had died on her flight from the ill-fated town 
 which the Cossacks had so ruthlessly destroyed. The 
 king, whose curiosity was somewhat excited, approached 
 the body himself, and was curiously struck with the child's 
 beautiful ai)i3earance. He could scarcely beheve that so 
 lovely a child could really be dead. 
 
 " Parcinski," said he to his physician, who was one of 
 his suite, '''examine that child and see whether she be 
 still ahve. Use all your skill to resuscitate her. It is 
 surely the daughter of some Lithuanian nobleman, who 
 would be ever thankful to us were we to preserve his 
 child's life." 
 
 Parcinski placed his hand on the child's bosom and 
 was rejoiced to find that her heart still beat, although 
 the pulsations followed each other but slowly. So he 
 told the king that the child would in all probabihty re- 
 cover, if she were properly cared for. One of the attend- 
 ants, at the king's orders, took Esther in his arms, mount- 
 ed his horse, and the party thereupon returned to the 
 castle, which was being temporarily occupied by the roy- 
 al family. Restoratives were quickly apphed to the child, 
 who, in a short time, awoke fi'om her death-trance, but 
 was doomed to he abed for weeks, under the influence 
 of a fever whose Tirulence daily threatened her hfe. 
 
 Little Princess Mary, the only child of the king and 
 queen of Poland, was delighted -^^ith the idea of having 
 so sweet a plaj-mate living in the house viiih. her, of the 
 same age, and of so lovely appearance. She impatiently 
 waited for the day when it would be aUowed her to enter 
 the sick chamber, and see, and caress, the little stranger. 
 
 There is a strange, magnetic attraction that binds the 
 young together. Eank, wealth and religion, are no bar- 
 riers in its way, but children will be drawn together and 
 love each other despite those social usages and laws that 
 separate their parents. 
 
 At last, Esther was convalescent. She could now be 
 asked with safety respecting her family and foi'mer life. 
 
THE rabbi's daughter. 125 
 
 and, as usual in such cases, her benefactors were not loth 
 to be fully informed as to her name and history. She 
 told them her simple story, how that her father was a 
 good and pious rabbi, her mother a loving wife who had 
 died, and left them alone in their little hut ; how that the 
 cruel Cossacks entered their village, and drove her fath- 
 er and herself into the woods, where she was overcome by 
 fatigue, and fell asleep at her father's feet. And this was 
 all she knew until she awoke and found herself lying in 
 this comfortable bed, with strange, but kind faces gazing 
 at her. 
 
 " So, it is a little Jewess that I have saved," said the 
 king. " What can I do with her ? Who knows who her 
 father is, or where he has fled ? " 
 
 " May it please your majesty," advised Parcinski, "what 
 I would urge is, that we deliver her to the Jewish com- 
 munity, who are charitable, and who will care for her." 
 
 " No, no ! father," cried Httle Mary. " Don't take this 
 little girl from me. How nicely will we play together as 
 scon as she becomes perfectly well, and I will be so hap- 
 py with her. Do let this girl of the wood be with me." 
 
 " Let us please our child, and keep the little waif as 
 long as she gives pleasure to our daughter. We can 
 christen her at once," observed the queen, which result- 
 ed in the desired permission being obtained, and the 
 king's confessor was instructed to prepare Esther for 
 baptism. 
 
 A few days after this, when Esther was perfectly restor- 
 ed, a little event occurred which raised quite a commo- 
 tion in the castle. Up to this time, the child had pa- 
 tiently eaten whatever had been offered her by her at- 
 tendant, but now she positively refused to eat meats and 
 such articles of food a"s her rabbi-father had instructed 
 her were forbidden to Israelites. The physician was told 
 of the child's freak and he could not understand how one 
 so young could be so obstinate. 
 
 " Why don't you eat, you little simpleton ? " said he to 
 little Esther. 
 
 " Because God forbade us to eat such food." 
 
 " But you never before refused to eat." 
 
 " Because," answered the girl, " until now I was sick. 
 And I remember my father used to say, when my poor 
 11* 
 
126 THE EABBI'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 motlier was so unwell, that one's life must be preserved 
 by eating any food ; but now, as I am well, I can eat 
 only Jewish food." 
 
 The doctor said no more to Esther, but he left the 
 room impressed with this idea, that it was high time tha"- 
 Father Cyril began his work of christianizing this Httl« 
 rebel. 
 
 A severe trial was now in store for our young Jewess 
 which has overcome many an older and more exiDcriencea 
 head than hers. The priest, Father Cyril, soon entered 
 her room and proceeded to paint in the usual glowing 
 colors, the simphcity and beauty of Christianity, the love 
 its foiuider ever bore for children, especially sti angers' 
 childi-en such as Esther. " Your father has left you," 
 said the priest, " never to see him again. You a^-e dead 
 to him, but have been restored to new life by the gi'ace 
 of our sovereign, the king. You are therefore his crea- 
 tm-e, and must do as he bids. Now, our gracious king 
 commands you to adopt his rehgion, and, therefore, my 
 child, I have come to make you a Chiistian ! " 
 
 But Esther made no reply, save that she cried and 
 moaned, and wished she had died before they brought 
 her to this house, where they were trying to make her 
 forget her dear father and her holy rehgion, and she 
 begged the Father to send her away to her own j^eople. 
 
 It is no wonder that Esther so boldly "withstood the 
 advances of the pi-iest. At this time, martyrdom among 
 the Jews of Poland was of frequent occuiTence. The 
 Cossacks, whenever they took Jews captive, offered them 
 the choice of two alternatives — either to be baptized, or 
 to suffer an immediate death, and it is needless to add 
 how that Jews and Jewesses, j^oung and old, heroically 
 died on the rack or at the stake, protesting till ..he end 
 then- behef in Israel's God. Every Jewish heart vvas fill- 
 ed with admiration for these raai-tyrs, fathers depicted 
 their sufferings in vivid colors to their sons and daught- 
 ers, and so inflamed their ardor and kindled their enthu- 
 siasm for Judaism, that they would all have met death 
 unflinchingly, rather than subscribe to the dominant 
 faith. We need not be sui-prised, therefore, that one so 
 young as Esther should have braved the fate which the 
 cruel words of the jDriest seemed to portend. She refused 
 
THE BABBI'S DAUGHTEK. 127 
 
 to listen to him any longer, but threw herself upon her 
 bed and sobbed so bitterly that the Princess Mary, who 
 was in a room near by, heard her cries, and hastened to 
 soothe her. 
 
 " Little Esther, why do you cry ? Who wishes to hurt 
 you?" 
 
 Esther could not answer, but simply pointed to CjTil. 
 
 " Is it you, Father Cyril, who have hurt my Esther ? " 
 asked Mary wonderingly. 
 
 " Not so, my daughter," calmly rephed the priest, " I 
 wish to make her happy. She shall become thy sister, 
 and a good young Christian besides." 
 
 " And don't you wish it, Esther ? " Mary asked. 
 
 " No, no, no ! " passionately cried Uttle Esther, " I will 
 never become a Christian. I will remain a Jewess, else I 
 wiU die." 
 
 *' Hush, dear Esther," said Mary soothingly, gently 
 raising her and kissing her hot forehead, " He will not 
 harm you. You shall be my own dear httle sister. Come 
 with me in the garden and see the newly blooming flow- 
 ers." 
 
 Esther smiled amid her tears, took Mary's proffered 
 hand, and the children laughingly passed into the gar- 
 den. 
 
 But Father Cyril was spiritually troubled. He sought 
 the king and related his adventure to him. This greatly 
 vexed the king, who would have immediately dismissed 
 Esther from the castle had it not been for the urgent re- 
 monstrance of his queen, who would not for the world 
 have marred the peace of her darling Mary. 
 
 And Parcinski likewise interposed, urging that, through 
 a systematic education, the child would soon be induced 
 to adopt the Christian faith, that, in a few years, Esther 
 would ask as a special favor to be admitted into the holy 
 congregation. 
 
 So the king was satisfied, and he consented to retain 
 Esther as the inmate of his house and the playmate of 
 his child. And thus the young princess and the uncon- 
 verted Jewess were companions and friends for years. 
 
128 THE EABBI'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 LIFE IN THE PALACE. 
 
 On the return of the court to Cracow, the Polish cap- 
 ital, Esther accompanying the royal party, the queen de- 
 termined that her child's playmate should not be deprived 
 of the food such as she knew her heart must hunger af- 
 ter. So every day, a poor Jewish widows known in the 
 city as old Hannah, cdled at the palace w ith a basketful 
 of meats and vegetables, such as the httle Jewess could 
 eat without compunction. Of course, the Jews of Cra- 
 oow soon learned from Hannah the strange fact that 
 there was a young girl of their race living at the palace, 
 and their curiosity was rather excited as to who she was 
 and how she fell into such noble company. Old Hannah 
 had frequent talks with her, but she discovered nothing 
 that could give any clue as to who her father was, save that 
 he "vs^as a learned man, who had fled with many others 
 from Priusk, doubtless to meet death from the Cossacks, 
 or from what was hardly worse, starvation. 
 
 Esther rajDidly grew in bodily strength ; her beauty 
 was the subject of general praise. Mary, too, was grow- 
 ing prettier daily, but hers was a more fragile and fairer 
 beauty. The two friends improved in their studies, the 
 mind of Esther, descended as she was from so illustrious 
 a line of savans, expanded more freely than Mary's, w^ho 
 acknowledged without any regret, that Esther, in her 
 childish words, knew more than she did. 
 
 A little incident now occurred which seemed to change 
 the relations between Esther and the household. One 
 day, when the governess and children were in the gar- 
 den, Father Cyr^ approached the group, and he and the 
 governess left the friends together while they promenad- 
 ed the garden in close converse. Mary and Esther sat 
 down on a bench in the garden comer, and were soon 
 engaged in the pleasant pastime of making wreaths out 
 of the flowers and evergreens that grew in profusion 
 around. Suddenly, Esther sprang up with a loud shriek. 
 The governess and priest hurriedly ran to learn its cause. 
 
