Chapter IX (4)

"When I was holding the office bestowed upon me by the king, two base Israelites were found who had gone to the enemy's camp and betrayed the king's secrets and brought calamity and trouble upon the kings troops. What did I do with these base subjects? I ordered it to be published by the sound of trumpets, all over the country, that these two, traitors to their God and their country, were for ever expelled from the bosom of Israel. I did this because when contemplating their deed my heart boiled over with wrath. I saw, as if in a dream, the second Moses, who said: 'Thrust them out of Israel, for they have betrayed those that received them as guests into their land.'"

"Not only for the good of your souls did I ask you for remembrance and gratitude, but also for your earthly welfare. When I sat in the great Synod assembled at the wish of the king and nobles, in the rich town of Lublin, I advised and urged the wise and honest men to send out a proclamation that would shake the hearts and brains of the people, even as the gardener shakes the trees to make the ripe fruit fall."

"In this proclamation we said: 'Be useful to the country wherein you live and the inhabitants will respect you. This is the first step towards happiness, because contempt is bitter and respect sweet to the human heart.'"

"But there are still other things which I have in my mind: He who is the servant of the soil, hath bread in abundance. How is the soil to nourish you if you treat it, not as a faithful servant, but as a stranger who only cares for the present day?"

"Rabbi Papa said: 'Do not engage in trade, but cultivate the soil, though both are good things; but the first is blessed by men.' If you come into the land, plant all kinds of trees that produce fruit."

"There will come a time when wrong-doing will disappear from the earth, and the nations will call out to the sons of Israel: 'Take the plough into your hands and cultivate the land, that you and your sons may eat your bread in peace.' But false prophets will raise their voice and tell you not to till the soil in the land of bondage."

"Oh, my descendant who reads this, tell the people to beware of false prophets! Call out to them in a loud voice: The false prophets have brought you low, O Israel!"

It was evident that the descendant fulfilled the command of his ancestor with conviction and unspeakable joy. Had he not himself felt the deep hatred towards the false sages? Why he considered them as such, he could not have told. His tongue was tied by want of knowledge, and his spirit, longing for light, had beaten against the walls of darkness in the midst of which he was imprisoned. Now he knew and understood; therefore from the depth of his heart he called out:

"Do not believe, O Israel, in your false sages."

The crowd grew noisy.

"Of whom does he speak?"

"Who are the false sages and prophets in Israel?"

"He speaks of our rabbis and learned men; abominable blasphemy comes out of his mouth."

"He throws only blame upon the children of Israel!"

"He bids us plough the soil in the land of bondage."

"Rabbi Nohim, the grandfather of Rabbi Isaak, said to our fathers: 'You shall not till the soil with your own hands in the land of bondage.'"

"Rabbi Nohim was the wisest of wise men; his wisdom lighted up the whole earth."

"Hersh Ezofowich quarrelled fiercely with Reb Nohim."

"Hersh Ezofowich was a great sinner!"

"Why, does he not tell us how to make poor people rich?"

"He said we ought to become servants of the soil on which we live. When the Messiah comes and takes us to the promised land, we shall leave this one. Why should we become its servants?"

"It was said the writing would teach us how to change sand into gold!"

"And how to drive out evil spirits."

"How to bring Moses to life again."

"They have told us lies; there is nothing wise or pleasing to the Lord in the writing."

Questions and mutterings followed rapidly one upon the other, accompanied by the scornful laughter of those that had been balked in their hopes and expectations. The melamed, towering above the crowd, threw out insulting remarks, or burst into harsh laughter full of venomous malice. Under the second wall opposite the melamed stood Ber on a bench. These two men, standing opposite each other, presented a striking contrast. The melamed shook his head and waved his arms, wildly shouting and laughing; Ber stood silent and motionless, his head thrown back, resting against the wall, and from his blue eyes that looked into the far, far distance, tears fell in thick drops. Close to Meir in a compact body stood a dozen or more of young men, who looked with rapt attention at the reader. They breathed quickly, smiled now and then, and raised their arms and sighed. They seemed not to see or hear the crowd; their spirits, longing for truth and blindly searching for it, had fastened upon the new thoughts. A thin, quavering voice was heard from the crowd: "They talked much about that, long, long ago; when I was young." A deep sigh accompanied the young man's words. Perhaps he was one of Hersh's friends. Young boys who pushed their heads between the people laughed and shouted, then disappeared again.