TEE RABBIS DAUGHTER. 129 
 
 Around the neck of the unsuspecting princess, a poison- 
 ous viper was slowly encircling itself. 'J'he priest quickly- 
 seized it and flung it to the ground. The governe-s, on 
 perceiving the danger from which her princess had just 
 escaped, fainted. Esther wept with tears of joy, but felt 
 supremely happy when little Mary embraced her, kissed 
 her again and again, and said she would never forget her 
 dear friend who had saved her. The little scene attract- 
 ed the king and queen and several of their retinue, who 
 Xvere also walking about the palace grounds. Esther was 
 quickly hailed as a heroine. The kind queen wept with 
 emotion, calling her her dear daughter, for whose future 
 happiness she would not fail te provide. The king, no 
 less affected, kissed her on the forehead — and Esther at 
 once became a general favorite. 
 Was it for her welfare ? 
 
 The years roUed on. As the physician had predicted, 
 Esther's feelings underwent great changes. Her childhood 
 and its exciting scenes, were almost effaced from her 
 memory. Old Hannah, who still supphed her food, could 
 give her no instruction in Judaism. She read her pray- 
 ers regularly from the Hebrew prayer-book which the 
 widow had years ago procured for her. But the Hebrew, 
 and the mixed Jewish-German dialect in which some 
 other devotional works in her possession were written, — 
 were alike uninteUigible to her. She had forgotten the 
 language in which she and her father could converse in 
 olden times. Gradually she became attracted to the 
 scenes and faces around her.^ The family prayers — for 
 the king was strict in religious matters — the pretty church 
 which they all attended, the priest Cyril who had so kind 
 a word for everybody, all these circumstances drew her 
 farther and farther from the Jewish associations which 
 she had so long cherished. A few years ago, no one was 
 friendly with her, excepting Mary. She felt isolated, — 
 and longed to see her lost father. In sadness she thought 
 of her dead mother — and wished herself far away from 
 the splendor of the palace, preferring the humble hut in 
 which she had passed her happy childhood. But now. 
 
130 THE EABBl's DAUGHTER. 
 
 since slie had become the court favorite, she no longer 
 yearned to be away. Now she was as a piincess herself. 
 The servants ran to do her bidding. She was treated as 
 a daughter by both king and queen, and to all appear- 
 ances Mary and she w^ere as devoted sisters. She no 
 longer thought of the past, but occasionally beheld the 
 future -with teiTor. 
 
 What would become of her, were she to persist in her 
 ancestral behef ? 
 
 A poor decrepit Jewess is passing the palace gates, 
 worn down under the load of a bundle of old clothes. 
 Will that be her fate ? 
 
 The two giiis were now in their fifteenth year. Mary 
 was soon to bo betrothed to a young and amiable piince. 
 Her prospects were indeed bright. Before her betrothal, 
 it was necessary by the law of the kingdom that she should 
 receive confirmation and become more marked in her ad- 
 herence to her faith. To give her final instruction in the 
 doctrines of Christianity, a young, comely and ingenuous 
 priest was selected. He spoke long and earnestly with 
 her, in Esther's presence, of the beauties and promises 
 of Christianity, of the di\ine attributes and tragic suffer- 
 ings of its founder. Eloquently and impressively, he pic- 
 tured to the young girls the blessings which this religion 
 of love would confer upon its professors. Mary was deep- 
 ly affected by his discourse ; and, on his departure, she 
 burst into tears. 
 
 " O, Esther," she cried, " be my sister in truth — my sis- 
 ter in faith. Be altogether mine ! " 
 
 Esther gently unbound the anns which were in fond- 
 ness clasping her neck, and sorrowfully left the room. 
 Her heart was full. She must be alone. She sought a 
 reth'ed spot in the garden, and there, covering her face 
 with her hands, she cried bitterly. 
 
 Suddenly, her sobs ceased. A vision, as it were, ap- 
 peared before her, and she saw, as in a dream, her pale, 
 sick mother fondly beckoning to her. Her father, with 
 the Talmud open before him, was regarding her with a 
 look of tenderness. 
 
 " My dear father, my poor dead mother ! Shall I be 
 
THE EABBIS DAUGHTEE. 131 
 
 separated from you ? Shall I forget you — " and a flood 
 of tears again choked her utterance. 
 
 Two gentle arms embraced her, a rosy mouth kissed 
 away her tears, and Mary, who had followed her in the 
 garden, said : 
 
 " Esther, dear, do not weep. I would not for the world 
 cause you pain. You are, and will always be, my sweet 
 sister, even if you will not become a Christian. But, dear 
 sister, if you only would consent to adopt our faith, it 
 would be so much for your good. My father would at 
 once grant you a dowry, and then you would marry some 
 noble, and thus we could always be together. But, if 
 you wiU remain a Jewess, what is to become of you? " 
 
 And Esther simply answered, " O Mary, I can never 
 leave you ! " 
 
 " Then ycU will become a Christian ? " Mary joyously 
 cried. 
 
 But Esther could not reply. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 CHANGE OF FORTUNE. 
 
 One summer afternoon, Mary, Esther and their govern- 
 ness, were driving together in the king's carriage. The 
 day being pleasant, they were driven at a rapid rate in 
 the outskirts of the city and neared the forest. The fiery 
 steeds dashed along, the driver giving them full rein, and 
 the occupants of the carriage were considerably exhilara- 
 ted, chatting together gaily when, suddenly, the axle 
 broke and the carriage was dashed to the ground. Hap- 
 pily no one was hurt, although they were all stunned by 
 the shock. 
 
 A storm was approaching. The sky was rapidly becom- 
 ing encu'cled by heavy clouds, and the bhnding dust and 
 wind were forerunners of a heavy rain. It was with de- 
 light that they discovered an inn near by, which they at 
 once entered to seek temporary shelter. The horses, de- 
 tached fi'om the debris of the carriage, were likewise sta- 
 bled in the welcome inn. 
 
 At this time, in Poland, aU the tavern-keepers were 
 Jews. It was only recently that there were but two 
 
132 THE EABBl's DAUGHTER. 
 
 classes in Poland, noblemen and serfs, the Jews being a 
 " middle " class, tradesman and mechanics, and especial- 
 ly inn-keepers. 
 
 The inn-keeper of the inn in which the royal party had 
 taken refuge, was, of course, dehghted with his guests. 
 Be sent his son at once to Cracow, to inform the family 
 of the accident w4iich had happened to the caiTiage, and 
 to state that it was so near sundown, tljat the party would 
 remain in the inn over night. 
 
 In thp meantime the storm broke. For rain came 
 down in torrents, vivid flashes of lightning pierced the 
 gloom which had settled around, and loud peals of thun- 
 der startled the travelers, especially the volatile govern- 
 ess who, hke all her class, was superstitious and timid in 
 the presence of God's "instruments of WTath." Mary 
 occupied herself with quieting the governess' fears, while 
 Esther descended into the httle parlor of the inn, which 
 had now assumed a festive appearance, it being Friday 
 night, the host and his family being dressed in their holi- 
 day clothes, hghted candles adorning the mantel, and a 
 massive Sabbath-lamp occupying the centre of a substan- 
 tially decorated table. 
 
 To Esther's imagination, she was in a Heavenly abode. 
 Her past hfe rushed before her \dsion as in a dream. 
 Her father, her mother, and a young child, in which she 
 recognized herself, were partaking of their rustic meal. 
 And this was the Holy Sabbath eve. 
 
 Esther was standing timidly b} the door. She feared 
 to disturb the family, as they were saying their Sabbath 
 prayers.* At last, the children rose to receive their fath- 
 er's blessing. Esther's heart beat fast within her. 
 
 "Bless me too, father," cried she appeahngly. The 
 family saw the strange young lady among them and were 
 somewhat astonished. 
 
 " O, lather, for the love of God, give me a blessing. I 
 am a Jewess, vdthout father or mother, and I am dying 
 lor some one of my faith to speak to me words of com- 
 fort." 
 
 The host was deeply affected. He had half suspected 
 that the dark, Jewish-looking girl with the princess was 
 that heroine of whom almost all Poland had heard, and 
 now he had found that his suspicions were correct. 
 
THE RABBIS DAUGHTER. 133 
 
 " Don't weep, my dear young lady. Thank God, you 
 are safe from the storm and are now with us. We shall 
 spend a pleasant Sabbath together" — and placing his 
 hands on Esther's bowed head, he said solemnly : — 
 
 " My daughter, may God make thee like Sarah, Re- 
 becca, Eachcl and Leah ! May He guard thee from all 
 evil!" 
 
 " Amen," added Esther in a low but firm voice, and 
 she resolved fr'om this moment never to yield to the win- 
 ning words of her associates, but to be ever faithful to 
 her God and His true faith. 
 
 The next morning, Mary and the governess returned 
 to the palace, but Esther remained at the inn all day, and 
 made good use of the few hours in which she was in the 
 company of the worthy host and his family, listening with 
 eagerness to the religious truths which the good inn- 
 keeper unfolded before her, and obtaining knowledge re- 
 specting such subjects as had troubled her untutored 
 heart. And, early on Sunday, a royal escort accompa- 
 nied her back to Cracow. 
 
 It was night in the palace. All had retired. Esther's 
 room connected with the apartment which princess Mary 
 and the governess occupied. These two were in sound 
 slumber, but Esther could not sleep. During the d*ay, 
 which was about two months after the Sabbath that she 
 had spent at the inn, the king and queen had both spok- 
 en to her in regard to Mary's confirmation, and had 
 told her that they would all be so happy if she would but 
 consent to become a Christian. She had not answered 
 them, but, sobbing, had asked them both to give her fur- 
 ther time for reflection. Mary, too, had urged her con- 
 version, and the young priest had argued with her in the 
 afternoon. What could she do to remain true to her 
 faith ? But one path seemed open to her, and that was 
 to escape, co run away fro'm the friends she had known 
 and loved so many years, but who now were endangering 
 her soul's happiness. She must escape. But how? 
 
 There was a loud knock at the door of the adjoining 
 room. Mary awoke in affright, and called the governess. 
 12 
 
134 THE EAEBI*S DAUGHTER. 
 
 " Awake, awake ! The palace is on fire ! " They were 
 teiiified. 
 
 " Open the door. Save yourselTes ! " 
 
 Hun'iedly throwing on their shawls, they opened the 
 door and iiished out. 
 
 Esther stood as if inspired. 
 
 " At last, I can free myself ! " she cried. 
 
 She rushed to the window and opened it. The palace 
 was all ablaze. The air was thick with smoke which was 
 already filling Maiy's room. 
 
 " Now can I escape unnoticed. If they miss me, they 
 will beheve I perished in the flames, and they will no 
 more persecute me." 
 
 The fiery brightness of the burning palace illumined 
 all around. In front of the window, there stood a tree 
 whose branches she could readily grasp. And just as 
 Mary and Esther had often, by means of these branches, 
 swung themselves fr'om the room to the garden, so did 
 Esther now. She reached the ground in safety. At one 
 end of the garden was a httle gate which led to the high- 
 way. She could thus easily reach a neighboring village 
 and there conceal herseK iVith some Israehte family un- 
 til a favorable opportunity could be presented whereby 
 she might leave for a foreign country, where her know- 
 ledge of the languages and of music, would be of advant- 
 age to her towards obtaining a hvelihood, and thus re- 
 main faithful to the behef of her fathers. 
 
 These thoughts ocupied her as she ran to the gate. 
 Should this be closed, she would be compelled to retui-n. 
 She presses the latch — it yields to her touch ; the gate 
 opens, and Esther stands in the open street, fr'ee at last. 
 
 Out into the gloomy night, out upon the lonely road, 
 Esther walked rapidly. The burning palace shed a fear- 
 ful hght over her path, and she hun'ied on, hardly know- 
 ing whither to go, but inwardly oppressed with fear lest 
 wolves or robbers should attack her, or lest her strength 
 should give way, and she should, weary and footsore, 
 stQk to the ground — as yeai's before she had fainted in 
 her father's arms, when the Cossacks drove them from 
 their native city. 
 
THE EABEl'S DAUGHTEE. 135 
 
 The palace was doomed. All human exertions had 
 failed to check the devouring element, and the affrighted 
 people expected to see the walls totter, and the once 
 shapely palace become a mass of blackened ruins. 
 
 " I am only glad." said the king, " that no human life 
 has been lost." 
 
 Mary looked anxiously around. 
 
 " Where is Esther ? " she cried, in alarm. 
 
 They looked for the missing girl, calling her name loud- 
 ly ; but to no purpose. The governess was certain she 
 had left her room with them, and was now in the garden ; 
 but no Esther could be found. Mary wept bitterly. 
 The kmg ordered some of the servants to search Esther's 
 room, but it was no longer possible to enter it, for the 
 tree in front of the window could no more be ascended ; 
 it was ah'eady in flames. And now it was certain that 
 the girl was lost : the only being in the palace whom the 
 Hames had seized as their living prey. 
 
 The queen fondly embraced her child, rejoicing that 
 she had been preserv^ed ; but the poor princess cried sad- 
 ly after her Ipst friend, and would not be comforted. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 AMONG THE ROBBEES. 
 
 "When Kabbi Sabbathai returned to the spot where, 
 as he supposed, his dead child lay, and discovered to his 
 grief that the body was removed, he gave vent to bitter 
 lamentations. He ran through the woods, frantically 
 calhng her name, and praying to God that he might once 
 more see his beloved child. He retraced his steps to 
 Priusk, but found the city a mass of ruins. His grief 
 gradually subsided, and his strong religious feelings soon 
 reconciled him to his loss ; but he never forgot his child. 
 He wandered through Lithuania and Poland. Wherever 
 he mentioned his name, he was received with distin- 
 guished favor, for the Kabbi was widely known as a man 
 of gi'eat talents, profound learning, and a true religious 
 disposition. Every congregation he visited desired to 
 have him as their teacher and guide, but he declined all 
 
136 THE rabbi's daughter. 
 
 offers. It was his Esther he was in search of, not pecu- 
 niary happiness, — for, by a certain strange presentiment, 
 he fancied he should some day or other see his child 
 alive and well. 
 
 At last, he yielded to the repeated solicitations of the 
 Jewjsh congregation at Hollischau, in Moravia, and be- 
 came their Eabbi. He repaired to that city, and soon be- 
 came endeared to the community, whom his accession 
 benefited, as their previous guide had not fulfilled his 
 sacred trust in a manner that contributed to the welfare 
 of his flock. But Esther was still in the Rabbi's thoughts ; 
 and, although after a few years' r-esidence in Holhschau, 
 he married an estimable Jewess, and was blessed with a 
 son that inherited his goodness of heart, he often reverted 
 to the sad night of his bereavement, and prayed God to 
 grant him a speedy reunion ^vith his lost daughter. 
 
 One day, a poor Polish Jew, whom he had invited to 
 dine with him, chanced to relate at the table the singu- 
 lar incident that was the talk aU over Poland — how that 
 a little Jewess found by the king, in the woods, was now 
 an inmate of his palace, treated like a princess, and yet 
 refused to eat at the royal table. 
 
 The next morning, the Eabbi started for Cracow, hop- 
 ing that this Jewess might be his lost child. On reach- 
 ing Cracow, he learned that the court had left the capi- 
 tal for Lithuania. Of com-se, the Rabbi followed, bent 
 upon this one object, to see his daughter — if only the 
 favored being, now the guest of the king of Poland, could 
 be his daughter. 
 
 The Rabbi proceeded slowly on his journey. Although 
 well acquainted with the road, his mind was so wholly 
 occupied with varied thoughts respecting his daughter, 
 his mission on her behalf, and the loved ones he had left 
 avv'aiting him in Hollischau, that he did not perceive that 
 he was entering a thick wood, which, report said, was in- 
 fested by robbers. The sun had set, and the Rabbi failed 
 to see the wood closing around him, making it impossi- 
 ble for him to retrace his steps, or even to walk on much 
 farther. At last he awoke to a sense of his position as a 
 traveller who had lost his way, and with his returning 
 consciousness came the recollection that this was a wood 
 beset with dancrers. Stran^re stories had reached his ears 
 
THE RABBIS DAUGHTER. 
 
 137 
 
 of dreadful depredations and horrible assassinations com- 
 mitted ; of travelers who had left their homes in the af- 
 ternoon in full hope and spirits, being found dead the 
 following morning. He was by no means a timid man : 
 he had seen trouble enough in reality to start hke a child 
 when hearing old nursery tales of horror ; but instinctive- 
 ly his heart gave a sudden bound, and he wished he had 
 never made the journey. 
 
 A light glimmered in the distance. He followed it, and 
 his terrified gaze beheld a band of fierce, blood-thirsty 
 men, gathered around a table in a large cave, in which 
 the flickering hght of a rude lamp but added to the 
 gloom. " These must be robbers, " was his natural 
 thought, and he quickly retraced his steps, as if to re- 
 treat from the threatening danger. But the trained hear- 
 ing of the men detected his hurried tread. They soon 
 ran out after him. 
 
 " What do you wish here, Jew ? " 
 
 Answered the poor Kabbi, "I am a harmless traveler. 
 Having lost my way m the wood, I followed a light which 
 I saw glimmering through the foliage, and thus — but I 
 am truly sorry if I disturbed you." 
 
 " Not so," cried one of the robbers. " You are a spy. 
 You were in search of us, and discovered our hiding 
 place. But it was a sad day for you that tempted you to 
 start out in quest of our band. You shall die — and very 
 soon." * 
 
 In vain did the Rabbi attempt to reason with the men, 
 to convince them that he was a preacher, and had no in- 
 tention of seeking their place of concealment and now, 
 having discovered it, of betraying them to the authorities. 
 They would not be convinced : they had decided that he 
 was a spy, and, of course, he must be such. His arms 
 were tightly bound behind him, his scanty purse was 
 emptied of its contents, and he lay at the mercy of his 
 captors. His doom was apparently sealed, for the rob- 
 ber who had before called him a si)y, now raised his axe 
 alott and was about to bury it in the neck ot the unof- 
 fending Sabbathai, when another robber cried : 
 
 •' Hold, Wenzislaw ! You dare not kill him yet. You 
 know our captain is strict in his enforcement of this law 
 of his, that he is the head and judge of our band, and it 
 12* 
 
138 THE rabbi's daughter. 
 
 is for liim to condemn or acquit, and no one else. So 
 drop your axe, and take the man to our cave until tlie 
 captain arrives." 
 
 The fellow yielded to the advice of his less impatient 
 companion, and the men carried the Rabbi into the cave, 
 placmg him in its extreme end, and resumed their cards 
 and cups, from "which Sabbathai's luckless coming had 
 disturbed them. 
 
 Sabbathai was perfectly resigned to his fate. Pious 
 man that he was, he spent the few moments of grace left 
 him by reason of the absence of the robber-captain, in 
 prayer. 
 
 At last, the barking of a dog broke upon the stillness 
 of the night. 
 
 " Good ! here's the captain," cried the robbers, and, as 
 they spoke, a tall, athletic and fine looking man entered 
 the cave, followed by his boon companion, a huge mas- 
 tiff. The " captain," as the robbers called him, was at- 
 tired like a Lithuanian nobleman. 
 
 " WeU, my lads. What day have you had ? " 
 
 " Bah ! nothiug at all, save an old Jew and a couple of 
 guilders," said Wenzislaw, who appeared the, boldest of 
 the lot. " But you, captain, what fortune have \ou liad ?" 
 