The old yellow papers began to tremble in Meir's hands; upon his pale face appeared two red burning spots. He looked half angrily, half entreatingly at the public.

"Be quiet!" he called out. "Let me read the words of the great man to you to the end. He has chosen me as his messenger, and I must obey his commands."

His voice was loud and authoritative; his whole frame seemed to expand under the influence of a new power.

"Be quiet," shouted the melamed. "Let him read the abomination which hitherto has lain in hiding. Let it come forth that we may stamp it out all the easier."

"O Israel!" began the youthful voice once more. "O Israel, the third thing I ask from you is Discernment."

"In ages past, the learned men among us were called Baale Tressim or armour-bearers. What was their armour? Their armour was the understanding of the covenant. Why were they armed? To protect Israel from annihilation. They said: Israel shall not disappear from the surface of the earth, for we will give him a strong hold from the covenant of 'Moses. Thus said the Tanaim. And the Sanhedrin where they sat, and the schools in which they taught became as the arsenal where they ground and prepared their weapons. Gamaliel, Eliezer, Joshua, Akiba, and Jehuda were amongst them like suns among the stars. Others followed in their footsteps, and through five hundred years they compiled, explained and wrote the great book which they' named the Talmud, and which through centuries was a bulwark to the Israelites, shielding them from the devouring elements From its pages the sons of Israel drew wisdom and comfort, and during the great dispersion they were never divided, because their thoughts and sighs went towards it and gathered round it, like children round their mother."

"But is everything which is good in itself equally perfect?"

"This book, which during five hundred years was written and composed by wise and loving men, cannot be a foolish or a bad book. He who speaks thus of it, tell him to clean his heart from evil, and then open it and read."

"There are clouds in the sky, and in the purest heart the Lord discerns a flaw. Did Jehovah himself write the books of Our Law? Did the angels write them? No; people wrote them. Has there ever been a man during all the ages who did not know what it meant to go astray? Is there any human work which is adequate or all times and all ages?"

"The throne of the Pharaohs has been shattered; Nineveh fell into ruins; Rome which ruled over half the world broke asunder; and Greek wisdom has made way for other wisdom. The desert spreads now where once were rich and powerful cities; and cities are rising where formerly was desert. Thus human works, the greatest of them, pass away and others take their place."

"Israel! the nourishment which sustained your soul through many generations contains grain, but also chaff. In your treasure hoards there are diamonds and worthless sand."

"The books of your Law are as the pomegranate which the foolish man ate with the rind, which left a bitter taste in his mouth. When Rabbi Meir saw him doing this, he plucked fruit from the tree, threw away the bitter rind and ate the luscious fruit. I wished to teach you as Rabbi Meir taught the man who ate the pomegranate. I wished for you the gift of discernment, for the books of your faith. Wished that you might use your intelligence as a sieve in order to separate the grain from the chaff, the diamonds from the sand; so that you may keep the pure grain and the diamonds."

"You have thrust me off for this my request; your hearts became hardened against me because of the fear and hatred towards things new. And yet it is written: 'Do not look at the vessel, but look at its contents.' There are new pitchers full of old wine, and old ones that are empty."

"Meir," whispered Ber, "look at the people!" and then he added in a still lower voice: "Depart from this place as quickly as you can."

Meir looked around at the seething, muttering crowd; a smile half-angry, half-sad came on his lips.

"I did not expect this; I expected something quite different," he said in a low voice, and he bent his head; but he raised it again almost instantly and called out:

"I am the messenger of my ancestor. He has chosen me to read his thoughts to you. I must obey him."

He drew a deep breath, then added in a still louder voice:

"He penetrated the doubts which were to arise in those who were not born, and gave an answer to them. He penetrated into the inner life of the human soul, which thirsts after truth and knowledge, and offers you freedom and happiness through my mouth. I love him as if he had given me life. I bow down before the greatness of the man who has worked out his own immortality and dwells now in Jehovah's glory. I think as he thought; I wish for you as he wished. I am like him; I am the child of his spirit." His clear voice shook with emotion, and smiles and unshed tears were together on his mobile features.