 **Not much. I captured a young woman, however, 
 whose ransom will be rather considerable. She will he 
 here shortly, under charge of Willusch." 
 
 Suddenl}^ the robbers were startled by hearing a voice 
 call out fi'om the rear of the cave, " Ratislaw ! " 
 
 " Who dares call that name here ? " angrily demanded 
 the captain. " Whom have j^ou here, Wenzislaw ? " 
 
 " Oh, that is the old Jew we caught spying out our 
 cave. I'll quiet him. I wished to put an end to his vil- 
 lainous life before, only good Jenka did not like to see 
 him hurried out of existence. Curse the Jews." 
 
 The captain trembled. 
 
 " O, Ratislaw, save me, save me ! Think of the time 
 w^hen I rescued you fi'om danger." 
 
 Without a word the robber rushed to the spot from 
 whence the voice proceeded, unbound the captive, and 
 assisted him to a seat by the table. 
 
 " Can it be you, my Sabbathai — my old friend ? " 
 
 He kissed the Rabbi's hand, and, with a voice broken 
 
THE rabbi's daughter. 139 
 
 with emotion, said : " Sabbathai, Sabbathai, you are the 
 only one who ever pitied me in those troubles of my life, 
 which have driven me to the career I now lead." 
 
 Years ago, before Sabbathai had entered upon the du- 
 ties of a Rabbi's office, he had been a well-to-do merchant 
 in Leipsic, and there he had met Ratislaw, the playmate 
 of his youth, the son of a proud Lithuanian nobleman. 
 Ratislaw was extravagant, and speedily became involved 
 in large debts. With a generosity that the naturally sen- 
 sitive heart of Ratislaw could well appreciate, the Jewish 
 merchant paid his debts, and the young nobleman left the 
 country. He met with many a change of fortune, became 
 feckless, and at last joined a small band of robbers who, 
 in admiration of his personal accomplishments and dar- 
 ing bravery, elected him their captain. His name and 
 early history were unknow^n to them, which will explain 
 his anger at hearing some stranger call him by a name 
 which he had not heard for years. On recognizing, in his 
 captive, his playmate and generous friend, he was deeply 
 affected. He briefly rehearsed the events of his life since 
 his residence in Leipsic, how that misfortune had befallen 
 him, and at last he had resigned aU hope of leading a life 
 like the rest of mankind, but had become a bandit, trust- 
 ing that amid the excitement of such a career he might 
 forget what he was and what he might have been. 
 
 With the eloquence of which he was so capable, Sab- 
 bathai pictured to the bandit the grand error into which 
 he — as with other misguided men — had fallen. He re- 
 minded him of his early life and long friendship, of their 
 companions and the happy scenes of their youth ; and 
 then he sternly pointed to the numberless crimes that had 
 forever stained his life and disgraced the noble name he 
 bore. Overcome by the Rabbi's words, the captain lost 
 all control of his feelings, but covered his face with his 
 hands, and wept bitterly. 
 
 The robbers could not understand why their bold chief 
 should thus disgrace his calling as to weep tears of pen- 
 itence. 
 
 " Are you an old woman, captain, or a coward to be 
 
140 THE rabbi's daughter. 
 
 thus talked over by a Jew ? Remember the oath yon and 
 we have sworn." 
 
 " Are you to remind me of our oath, Wenzislaw?" cried 
 the captain, rising in a sudden passion. " Silence, I com- 
 mand you, or I'll run my dagger through your insolent 
 body." 
 
 " Captain," said Jenka, firmly. " I have always been 
 obedient and faithful to jou. Three times have I saved 
 your life. Don't be a cluld, then, but send this babbHng 
 Jew away. You know you dare not leave us, and his be- 
 ing here T\ill but give us unnecessary trouble, and you a 
 deal of anxiety." 
 
 " You are right, good Jenka. It must be so," said Rat- 
 islaw, in a sorrowful tone. "Sabbathai, friend of my 
 youth, I am chained here, and must with these men con- 
 tinue a life from which now I turn with a dread I never 
 before experienced. Go, then. Leave us. And when 
 you have heard that Fate has at last taken captive the 
 chief of this robber-band, then utter a prayer in my be- 
 half. Pray for me to the Almighty, who avenges wrong- 
 doing, but is also gi-acious and merciful. Here, Sabba- 
 thai, is the money my men took from you, and now, fare- 
 well I — Jenka, conduct the Rabbi as far as the highway, 
 and see that he meets with no harm." 
 
 And thus the Rabbi parted with the robbers ; arriring 
 the foUo^ving morning at a neighboring village, where he 
 found a hospitable Israehte, at whose house he stayed un- 
 lil he felt sufficiently refreshed to proceed on his home- 
 ward journey. On arriving at HoUischau, the sad report 
 reached him of the burning of the palace, at which the 
 only human being sacrificed was the young Jewess, whom 
 he had before fondly hoped was his Esther. This last 
 blow, combined with the excitement he underwent at the 
 robbers' cave, prostrated him, and for weeks he lay on his 
 bed, so sick that his hfe was despaired of. 
 
 Strange fatality ! The Rabbi was rejoiced to leave the 
 cave of the robbers, and fervently thanked God for his 
 escape. Had he remained one short hour more, he would 
 have found his long looked-for daughter. 
 
 And Esther, did she know, as she was led terrified into 
 the cave, that, but a brief hour before, her own dear fath- 
 er was its inmate ? 
 
THE PvAEBIS DAUGHTER. 3 41 
 
 For the woman of whose capture Katislaw had inform- 
 ed his band, was no less a being than Esther, the rabbi's 
 daughter. 
 
 Katislaw had met Esther while she was wearily walk- 
 ing her lonely way, the day after that disastrous fire that 
 so suddenly separated her from the good royal family, 
 which had grow n so hateful to her, since they had begun 
 again to w^orry her about her religious belief. The rob- 
 ber asked her who she was, but she simply answered that 
 she was a poor orphan who had run away from cruel rel- 
 atives. Their names she would not give, although Katis- 
 law asked her frequently about them, because he surmis- 
 ed the girl would bring him a handsome ransom. He 
 thought her obstinate silence would not last long — the 
 cave and its disagreeable inmates would soon make her 
 communicative — and sure of a large ransom,he placed her 
 in charge of Willusch and rode on in advance, in the man- 
 ner we have above described. 
 
 When Esther shortly afterwards entered the cave and 
 sat down on the seat which her father had so recently oc- 
 cupied, she was surprised at the dejected appearance of 
 the captain, who had undergone, since last she met him, 
 so great a change. He sat by the table, his listless ap- 
 pearance betraying the bitter reflections that the Eabbi's 
 words had raised wdthin him. He did not speak for some 
 time, and it was only when Willusch touched his should- 
 er, and told him that the girl he had met in the Avoods 
 'vas in his presence, and he wished to know what should 
 be done with her, that he became himself again. 
 
 "Come here, girl," said he, abruptly. Her beauty 
 seemed to have excited his admii'ation, for he gazed on 
 her for some time before adding, 
 
 " Answer truly the questions I will ask you." 
 
 Esther trembled, and a flush of crimson dyed her face 
 and neck, as she noticed the ardent look of the dread 
 robber. 
 
 "Your name, child ? " 
 
 " My name, sir, is Esther." 
 
 " Who was your father ? " 
 
 "A Jewish rabbi." 
 
142 THE rabbi's daughteb. 
 
 " A rabbi's daughter ? How can that be ■when your 
 rich di*ess betokens tiiat you are of a noble family. 
 Si)eak the truth." - 
 
 "It is true, sir, I am a rabbi's daughter," answered 
 Esther calmly, " but the relatives with whom I have been 
 living for many years are rich and powerful. They 
 wished me to abjure my faith. This I could not do, so I 
 fled from them." 
 
 " "VMio are these relatives ? Where do they live? " 
 
 " I wiU not tell you. I will never return to them." 
 
 " Not tell me ? Girl, are you not aware that I have 
 the power tc make you tell ever3i.hing I ask ? I am a 
 robber chief, and hate mankind. I can force you to 
 speak, and what resist? nee can a girl like you offer ? " 
 
 " I can die," she firmly rephed. " I am a Jewess ; and 
 many girls, young as I am, have died for their rehgion." 
 
 The brave gii'l daunted Ratislaw somewhat by her re- 
 ply. He merely answered, " Do not speak in that way. 
 Miss Esther. We kill here for money and not for re- 
 ligion." 
 
 The robber Jenka now approached Ratislaw, and said 
 to him quietly, ' Captain, why not keep the girl here for 
 yourself. She will make your evenings agi'eeable to you, 
 after your days of hard labor. We are all lonely men 
 here. It wiU be an excellent idea to have so young and 
 handsome a gii'l as this Jewess to keep us company. I 
 am your trusty servant, and I will see that no one of us 
 will harm her. She shall be kept for you alone." 
 
 This suggestion seemed to please Ratislaw, who at 
 once drew nearer to Esther, and in a gentle voice said to 
 her, "My child, how would you like to hve with us for- 
 ever?" 
 
 She shrank from him in alarm. 
 
 " Do not be fiightened, my dear. I wish you to love 
 me, not to be terrified at my words. You shaU be my 
 wife — my queen. A himdred brave men will attend you 
 to do your eveiy bidding. You shall have as much gold 
 and jewelry as your heart may desire, and we shall trans- 
 form this rude cave into a home of dehght, where Love 
 and Joy shall reign supreme ! " 
 
 His cruel Avords struck a strange terror to the heart of 
 the innocent gii'l. She fell on her knees before him, and 
 
THE rabbi's daughter. 143 
 
 sobbed, "Kill me at once, but do not, I pray you, force 
 me to any TVTong ! " 
 
 " Do not mind her, captain," said the robbers. " You 
 will not have the lite chance again. There's no finer girl 
 in Poland." 
 
 Esther stood erect. She raised her hand aloft, and 
 said in a firm voice : 
 
 " Chief of a murderous band ! There is an Almighty 
 God above us, who sees all that is being done here this 
 day. He is the Avenger of evil deeds, but He is also mer- 
 ciful and compassionate. Be merciful unto me, if you 
 wish Him to have mercy for you ! " 
 
 " Girl," said Katislaw, in a loud tone, " who has put 
 these words into your mouth? Not an hour ago, did I 
 hear them spoken by a friend of my youth. For his sake 
 I will spare you. I will send you to Wilna, and shall 
 there expect a ransom from the Jews. But you are safe 
 while here. Listen, men, whoever does to her the least 
 harm, will die by my hand ! " 
 
 He gently bade her "good night!" and told "Willush 
 to prepare a resting-place for her in an adjoining room. 
 He accompanied Esther tcJ the door, and gave her the 
 key, bidding her lock it from within. She thanked him 
 earnestly for his kindness, but he hastily left h,er, saying 
 to himself, as he lay down on his rough bed that night, 
 " O, Sabbathai, even you wiU be pleased with me when 
 you learn what I have done this day for a daughter of 
 your people ! " 
 
 Early the next morning Jenka left the cave with a let- 
 ter from Katislaw addressed to the Jews of Wilna, and 
 containing this proposition, that, on the payment of 3000 
 florins, he would deliver to the Jewish community a 
 young Jewess whom he held captive. ; 
 
 The letter was dehvered to the Chief Rabbi, who, on 
 reading it, immediately convened a meeting of the prin- 
 cipal Israelites of Wilna, and laid the unusual message 
 before them. Quite a lengthy discussion arose among 
 them, the wealthy men decHning to spend so large a sum 
 on a subject about which they knew nothing, as Batislaw^ 
 
144 THE rabbi's daughter. 
 
 ignorant himself in the matter, could not state who or 
 what her family was, or whither she was going when he 
 had taken her captive. 
 
 At last, a young but learned and respected Rabbi, 
 named Menachem, offered to pay the entire sum himself, 
 since the community seemed unwilling to release a sister 
 Israelite fi'om captivity. Of course his offer was ac- 
 cepted, and Menachem accompanied Jenka to a spot 
 midway between Wilna and the robbers' cave, where Ka- 
 tislaw and Esther met them. The money was promptly 
 paid, and Esther, on being presented to her generous 
 benefactor, thanked God for His kindness, in raising for 
 her so good a dehverer. TearfuUy she expressed her 
 gratitude to Menachem, and begged him to make her his 
 slave — anything, rather than send her back to the rob- 
 bers, or, what she feared worse, the King of Poland and 
 his court. 
 
 Eabbi Menachem .spoke tenderly to her, assuring her 
 that she would find friends in Wilna who would care for 
 and protect her. The grief of the lonely girl, for heart- 
 felt gratitude to him for rescuing her, and her child-hke 
 terror lest it was all a dream, and she would soon wake 
 to see the teiTible robbers glaring at her, strangely af- 
 fected him, and he was heartily glad when he arrived at 
 the door of his comfortable home in "Wilna, and there in- 
 troduced the trembhng girl to his sister, with whom he 
 had been hving since their parents died, a few years 
 before. 
 
 " Don't weep, my child ! " she gently said. "You are 
 at home, now, with kind friends, whose constai.t care will 
 be to give you every comfort. You shall be my younger 
 sister, and many will be the joyous hours which we shall 
 spend together. I never had a sister, although good 
 Menachem has been both sister and brother to me." 
 And, imprinting a soft kiss upon the unresisting cheek of 
 the fair girl, she led her to her own neat room, which 
 they were to occupy together. 
 
 " Dear lady ! " cried Esther, " do not send me away. 
 I will be so glad to assist you in any way. May I be 
 your sister always, to love you and thank you for your 
 goodness? I lost my poor, dear mother, when I was a 
 little child, and my father was dead to me soon after, and 
 
THE KABBl's DAUGHTER. 145 
 
 yours is the first kind, loving face I have seen since. Oh, 
 lady, I cannot believe this is real ! It is too much hap- 
 piness to be true ! Kiss me again, to assure me that I 
 am not dreaming, but that I am at last with good, kind 
 friends, who will shelter me from harm ! " 
 
 And Yetta wound her arms around Esther's neck and 
 kissed her tenderly, smoothing her disordered locks, and 
 smilingly bidding her to prepare for supper ; for Mena- 
 chem was ravenously hungry, having eaten nothing since 
 the morning, — but being also eager to see his Esther, 
 whom he had adopted that happy day as his younger 
 sister. 
 
 Under the kind care of her friends Esther soon forgot 
 her sufferings, and recovered her cheerful spirits. As 
 she ripened into womanhood, the charms of her well- 
 stored mind were displayed, and Yetta and Menachem 
 rejoiced at the gift God had sent them. Menachem had 
 loved Esther from the first time he saw her, but he at 
 first supposed it was pity for her forlorn condition that 
 caused him to regard her with a tenderness to which he 
 had hitherto been a stranger. To one of Esther's loving 
 and impulsive nature, so good and kind a benefactor and 
 friend as the learned Eabbi Menachem, would not long 
 remain without inspiring her with a feeling above mere 
 gratitude and sisterly affection, so that it created no sur- 
 prise in Wilna when the report became general that the 
 good rabbi had asked the lovely Esther to be his bride. 
 
 And just one year after her rescue from the robber's 
 cave, Esther became the happy wife of Wilna's gifted son. 
 Rabbi Menachem. Blessed with a devoted husband, a 
 gentle and never-failing adviser in her sister-in-law, Yetta, 
 and beloved by a host of friends, Esther was still, at 
 times, unhappy. There was one fond desire that was to 
 be satisfied, and then she would be perfectly contented. 
 
 " Ah, my dear Menachem ! " the young wife would say, 
 " I am indeed grateful to God for the blessings He has 
 granted me, but could He bestow on me but one more 
 boon ; could He but restore to me my dear lost father, 
 then I could cry, 'Enough, O God! I am too blessed. 
 Inchne thine ear to the supphcations of those of thy 
 creatures who are less fortunately conditioned than I ! " 
 13 
 
146 THE RABBI*S DAU6HTEB. 
 
 But can that father be fomid? Is the weary, bereaved 
 man yet alive? or has he succumbed to his many mis- 
 fortunes and disappoiatments, and has left this world to 
 join his dearly beloved wife iu the regions above ? 
 
 CHAFTER VI. 
 
 KE-UNITED. 
 
 "Wilna was in sore trouble. Prince Paul Radzivil, who 
 was supreme ruler in Lithuania, had just returned to the 
 city from a foreign tour, which he had undertaken with 
 his young bride. His purse was somewhat empty by 
 reason of a late war with the Swedes, which had made 
 great iuroads in the treasury. 
 
 At that time, whenever a monarch or government was 
 in need of pecuniai-y supplies, caused by extravagance, 
 pestilence, or a war of heavy proportions, there was gen- 
 erally one source- from which to be reimbui'sed, which 
 never failed them — the Jews. AVTiether in England, 
 France, Germany, or httle Poland, it was the same. The 
 Jews were supposed to possess the wealth of nations, and 
 perforce they must resign their unfortunate gains, and 
 patriotically support the kind and Hberal governments, 
 under whose beneficent rule they were privileged to dwelL 
 Occasionally, one or two rich Jews would serve as scape- 
 goats for their brethren. The king would levy on their 
 jewelry and money, so that it often happened that the 
 rich Jewish banker of to-night was in the morning as 
 poor as the beggar on whom yesterday he had bestowed 
 alms, — and poorer, for he had the recollection, the har- 
 rowing remembrance, of riches forever lost, to be ever 
 before him, and clog his future efforts, while the beggar's 
 thought was simply as to whom he will next apply to 
 for aid. 
 
 It was no unusual thing, therefore, for the happy family 
 of banker Metz, to be awakened at dead of night by a 
 rude and imperious knocking at their doors, an imme- 
 diate entrance demanded, or forced, " in the name of his 
 blessed Majesty," and the trembling Metz commanded, 
 under pain of death, to tmlock his coffers, and calmly 
 
THE rabbi's daughter. 147 
 
 transfer their contents to the tender hands of the law's 
 myrmidons. 
 
 At other times, congregations and communities would 
 be taxed a heavy amount, with the choice of either pay- 
 ing by a stated period, or of expulsion from their homes, 
 and an involuntary exile into whatever country would 
 deign to give them shelter. 
 
 So at Wihia. The Prince's proclamation stated to the 
 bewildered inhabitants, that " Whereas, it was necessary 
 for the well-being of our beloved country, that one hun- 
 dred thousand ducats should be in her treasury by 
 March 1st ; therefore, it is required of the Jews of Wilna 
 that they produce that sum at the palace on or before 
 that period, otherwise the Prince wiU take such measures 
 against the Jews as his judgment may dictate." 
 
 One hundred thousand ducats ! Such was the figure ; 
 no more, no less. And the Jews alone were caUed upon 
 to pay for a war which had been waged in behalf of the 
 common weal. The Prince was remonstrated with by 
 the dignitaries of the town, who urged that the Jews 
 were ever a law-abiding people, a credit to the city, in 
 charities unbounded, in politics patriotic equally with 
 themselves and the other good Christians of the town, — 
 but Paul would Hsten to no argument. He had issued 
 his proclamation, and he would abide by it. The ladies 
 of the Jewish community waited on the princess, who re- 
 ceived them kindly, but unequivocally stated that she 
 was powerless in the matter, as her husband had strictly 
 forbidden her to interfere. 
 
 What were the Jews to do ? They were in truth not a 
 rich community. They were wholly unable to raise the 
 required sum, and the prince was inexorable in his deter- 
 mination to take no less, and give no extension of time. 
 
 What could they do ? 
 