"My ancestor says to you that all nations are moving on towards knowledge and happiness; but our heads are so full of little things that there is not room for great thoughts; that the study they call Kabala, and which you consider, is a cursed science, for it kills the Israelite's intellect and leads him away from true science."

His voice became drowned in the general uproar, laughter and groaning, so that only broken sentences reached the small, inattentive audience. Yet he did not cease speaking, but went on quicker and quicker, with heaving breast. It almost seemed as if recognising the futility of his efforts, he tried to stand at his post as messenger of the dead as long as he could. Perhaps he had not lost hope altogether.

"Woe I woe!" called out voices in the crowd. "Heresy and sin have entered the house of Israel! Out of the mouths of children comes blasphemy against holy things."

"Listen, listen!" cried Meir. "It is still far to the end of my ancestor's writing."

"Let us stop his mouth and drive him from the spot where only true Israelites should speak."

"Listen, it is written here that Israel should leave off expecting a Messiah in the flesh."

"Woe! woe! he will take from the heart of this only hope and comfort."

"Because he will not come upon earth in the shape of man, but in the shape of Time, bringing to all people knowledge, happiness and peace."

"Meir, Meir, what are you doing? You will be lost! Look at the people! Go away while there is time," whispered those around him.

Ber stood at his side. Eliezer, Aryel, Haim, and a few others surrounded him; but he neither saw nor heeded anything. Large beads of perspiration stood on the proudly-raised brow, and his eyes looked despairingly and angrily at the tumultuous crowd.

Suddenly a dull thump was heard near the entrance door. The melamed had jumped down from the bench, and, with his naked feet, stamped several times upon the floor. Then, in a few bounds, he cleared the crowd, which made way for him, and with a violent jerk of his arm threw down the brass candlestick with the yellow candle. At the same time someone climbed on the bench and blew out the lamp near the door. Except for the pale streaks of moonlight, which came through the windows, the whole room was plunged into darkness, and amidst that darkness seethed and boiled the raging element--an exasperated populace.

Nobody could have singled out any individual expression. Words, curses, groans, came down like hailstones, and mixed together in a chaos indescribable. At last, from the wide open door of the Bet-ha-Midrash poured the dark stream of people which, outside in the court, was met by another of those who had not found room within, and were less noisy, though equally excited. A large wave of moonlight lit up the open space and the Bet-ha-Kahol with its closed door and shuttered windows. On the portico steps, motionless and silent, his elbows resting on his knees, sat the shamos (messenger) awaiting orders from the interior of the building which, in the midst of the uproarious mob stood dark and mute like the grave.

The crowd broke up into many groups. One of these, the largest, crossed the gates of the precincts; shouting and struggling, it poured into the moonlit square, where it looked like a monster bird flapping its huge wings It was mostly composed of poorly-dressed men with long beards and maliciously gleaming eyes. Children of different ages flittered to and fro among them, picking up stones and mud. They all thronged towards one point; a single man surrounded by a bodyguard of friends. Pushed and knocked about, they resisted with their arms and shoulders until, yielding to the pressures they finally gave way, and were swallowed up by the crowd. Then a shower of stones fell upon the back of the man whom, until now, they had screened; dozens of hands grasped his garments and tore them into strips; upon his bare head fell mud and handfuls of gravel picked out of the gutter. In his ears thundered the yells and groans of the infuriated mob; before his face flashed the clenched fists and inflamed faces of his assailants, and beyond, as if veiled in a blood-red mist, silent and closely shuttered, appeared the house of his fathers.

Towards that house, as if to a haven of salvation, he directed his steps as quick as the grasping hands and the children crowding round his feet would let him. From his compressed lips came no sound either of complaint or entreaty; he did not seem to feel the hands that smote him or the stones, which pelted his body, and which might maim or kill him at any moment. With breast and shoulders he tried desperately to push aside the mob. It was not himself he defended, but the treasure he carried; now and then he touched his breast to make sure it was still there. Suddenly a burly figure, dressed in a coarse shirt, and with a thick stick in his bands, barred his way, and shouted:

"Fools, what are you doing? Why do you not take the loathsome writing from him? The Rabbi Isaak has ordered it to be torn from him; he has bidden it in his breast!"