 All the temporal authorities had been appealed to, 
 without success. There was then but one course left, in 
 the wisdom of the rabbis — to appeal to Heaven. This 
 the people did -with a will. The synagogues were never 
 attended by a more numerous or a more devout audience. 
 The rabbis appointed several days to be devoted wholly 
 to fasting and praying, and the troubled Jews did as 
 their rabbinical advisers recommended. 
 
143 THE EABBI*S DAUGHTER. 
 
 In Rabbi Menachem's house there was, of course, 
 great affliction. It was the wealthier class that would 
 suffer in the matter. He knew this, and he was sorely 
 perplexed as to how to act. He ha<i just been telling his 
 wife of the fruitless interview of some ladies of the city 
 with the princess, when Esther, as if by a strange instinct, 
 inquired who the princess was, her name and fe-mily. 
 
 "^Vhy, have you not heard? She is the Princess 
 Mary, the only daughter of our king ! " 
 
 Esther was somewhat astonished at this. She could 
 not beheve that her Mary, her old playmate, was the wife 
 of the oppressor. At the same time, the news gave her 
 strong hopes that she might yet be instrumental in avert- 
 ing the evil decree. 
 
 " I will visit the princess to-day, Menachem," she calmly 
 said to her husband. 
 
 " And what good will that do ? " asked the rabbi. 
 
 Menachem also became somewhat hopeful when his 
 wife related to him her former connection with Mary, her 
 life at the palace, and her escape therefrom. Menachem 
 now knew for the first time what a heroine his pretty 
 wife was. 
 
 " Oh, Esther, can it be that I have for my wife that 
 famous heroine, whose name is known far and wide — the 
 king's adopted daughter, a princess by right if not by 
 blood, but a vahant Jewess who, for the sake of her 
 belief, withstood temptations such as beset no other 
 daughter of Israel ? How, O God, have I deserved this 
 blessing ? " 
 
 He had loved his wife before — ^now he worshipped her. 
 
 " Go, with God's blessing," he said. " May the Lord 
 look with favor on your undertaking ! " 
 
 And, as Esther rode through the palace-gate, how 
 quickly did her heart beat ! She would be in a moment 
 in the presence of her old friend, as a being risen from 
 the dead ! 
 
 In the sumptuous drawing-room of Prince Paul's man- 
 sion, the young Princess Radzivil was engaged in writing 
 a letter to her parents, depicting in glowing terms the 
 
THE rabbi's daughter. 149 
 
 charms of her wedded life, the love and constancy of her 
 husband, her joy and contentment. Just as she was con- 
 cluding her letter, a servant entered the room, stating 
 that there was a Jewess in the hall who begged an au- 
 dience with her highness. 
 
 "Alas, it is the old story ! " said Mary. " Some other 
 poor woman has entered my house to worry me with a 
 subject about which I am po werless. TeU this Jewess, 
 Cathinka, I cannot receive her." 
 
 The maid departed, but soon returned. " Your high- 
 ness, this woman will not go. ' She says she has no favor 
 to beg of you, but would simply impart to you a matter 
 of great importance." 
 
 " Let her enter." 
 
 As Esther, closely veiled, entered the room and beheld 
 her old companion sitting before her, looking so gentle 
 and charming, she could not avoid giving vent to tears 
 of joy. 
 
 " You are weeping, good lady," the princess said mildly. 
 " I am indeed sorry I cannot assist you. The prince has 
 strictly forbidden me to interfere." 
 
 Esther answered in a low voice, " I did not wish to 
 speak of that sad affair, your highness. I would only 
 give you some information, which I beheve will interest 
 you.'* 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 " Your highness once had a companion, who was sup- 
 posed to have perished in the flames of the burning 
 palace." 
 
 " Is she, then, aHve ? — Oh, speak, madam, and assure 
 me that my Esther did riot perish." 
 
 Esther could no longer restrain herseK. She threw off 
 her veil, fell on her knees, seized the princess's hand and 
 covered it with hot kisses. " O, Mary, Mary, do you not 
 know me? I am the lost Esther ! " 
 
 Mary had recognized her well-known features as soon 
 as her veil bad been removed. Her joy at meeting her 
 old playmate was unbounded. She embraced her again 
 and again, and as soon as her composure had been suf- 
 ficiently restored, she begged Esther to relate to her the 
 story of her Hfe since their List meeting. Then Mary 
 told Esther of her engagement and recent marriage to 
 
150 THE rabbi's daughter. - 
 
 the prince, whose talents and virtues she lauded to the 
 skies. 
 
 Esther shuddered at the mention of the prince, and as 
 Mary continued to recount her praises of his character, 
 she sobbed violently. 
 
 " I know the cause of your weeping," said the princess ; 
 "but, beheve me, your husband shall not suffer." 
 
 " And do you think," asked Esther, " that we could be 
 content while our comuanions and friends were plunged 
 in distress ? " 
 
 " Then we must contrive a plan whereby you may aU 
 be saved. But how can I begin ? I dare not interfere 
 in the matter — so I have promised. * I know these Jews,' 
 said prince Paul, *they wiH beset you with entreaties, and 
 your good heart will not be able to answer them in the 
 negative. Give me your promise that you will have 
 nothing whatever to do with them.' And I accordingly 
 promised. "What shall we do ? — I have it ! You your- 
 self, beautiful and talented Esther, must play the advo- 
 cate's part." 
 
 " "What is your plan, dear princess ?" 
 
 " It is simply this. — You are, it is true, a Jewess, but 
 you have the manners of a queen. You are to come here 
 on a visit to me, not as a Jewess, but as a friend of my 
 youth, the ' Princess Jablonska.* You are to dress in the 
 latest Parisian style. The prince will see you with me, 
 and will treat you with every mark of respect. Then, 
 when a favorable moment may offer, you can speak as 
 eloquently as your heart and good sense may dictate, and 
 I know you will not plead in vain. But be quick. You 
 must be with me before Paul returns from the hunt. I 
 shall let my maid in the secret,, so that she may not be- 
 tray us." 
 
 A few moments later, a travelling trunk, filled with the 
 choicest of the princess's ward-robe, was placed on Es- 
 ther's carriage, and she and the maid rode rapidly back 
 to Menachem's house. Having entered, Esther quickly 
 explained matters to her husband, and ascended to her 
 dressing-room, where the clever maid, Cathinka, soon 
 transformed her into a stylish lady of fashion, attired in 
 the extravagant mode of the period. Meanwhile, Mena- 
 chem had ordered an elegant state-chariot, with hveried 
 
THE rabbi's daughter. 161 
 
 footmen, to be in waiting at the house ; and, shortly after, 
 the neighbors were astonished to see the Rabbi open wide 
 his door, and there pohtely assist some unknown but 
 wealthy lady — apparently belonging to the nobility, — to 
 enter the elegant carriage. 
 
 The prince, on returning to the palace, was immedi- 
 ately informed by his wife of the expected visit of a bosom 
 friend of hers, the Princess Jablonska, who would prob- 
 ably arrive that very evening. Paul had frequently heard 
 mention of the princess, who had been for several years 
 one of the ladies of the court. He expressed himself 
 highly pleased to make her acquaintance, and asked hig 
 wife many questions concerning her disposition and ap- 
 pearance, to which Mary, of course, gave willing answers. 
 
 At last, the "Princess" arrived. Mary greeted her 
 with a sisterly embrace, dnd introduced her to her hus- 
 band, who gave her a cordial and respectful welcome. 
 The prince was enraptured over the distinguished beauty 
 and grace of his visitor. The princess, too, marvelled at 
 the wondrous change which the skillful hands of Cathinka 
 had wi-ought. Cathinka had indeed accomplished a mas- 
 terpiece, and in Esther the recollections of her life at the 
 royal palace were suddenly awakened, so that she played 
 the part of a lady of honor to perfection — her own inbred 
 grace and dignity being of no little advantage to her. 
 The three conversed in an animated strain for some time. 
 Esther surprised herself by the facihty with which she 
 spoke Erench — ^which was then the language of the court. 
 Prince Paul was truly charmed with her grace, beauty 
 and talents. The plan of the princess Mary had thus fai 
 succeeded admirably. 
 
152 THE rabbi's DAUGHTEE, 
 
 CEAFTER VU. 
 
 CONCLUSION, 
 
 During Esther's stay at the palace she had ample op- 
 portunity of displaying, before her royal hosts, the rich 
 possessions of her well-stored mind. Under the yigoroUs, 
 early training of her father, her subsequent Hberal edu- 
 cation at the palace, her mind had rapidly expanded ; 
 but it was due to the instruction received at a more ma- 
 ture period, at the house of the loving brother and sister, 
 that Esther became instilled so thoroughly in the prin- 
 ciples and beauties of the Jewish religion. Urged, as she 
 had expressly been, to embrace Christianity, she felt an 
 uncontrollable desire to be deeply versed in the spii'it and 
 laws of her own faith, in order to meet the insidious at- 
 tacks in future of any zealots that might attempt to con- 
 vert her. 
 
 The present age has the reputation of bemg a halcyon 
 period, when men and women are educated to a point 
 never before attained ; but, in the good old times, although 
 the lower class, and frequently the nobility, were steeped 
 in ignorance, bigotry and superstition, there were many 
 women, of Esther's stamp, who had studied with an ardor 
 and a success that are strangers to our modern female 
 academies. 
 
 The prince took great delight in the vivacity ana depth 
 of Esther's conversation, for the time forgetting his pas- 
 sionate love of the chase, and spending every spare hour 
 in the company of the devoted friends. Mary was sur- 
 prised at the changes which a few years had made in 
 Esther's appearance and manners. 
 