In an instant the young man, who had been assailed from the back and sides only, found himself attacked in front also. Rough and dark bands reached at his breast; his convulsively clenched arms were wrenched asunder, and they began to tear his garments. Then he raised his pale face towards the moonlit sky with a despairing cry:

"Jehovah!"

He felt a lithe and supple body creep up from under his feet, and a pair of hot lips were pressed to the hand which hung down powerless. A wonderful contrast this single kiss of love in the midst of all that hatred and fury. With a last, almost superhuman effort, he pushed off his assailants, stooped down, and, before anybody had time to rush at him again, lifted a child up in his arms. It threw its arms around his neck, and looked with streaming eyes dilated with terror at the people.

"It is my child! it is my Lejbele! do not hurt him!" called the frightened voice of the tailor Shmul from the crowd.

"Reb!" called out several voices to the melamed, "he is shielding himself behind the child--the child loves him!"

"Take away the child and tear from him the writing!" yelled the melamed.

But nobody obeyed him. They still pulled at his clothes at his sides and behind, a few stones whizzed over his head; but he saw a clear space in front of him, and, with a few bounds, he reached the porch, which an invisible hand opened quickly, and as quickly bolted after he had entered.

Meir put the child down in the dark passage, and he himself entered the sitting-room, where, by the light of the lamp, he saw the whole family assembled. Panting and breathless, he leaned against the wall, and his dull eyes looked slowly round the room. All were silent. Never since the house of Ezofowich had existed in the world had a member of that family looked like the pale, panting youth whose head was covered with dust and mud, and whose garments hung in tatters around him. The forehead, moist with the dew of mortal anguish, was marked across with a red scar, caused by a rough stone, or perhaps some blunt instrument in the darkness of the Bet-ha-Midrash.

But for the expression of pride and undaunted courage in his face, he might have been taken for a begging outcast or a hunted criminal.

Saul covered his face with both hands. Some of the women sobbed aloud. Raphael, Abraham, and other grave members of the family rose from their seats, stern and angry, and called out in one voice:

"Ill-fated lad!" They were about to surround him, and to speak to him, when suddenly the shutters flew open with a crash, the windows shattered into bits, and heavy stones thundered against the furniture from beyond the broken windows, yells and shouts arose, over which dominated the hoarse voice of the melamed. They called for Meir to give up the writing, heaped abuse and insults on the family, and threatened them with heaven's and the people's wrath.

The members of the family stood motionless, as if turned to stone with terror and shame.

Saul took his hands from his face, drew himself up proudly, and went quickly towards the door.

"Father, where are you going?" cried the men and women in terror.

He pointed his shaking hand at the window, and said:

"I will stand in the porch of my house, and tell the foolish rabble to be quiet, and take itself off."

They barred his way. The women clung around his shoulders and knees.

"They will kill you, father!" they moaned.

Suddenly the raging tumult ceased. Instead yells, a low murmur passed from mouth to mouth.

"The shamos! the shamos! the shamos!" It was indeed the same man who, silent and motionless, had sat on the steps of the Be-ha-Kahol waiting for orders, and who now approached the house of Ezofowich to proclaim the sentence of the tribunal before the family of the accused. The crowd, stirred by ardent curiosity to hear the sentence, pressed close to the windows, in which not a single pane of glass remained. Others, scattered over the square and in the neighbouring streets, drew nearer, and surrounded the house like a dark, living wall. The door of the house was opened and shut again, and the shamos entered the sitting-room.

He looked anxiously, almost suspiciously around, and bowed very low before Saul.

"Peace be with you," he said in a low voice, as if he himself felt the bitter irony of the greeting.

"Reb Saul," he began, in a somewhat more assured voice, "do not be angry with your servant if he brings shame and misfortune into your house. I obey the commands of the Rabbi, the elders, and the judges who sat in judgment upon your grandson Meir, and whose sentence I am ordered to read out to him and you all."

A deep silence followed upon his words. At last Saul, who stood leaning upon the shoulder of his son Raphael said in a low voice:

"Read."