 Let us not forget that, at the period to which tnis nar- 
 rative has arrived, the sun of tolerance and liberality had 
 not shed its beneficent rays over the world. The over- 
 bearing spirit of rehgious fanaticism, it is true, had some- 
 Avhat subsided — thirty years of destructive war, waged 
 on account of religious hatred, had taught the nations a 
 severe lesson. Locke and Liebnitz had not yet pro- 
 [ ounded their theoric!^, nor were "N'oltaire, Morsrisquieu 
 
THE RABBIS DAUGHTER. 153 
 
 and Diderot as yet in existence. The Israelites alone 
 possessed a pure, lioly law, a universal science, which had, 
 centuries before, attained perfection. They were, how- 
 ever, shut up in close Ghettos, where the high walls sur- 
 rounding prevented the rays of the sun from penetrating 
 their gloomy habitations, and laying bare to the world 
 outside the knowledge and civilization that were there 
 confined. 
 
 How then it must have surprised Prince Paul to have 
 heard, for the first time, and from the mouth of a sup- 
 posed titled lady, such lofty and humanitarian ideas upon 
 the rights and privileges of mankind ; to be told that 
 man was created in the image of his Maker, that there- 
 fore all men are brethren, and all have a share in this 
 beautiful world ; that one law is for all, the stranger as 
 well as the citizen ; one Father created us — we are all 
 His children — all civil distinctions arbitrary, but the law 
 of universal hberty divine and eternal ! 
 
 Prince Paul thought very differently, and so he argued 
 with his fair adversary. Even if originally all men were 
 equal, yet he supposed that ages had raised insurmount- 
 able barriers. The cominon people have deteriorated — 
 the nobihty have prospered. In fact, peasants are but 
 little better than brute animals. The world is created for 
 the nobility simply. The peasant was as much his prop- 
 erty as his dog or horse, and whatever he acquired was 
 his master's. The Jews, for instance, were allowed to 
 amass property ; but for this purpose — that they might, 
 on some day, transfer their wealth to their rulers. 
 
 Esther perceived, by these discussions, what motives 
 had induced a prince, just and brave in other respects, 
 to treat his Jewish subjects in so harsh and barbarous a 
 way. She endeavored to uproot these false ideas, judging 
 chat, if the prince could be induced to think differently on 
 such subjects, he would not carry his cruel orders into 
 operation. 
 
 " Prince," said she, in a calm voice, "I admit that noble, 
 Jew and peasant are widely distinct from each other ; 
 but this diherence does not lie in our natures, but in our 
 faulty education. History teaches us that often men of 
 the humblest position have raised themselves to the 
 highest point in fame." 
 
154 THE BABBl's DAUGHTER. 
 
 "Yes, there are exceptions to every rule/* answered 
 Paul " So with Jews, who, I consider, are stiU lower 
 than the peasants, inasmuch as they are not yet blessed 
 with the fight of Christianity." 
 
 "But instead of that," Esther quickly rejoined, "they 
 have the brilhant Hght of Judaism to shed a refulgence 
 upon their path." 
 
 " Why, my beautiful princess has not studied Judaism 
 also ?" smilingly asked Paul. 
 
 " Indeed I have ! Living in and around Prince Jab- 
 lonska's estate are many Jews with whom I am famihar. 
 And should not this ancient people, which has preserved 
 the oldest and noblest tniths for mankind, excite our 
 deepest interest ?" 
 
 " But do you consider," again asked Paul, " that the 
 Jews can adopt the customs of the world, can become 
 nobles in manners, as well as by purchase or birth — that 
 a Jewess can converse and act with such elegance as you 
 do, my dear princess ?" 
 
 A crimson glow spread over Esther's face, but before 
 the prince had time to notice her growing embarrassment, 
 Mary came to her assistance, and answered the prince's 
 question by asking him : 
 
 " Why, have I not told you, Paul, of Esther, my early 
 companion, who saved my life, and was the favorite, for 
 years, at my father's court ?" 
 
 " You mean the young Jewess who saved you from the 
 serpent, and who perished at the time of the burning of 
 the palace?" 
 
 " We were happily in error about her death," answered 
 Mary. "She did not die, but she ran away from the 
 turning palace, disdaining to become wealthy and pow- 
 ii-ful at the cost of her honor and her ancient faith !" 
 
 But the prince, with his odd notions about the heroic 
 
 n Judaism, said : " Bah ! shall I tell you why this Jewish 
 
 ;hild ran off from the palace ? It was because her Ju- 
 
 laism clung to her in all its low associations. She could 
 
 lot rid herself of its awkward customs, its dialect, its 
 
 Dropensities. She longed to return to ' old clothes.' So 
 
 it has been with the Jews in olden times ; so it will be 
 
 with them always. NobiHty and pohtical influence have 
 
 QO attractions for them." 
 
THE EABBIS DAUGHTEE. 155 
 
 Esther fairly glowed witli shame. A hot retort was jnst 
 breaking from her lips, when Mary asked her husband : 
 
 "But, dear Paul, if this Jewess, who had Hved six 
 years in a palace, and as many out of it, during which 
 time she had married a Jew, and had borne two children, 
 should now be introduced to you as a fashionable lady 
 of the court, who merely needed a court costume to as- 
 sume the privileges she formerly enjoyed — " 
 
 "Then," answered Paul, slowly and distinctly, his fair 
 auditors being pecuharly excited as to his reply — "then 
 I would avow myself conquered, condemn my ideas as 
 faulty, and myself as prejudiced, and I would at once 
 adopt the opinions of our esteemed Princess Jablonska." 
 
 Esther felt her triumph approaching, but Mary had not 
 yet completed her part of the work, so she said to her 
 husband : 
 
 " My dear Paul, you must pardon a deception I have 
 been practicing upon you, with the best of pm-poses. 
 But, before I explain, let me relate to you a little rab- 
 binical story, which I heard years ago, from my friend 
 Esther : 
 
 " * There was once a nobleman who, before setting out 
 on a Httle tour, desired to make his wife a suitable pres- 
 ent. He bought her a diamond of brilliant lustre, but 
 plainly set, and told his steward to present it in his name 
 to his mistress. Thought this clever steward, *My lady 
 will not value this present, as it now appears. Let me 
 give it a setting worthy of its beauty, and then I will 
 make a gift worthy of my master !' So he did, and the 
 lady, on receiving the jewel, was struck with its exceed- 
 ing briUiancy. The nobleman returning, and the steward 
 not caring to expose his httle fraud to his master's eye, 
 he one day removed the rich setting, and restored the 
 diamond to its original condition. But his mistress ad- 
 mired it the more when she perceived its undying lustre, 
 which shone as magnificently as before, and she thanked 
 her husband for his precious gift.' 
 
 '•My dear husband, I was the happy possessor of such 
 a diamond, with which I intended to dehght you ; but, 
 that you might value it the more, I preferred to giVe it a 
 handsome ornamentation." 
 
156 THE rabbi's daughter. 
 
 " I hardly understand you, Mary," said the bewildered 
 Paul. 
 
 " WeU, my ]3iince, I will at last repeat to you in plain 
 language — I have, thank God, found my dear friend Es- 
 ther, and I wished to introduce her to you in a way which 
 became her position as a bosom friend of your wife ; but 
 as you would not have considered a Jewess worthy of 
 seeing or speaking with, I have presented her to you as 
 the * Princess Jablonska!'" 
 
 The prince looked at Esther with an incredulous air. 
 She merely bowed respectfully. 
 
 "Now that you have learned," added Mary, " to esteem 
 my jewel in an elegant setting — in rich costume and titled 
 as a powerful piincess — you will, I am convinced, value 
 it in its lowly dress, as a plain Pohsh Jewess !" 
 
 Naturally this revelation startled the prince somewhat. 
 He was silent for a few moments. At length he said, in 
 a firm tone : 
 
 " You have conquered me, and I am compelled to ab- 
 jure my prejudiced ideas and adopt the more Hberal no- 
 tions of our friend, who is none the less clever, amiable 
 and beautiful, even if she is no longer a princess in real- 
 ity. Yet there is a nobihty which is far above earthly 
 titles, and which we possess directly from God — the no- 
 bihty of a genuine, fraternal feeling, of love for the good 
 and the true, wherever to be found. Again I bid you 
 welcome ! " said Paul, turning to the blushing Esther ; 
 "and I greet you as a friend and as the savior of my dear 
 wife." 
 
 The prince now expected Esther to present a petition 
 in beh^f of the Wilna Jews, but she prudently refrained 
 fi'om alluding to the subject ; a course of action, on her 
 part, which raised her still more in the prince's regard. 
 Esther and Mary conversed together in low tones, while 
 the px'ince sat apart, apparently busy with his own 
 thoughts. He felt his position to be a trying one. He 
 wished to say something about his trouble with the Wilna 
 Jews, but he did not know in vvhat way he could best m- 
 troduce the subject. 
 
 After a brief silence, he said aloud : " The thought just 
 strikes me, Mary, that our fi'iend has not yet been re- 
 warded for saving your precious Hfe. Your royal parents 
 
THE KABBI'S DAUGHTER. 157 
 
 have been Tinable even to thank her on account of her 
 sudden departure from their protection. Let it be for us 
 then to be grateful. I think, my dear wife, a hundred 
 thousand ducats is not too high a price for the hie of a 
 princess, especially of a Princess Radzivil. So, dear Es- 
 ther, I take the greatest pleasure in presenting to you 
 the sum of money which the Jews of Wilna are to furnish 
 me with next week. The money is yours, and you can 
 do with it as you wish." 
 
 Esther could not speak. Her mission having so glori- 
 ously and unexpectedly terminated, she felt overcome 
 wfth emotion. Her eyes filled with tears ; she fell on her 
 knees and gratefully kissed the extended hands of Prince 
 Paul and Mary. And gentle and loving Princess Mary 
 embraced her husband fondly, saying, as she kissed him: 
 " O, my husband, you have made me the happiest of 
 women ! " 
 
 The following day, the principal Jews of Wilna, inclu- 
 ding the Rabbis, were assembled at Rabbi Menachem's 
 house, in accordance with an invitation received from the 
 Rabbi, who had stated to them that, as the time for pay- 
 ing the amount was so near, it was necessary that they 
 should discuss the matter in a calm, rational way. The 
 guests had hardly seated themselves when a carriage 
 stopped at the door, and the prince, princess and Esther, 
 dressed now in her Jewish garb, entered the room, the 
 Jews all bowing low to the ground, as was their custom 
 when in the presence of their rulers. 
 