The messenger unrolled the paper he was holding in his hand, and read:

"Isaak Todros, the son of Baruch, Rabbi of Szybow, together with the judges and elders of the Kahal, who constitute the tribunal of the community of Szybow, heard the following accusations, confirmed by many witnesses, against Meir Ezofowich, son of Benjamin:"

"Meir Ezofowich, son of Benjamin, is accused, and found guilty, of the crime of breaking the Sabbath. Instead of giving himself up to the study of holy books, he watched and defended the dwelling of the heretic Abel Karaim, and raised his hand in anger against Israelitish children."

(2.) "That Meir Ezofowich was seen reading the accursed book, 'More Nebuchim,' by Moses Majmonides, the false sage, excommunicated by many saintly rabbis and learned men; read this same book aloud to his companions, thus teaching them heresy and other abominations."

(3.) "That Meir Ezofowich held rebellious speeches against the covenant and the wise men of Israel, perverting thus their youthful minds."

(4.) "That under pretext of charity and pity for the poor of the town, he gave them criminal and foolish advice, saying, they ought to see what the elders did with the money they received from them; and further, they should distinguish in the covenant between God's work and people's invention; finally, told them to work in the fields like peasants."

(5.) "That having hair growing on his face, he refused to get married, and broke his engagement with the Israelitish girl Mera, daughter of Eli, and showed thereby his resolution to avoid the married state."

(6.) "That he lived in impure friendship with Golda, the granddaughter of a heretic, who, not belonging to the faithful, had been allowed to live in his place through the great charity of the Rabbi and the elders. Meir, the son of Benjamin, has been seen in their dwelling, and meeting the girl Golda in lonely places, taking flowers from her, and joining his voice with hers in worldly songs on a Sabbath."

(7.) "That he has not paid due respect to the learned men, and has raised a sacrilegious hand against the melamed Moshe, whom he knocked down, throwing the table upon him, causing, thereby, bodily harm to the melamed and great scandal to the community."

(8.) "That in his great, unheard-of malice, he denounced a brother Israelite, Reb Jankiel Kamionker, before an alien, thereby breaking the solidarity of his people, and bringing Reb Jankiel into trouble and perhaps danger."

(9.) "That in his boundless audacity he extracted the writing of his ancestor, Michael Senior, from its hiding-place, where it should have rotted away, and with criminal insolence read it to a large crowd of people, thereby endangering the old law and customs of the Israelites; and as the writing, we have been told, contains blasphemous and pernicious doctrines we consider the reading of the said document as the greatest of his crimes. Therefore, according to the power given us by our law over the sons of Israel, we decree:"

"That to-morrow after sunset, a great and terrible curse will be pronounced against the audacious and disobedient Meir Ezofowich, son of Benjamin, through the mouth of Rabbi Isaak, son of Baruch, for the hearing of which all the Israelites of Szybow and the environs will be summoned by the messenger; and Meir Ezofowich will be thrust out and ignominiously expelled from the bosom of Israel. All of you who remain faithful unto the Lord and the covenant live in peace and happiness with all your brethren in Israel."

The shamos had finished; and putting the paper under his coat, bowed low, and swiftly left the room.

For several minutes a deadly silence prevailed within and without.

Suddenly Meir, who had stood like one entranced, threw his arms wildly above his head and uttered a heart-broken cry:

"Expelled from Israel! cursed and expelled by my own people!" His voice died away in a loud sob. With his head pressed against the wall he sobbed in great anguish. It was enough to hear one of these sobs, which shook his whole frame, to guess that he had been wounded in the most vital part of his soul.

Then approached his uncles, their wives and daughters, with voices of entreaty, anger, threats, and prayers, beseeching him to give up the writing of the Senior, to let it be burned publicly, and perhaps the decree of the elders would be mitigated. The men crowded round him; the women kissed him.

Still shaken by sobs, and his face closely pressed to the wall, deaf to all the voices of entreaty and anger, his only answer was a motion with his head and the short monosyllable:

"No! No! No!"

This single word, thrown out amidst his sobs, was more eloquent than the longest speech: it expressed such deep suffering, love, and undaunted courage.