 "I have requested my friend, Rabbi Menachem," began 
 the prince, "to summon you here, in order that I might 
 ask you whether you have taken any steps towards liqui- 
 dating the amount which I consider is due me from the 
 Jewish community?" 
 
 " Your highness," said the chief Rabbi, in a respectful 
 tone, "we are truly unable to collect that amount, without 
 being aU reduced to a condition of absolute beggary." 
 
 "But to whom does your wealth belong?" sternly 
 asked Paul ; " to whom, other than your prince, your 
 ruler?" 
 
 "We know that, your highness. We are indeed in 
 14 
 
158 THE rabbi's daughteb. 
 
 your power, but we trust to your clemency and mercy for 
 relief. Kemit half the amount, and we solemnly promise 
 to pay the other hal^ although even that will be a great 
 sacrifice." 
 
 "I will not reduce the amount by a single farthing! 
 By next week, unless you wish to be driven from the 
 country, you must dehver the full amount of one hundred 
 thousand ducats to Menachem's wife. To her I present 
 the money, because she was the savior, and is the dear 
 friend and companion of your princess." 
 
 " And my wife," said Menachem, " accepts the gift, but 
 on this condition, your highness, that she may in turn 
 present it to the Jewish community of WiLna, for having 
 redeemed her when she was held a captive in the robber's 
 cave." 
 
 Menachem spoke thus intentionally, for he well remem- 
 bered how strenuously the chief Ra.bbi, and others of the 
 delegation now present, were opposed to offering any 
 assistance to the captive girl years before. The prince, 
 however, did not notice the momentary confusion into 
 which Menachem's words had betrayed the assembly; 
 but he, of course, assented to the condition, saying, *'The 
 money is Esther's, and she can do with it as she pleases." 
 
 And with hearts far more joyous than an hour before, 
 the company withdrew to their homes to tell aU Wilna 
 the wondrous tale. 
 
 Esther thus become the most famous woman in Poland. 
 Her romantic and eventful career was the all-absorbing 
 theme in every household. Parents extolled her virtues 
 and constancy to her faith before their children ; prayers 
 were offered for her hfe-long happiness in all the syna- 
 gogues ; she rapidly became added to the long Hst of Is- 
 rael's heroines, and the Polish ladies of the day envied 
 her fame, although aU argued that she bore her honors 
 with that same grace and modesty which had character- 
 ized her early hfe. 
 
 And Menachem grew into great favor with the couri 
 Prince Eadzivil conSded in his hands the administration 
 of his vast estate. He and his wile were very intimate in 
 theii' relations "vsdth the prince and his amiable partner, 
 and Paul acquu-ed the most hb6ral ideas in regard to 
 Judaism and the Jews. Under his rule Wilna prospered. 
 
THE rabbi's daughter. 169 
 
 and the Israelites in that old town became widely re- 
 spected as an influential, benevolent and pious com- 
 munity. 
 
 Meanwhile our Rabbi Sabbathai was prospering in his 
 way at Hollischau. Intent with his duties as pastor of 
 a growing community, he heard little concerning the stir- 
 ring doings in Lithuania. He studied the law and sacred 
 writings unceasingly, becoming soon known, although 
 hardly fifty years of age, as the "teacher of all Israel.** 
 He composed commentaries and religious treatises that 
 have given him undying renown. Under the title of 
 Schach, his compositions were made the subject of close 
 study by many a theological scholar. 
 
 All over Poland, the name of the Schach was uttered 
 with reverence. Invitations crowded in upon him from 
 all sides, to visit different cities, and there expound the 
 law in his own learned way. One day a note reached 
 him from Wilna, and it was couched in such glowing 
 terms that he felt disinclined to refuse the congregation- 
 al intitation, in the style in which he had dechned other 
 requests. Besides "Wilna had hallowed associations for 
 him, as being his birth-place, the home of his first mar- 
 riage, and his brief wedded life. He accepted the call. 
 Great preparations were made among the Jews to give 
 the Schach a befitting reception. Rabbi Menachem, as 
 being the most prominent Israehte in town, was selected 
 to be his host during his stay, and heartily glad was the 
 worthy Menachem to entertain so distinguished a visitor. 
 
 Rabbi Sabbathai arrived, and was at once conducted 
 to Menachem's house, where a large attendance was gath- 
 ered in his honor. Mutual greetings were exchanged, 
 Menachem introduced Sabbathai to his guests, who were 
 soon on the best of terms with their visitor ; for Rabbi 
 Sabbathai was not only a profound scholar, but a bril- 
 Hant conversationalist. 
 
 And where was Esther ? She of course had heard of 
 the expected visit of the Schach, had prepared for his 
 coming, and seemed well pleased with the honor of en- 
 tertaining so learned a visitor. But she had no idea that 
 
160 THE rabbi's daughter. 
 
 he would have raised such sorrowful thoughts within her, 
 as she experienced when she beheld him enter the room. 
 InstiQctively her memory reverted years back, to the time 
 vhen she beheld her father standing a silent mourner by 
 ]jer dead mother's bedside. There seemed to her to be a 
 strange resemblance to her lost father in the person of 
 the dignified Il?bbi. What if he should be — but she could 
 no longer remain near him and play the hostess, with 
 such thoughts crowding upon her ; so she left the room, 
 unobserved, before Menachem was able to inti'oduce his 
 guest to her, went to her own apartment, and there, unseen 
 by all but the pitying One above, gave vent to tears such as 
 had never, since her marriage, bedewed her cheek. She 
 could not ixdngle with the gay assembly below. She 
 seemed transported to another age and was a child again, 
 weeping for her dead mother, and the beloved father 
 from whom she had been so early separated. 
 
 In the parlor there was great hilarity. Toasts had 
 been drunk in honor of Eabbi Sabbathai, the dignitariies 
 of the town, the ladies, and finally one of the assembly 
 proposed a toast in honor of their guest, Menachem, the 
 " king's son-in-law ! " 
 
 The toast was responded to with enthusiasm. Mena- 
 chem was a x^opular man in Wilna, especially siQce the 
 Israelites had conferred upon him this title. 
 
 Said Sabbathai, " The ' king's son-in-law ? ' How is 
 that ? AMiy have you, my dear sir, acquired so strange 
 and honorable a title ? " 
 
 " Why, have you not heard, Rabbi, the wondrous story 
 which we supposed Avas known to every one in Poland ? " 
 said the "Wihia Rabbi. " Have you not heard of the al- 
 most miraculous manner in which we, here in Wihia, 
 vrere rescued fi'om paying that enoimous tribute to Prince 
 Radzivil, which would have made us all beggars ? " 
 
 Then, in a few concise sentences, he infoiTaed Sabba- 
 thai of their trouble, and the timely assistance rendered 
 by the lovely wife of Menachem. 
 
 " And how could she be so influential ? " 
 
 " YvTiy, Rabbi, you are indeed behind the times, if you 
 are not yet acquainted with the story of Esther, the king's 
 adopted daughter, who was brought up in a palace, sur- 
 rounded by zealous Christians, but remained ever true to 
 
THE rabbi's DAUGHTEE. 161 
 
 her faith. She saved us — she, the wife of our beloved 
 Menachem ! " 
 
 Sabbathai heard these words with a strange interest. 
 Surely he had heard that story before. 
 
 " But," he asked, with a trembling voice, " that Esther 
 perished in the flames of the burning palace ? " 
 
 " No, thank God ! She escaped ; but was captured by 
 Eatislaw's robbers, from whom our Menachem ransomed, 
 her years ago." 
 
 Sabbathai would hear no more. He raised his hands 
 aloft, tears poured forth from his eyes, and, in a loud 
 voice which startled the assembly by its strange eloquence, 
 and was heard all over the house, he cried : 
 
 " Gracious God ! You have heard my prayer ! My 
 daughter, my Esther, you are found ! " 
 
 And in an instant Esther was clasped in his arms. 
 
 Father and daughter were at last united ! 
 
 Thus ends my story. The subsequent historj of Esth- 
 er and her friends may be ^old in a few words. Sabba- 
 thai returned to HoUischau, unwilling now to desert a 
 town which had sheltered him when he was in need of 
 comfort. He continued in his good work, instructing 
 young Israelites in the doctrines of their faith, and sending 
 forth on the field of life many a faithful shepherd to guide 
 God's stray sheep into a pleasant pasture. He did not 
 forget Ratislaw, his old friend ; for, some time after his 
 reunion with Esther, he learned, with regret, that the 
 bold robber had been captured and sentenced to death. 
 He at once visited him in prison, spoke to him words of 
 consolation, and promised to use his influence with the 
 king to pardon him, on condition that he would mend 
 his ways and lead a respectable hfe. Sabbathai and 
 Esther had an interview with the king and prince Paul, 
 with such good effect, that the following morning he 
 again visited the prisoner, handed him his pardon, and 
 with it a commission in the royal army. Katislaw con- 
 ducted himself very creditably, rose in the service, and 
 died gallantly fighting at Dniester, where the heroic 
 Pole, John Sobieski, batrled victoriously with the Turks. 
 
1C2 THE EABBl's DAUGHTER. 
 
 Esther and Menachem were frequent and welcome vis- 
 itors at the palace of the king and prince. Mary's love 
 for our heroine continued until the death of the princess 
 severed the life-long tie. Esther and Menachem Hved to 
 a good old age ; they never wearied of performing good 
 deeds, and the blessings and prayers of grateful thou- 
 sands attended their declining years. Descendants of 
 the famous Schach are to be found in almost all lands, 
 who still retain, intact, the early traditions of their family, 
 and who, with never-faihng memory, transmit to their 
 children the thrilling story of " The Rabbi's Daughter 1 " 
 
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