"Father," exclaimed Raphael, turning towards Saul, who sat alone and motionless, "Father! why do you not command him to humble himself? Bring him to reason; tell him to give up the writing to us, and we will carry it to the Rabbi and ask him to relent!"

When Raphael said this, Meir uncovered his face and turned it towards his grandfather.

Saul raised his head, stretched out his hands as if blindly groping for support, and then rose. The previously dull eyes became all at once singularly restless, till they met with the fixed look of his grandson. He opened his mouth, but no words came.

"Speak, father! command him!" urged several voices.

The old man seemed to totter on his feet. A cruel struggle was taking place within him. Several times he tried to speak, but could not. At last in a heavy whisper, he said:

"He is not cursed yet--I am still allowed:"

"In the name of the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob I bless you, son of my son!"

And trembling in every limb, his eyes full of tears, he sank back in his chair.

Those present exchanged glances of amazement and reverence. Meir bounded forward and threw himself at the feet of the old man. In a low, feverish voice he spoke of the love he bore him--about the Senior's legacy to his descendants, and that he would go into the world and come back sometime. Then he rose from his knees and quickly left the room.

At this moment there was nobody near the windows of the house. The great crowd of people had retreated towards the middle of the square, and there they stood almost motionless, quietly whispering with each other. A singular thing happened. Scarcely had the messenger finished reading the sentence when the storm of wrath and anger suddenly subsided. What had happened to them? Their emotional nature which, like a stringed instrument, answered to the slightest touch, quivered under a new feeling. It was respect and sympathy for the misfortune of an ancient and charitable family. The crowd, which such a short time before had yelled and cursed and was ready to tear everything to pieces, became suddenly quiet and subdued, and began to disperse peacefully. Here and there still sounded malicious laughter or insulting epithets, but more voices were heard in gentle pity.

"Yet he was good and charitable!"

"He never was proud!"

"He fed my foolish child and kissed it!"

"He saved my old father when the cart had fallen upon him!"

"He worked with us like a common man, and sawed wood!"

"His face shone with beauty and intelligence!"

"All eyes rejoiced looking at his young age!"

"Herem!! Herem! Herem!" (Excommunicated) repeated many.

Then they shook their heads in wonder, faces paled with horror, and breasts heaved with sighs.

***

Three shadows glided swiftly over the moonlit deserted fields which separated the town from the Karaite's Hill. The first belonged to a tall, slender man; the second to a child who clung to the sleeve of his garment; these two shadows were so close together that often they formed but one; the third shadow showed the outline of a burly figure, which kept carefully in the distance, now and then stood still or doubled up, at times disappearing altogether behind palings, shrubs, or trees. It was evident the shadow wanted to hide itself, and was looking for something, listening and watching for something or somebody.

At the open window of Abel's cottage a low voice called out:

"Golda! Golda!"

From the window bent a face, whitened in the moonlight, and surrounded by waves of black hair. A low passionate whisper sounded in the still evening air:

"Meir! Meir! I heard a terrible noise and awful voices! My heart trembled in fear; but it is nothing now you are here."

Two arms were stretched forth towards the approaching young man. The corals on her neck quivered under the throbbing emotion where sobs mingled with laughter.

Suddenly she uttered a piercing cry.

Meir stood before her, and she saw his torn garments and the red scar on his forehead.

She moaned, and put her hand gently on his brow, and caressingly touched the dusty hair and ragged clothes with the almost motherly feeling that longs to comfort and soothe. Meir sat on the bench in the posture of a man deadly tired. He leaned his head against the window-frame, and seemed to draw in the mild evening breeze. The moon reflected herself in the mournful eyes that were raised in question towards the silvery clouds. After a while he straightened himself and said quickly, in a low voice:

"Golda, people may search for me; if they find me they will take my treasure. I will give it to you to hide it, and then I will go into the fields and woods to cry out unto Jehovah for mercy."

The girl, too, stood straight and grave. "Give it to me," she said quietly. The leaves of the paper rustled in Meir's hands, and, giving them to the girl, he said:

"Hide it in your breast, and guard my treasure as the apple of your eye. It contains the precious words of my ancestor, which have removed all blindness from my eyes. They will be my passport which will open to me the doors and hearts of wise men. It is quiet here, and safe--nobody sees or suspects. When I am ready I shall come and ask you for it."

Golda took the paper.

"Rest tranquil about your treasure," she said. "I would rather lay down my life than give it up to anyone but you. It is safe here, it is quiet, nobody will suspect."

Meir rose from the bench.

"Sleep in peace," he said. "I must go; my soul is full of cries; I must walk, walk. I shall go and throw myself down among the trees, and send my prayers up to Jehovah with the evening breeze. I must unburden my mind of the heavy load."

He was going away, but Golda held him by the sleeve.

"Meir," she whispered, "tell me what has happened. Why did the people beat and hurt you? Why must you go out into the world?"

"People have beaten and stoned me," replied Meir gloomily, "because I would not go against the truth, and would not agree to what the people agree. I must go, because to-morrow a terrible curse will be pronounced against me, and I shall be excommunicated and expelled from Israel."

"Herem!" (the curse) shrieked the girl, and she threw her folded hands in horror above her head. She stood thus for a moment; then a gentle, thoughtful smile came on her face.

"Meir!" she whispered, "zeide is cursed and I am cursed; but the mercy of the Lord is greater than the greatest terror and His justice vaster than the vastest sea. When zeide reads this, he leaves off grieving and says: 'The cursed ones are happier than those that curse . . . because a time will come when the justice of the Lord will enter into the human heart, and then they will bless the names of those that have been cursed.'"

Meir looked at the girl, whose deep-set eyes glowed with inspiration.

"Golda!" he said softly, "you are the second half of my soul. Come with me into the world as my wife; holding each other's hands, we will bear the curse together and live so that people shall bless our names."

A great wave of fire passed over Golda's face and left it radiant with ineffable joy.

"Oh, Meir!" she exclaimed. She wanted to say something more, but could not. She bent her lithe figure very low and hung upon his arm.

He put his arm around her neck and pressed his lips to the wavy black hair. It was only for a moment. The girl straightened herself, and with the hot blush still dying her face, she said softly:

"And zeide?"

Meir looked at her like a man suddenly aroused from sleep. She went on in the same low voice:

"His feet are so weak that he could not go with us, and besides he would never leave the graves of his fathers. How can I leave him? How could he live without me, whom he brought up with his hands, taught to spin, to read the Bible, and told all his beautiful stories? Who would feed him if I went away? Who during the cold winter nights would lie at his feet and warm his cold limbs? And when the soul is about to part from his body, who will rock the old head to its eternal sleep? Meir! Meir! you have a grandfather whose hair is white as snow, and who will rend his garments when you are gone. But your zeide has many sons, daughters, and grandchildren; he is rich and respected by everybody. My zeide has only this poor hut, his old Bible and granddaughter Golda."

Meir sighed.

"You are right, Golda; but what will become of you when your grandfather dies, and you remain alone in the world, exposed to poverty and human scorn?"

Golda sat down because her limbs trembled. She passed both her hands over her hot face, and with upraised eyes replied:

"I shall sit before the door of this hut, spin my wool and tend my goats, looking along the road whence you will come back!"

It was an adaptation from the story of Akiba.

Meir asked dreamily:

"And what will you do if people come and laugh at you and say: 'Akiba is drinking at the spring of wisdom whilst your body is consumed with misery and your eyes are dull from weeping?'"

A voice stifled with emotion replied to him:

"I shall answer this: 'Let misery consume my body, and my eyes run over with tears; yet truly will I guard my husband's faith.' And if he stood before me and said: 'I have come back because I did not wish you to weep any longer,' I should say to him: 'Go and drink more.'"

Meir rose. There was no despair on his face now, but hope and courage depicted in his whole bearing.

"I will come back, Rachel," he exclaimed. "Jehovah will give me strength, and good people will help me if I show them my hard yearning after knowledge and the writing of the Senior, which is the covenant of peace between Israel and the nations. I shall drink long and eagerly at the spring of wisdom; then come back and teach my people, and for all the misery and contempt which you suffer, I shall put a golden crown upon your head."

Golda shook her head. The expression in her face showed she had been carried away by a wonderful dream. She dreamt she was Rachel, greeting her husband Akiba. With passionate eyes and a far-away smile, she whispered:

"And I shall embrace your knees, and with eyes that have regained their former beauty I shall look at all your glory and say: 'Lord and Master! your glory be my crown.'"

They looked long at each other, and through their tearful eyes there shone a love as deep and earnest as their hearts were pure and heroic.

A low, childish laughter reached their ears. They looked astonished in the direction whence it came. Upon the threshold of the hut sat Lejbele, holding in his arms a snow-white kid. The kid had been purchased at the fair with the money Golda had taken for the baskets. The child had seen it in the entrance, brought it out on the threshold, and nestled his face to the soft white hair and laughed aloud.

"The child always follows you," said Golda. "He kissed me to-day, when everybody beat and stoned me; with him I shielded my treasure against their strong hands," replied Meir. Golda disappeared from the window and stood upon the threshold. She bent over the child, her flowing hair covered his head and shoulders, and she kissed him on the forehead. Lejbele was not frightened; he seemed to feel safe here. He had seen the girl before, whose luminous eyes looked at him with an expression of great sweetness. He raised his grateful, now almost intelligent, eyes to her, and whispered:

"Let me play with this little goat?"

"Will you have some milk?" said Golda.

"Yes," he said; "please give me some."

She brought a bowl full of milk and fed the child; then asked:

"Why do you leave your father and mother, and follow Meir?"

The child rocked his head and replied:

"He is better than daddy, and better than mammy. He fed me and patted my head, and saved me from Reb Moshe."

"Whose little boy are you?" asked Golda. Lejbele remained silent and kept on rocking his head. He evidently tried to collect his confused thoughts. Suddenly he raised his finger and pointed after the retreating figure of Meir, and said aloud:

"I am his."

And he laughed: but it was no longer the laugh of an idiot, only the expression of joy that he had found the way to clothe in words the thoughts of his loving little heart.

Golda looked in the direction where Meir had disappeared, and sighed heavily. Presently she rose, wrapped herself in a gray shawl, went half-way up the hill, and sat down under a dwarfed pine-tree. Perhaps she wanted to look down and watch his return from the woods. Her elbows resting on her knees--her face buried in her hands, she sat motionless, like a statue of sorrow; the black hair which covered her like a mantle, glittered and shone in the bright moonlight.

At the same time the low door of the Rabbi's hut was softly opened and Reb Moshe crept in, looking worn, ashamed and troubled. He squatted down near the fireplace and looked anxiously at Isaak Todros who sat in the open window, his eyes fixed on the sky.

"Rabbi!" he whispered timidly.

"Rabbi!" he said a little louder, "your servant will look guilty in your eyes--he has not brought the abominable writing. The storm was fearful, but his friends defended him; he resisted himself, and then a little child shielded him. The foolish people tore his clothes, beat, abused and stoned him; but did not take the writing from him."

"Nassi! your servant is ashamed and troubled; have mercy upon him, and do not punish him with the lightning of your eyes."

Todros, without taking his eyes from off the sky, said:

"The writing must be taken from him and delivered into my hands."

"Nassi! the writing is no longer in his hands."

"And where is it?" said the Rabbi, in a louder voice, without turning round.

"Rabbi! I should not have dared to appear before you, had I not known what became of it. I followed him--my whole soul entered into my eyes and ears. I saw how he gave the writing to the Karaitish girl to hide it; I heard how he called it his treasure, and his passport to go into the world with, and which would open for him the hearts of the people."

Todros shuddered convulsively.

"It is true," he whispered angrily. "That writing will be to him a shield and weapon, on which our sharpest arrows will have no effect. Moshe!" he said, in a more determined voice, "the writing must be taken from the Karaitish girl."

The melamed crawled to his master's knees, and raising his face to him said, in a low voice:

"Rabbi! the girl said she would sooner lay down her life than part with the writing."

Todros was silent for a moment, and then repeated:

"The writing must be taken from her."

The melamed remained, silent and thoughtful for a long time.

"Rabbi!" he said in a very low whisper, "and if anything happens to the girl?"

Todros did, not answer at once. At last he said:

"Blessed is the hand that removes garbage from the house of Israel!"

The melamed seemed to drink in the words eagerly and ponder over their meaning. Then he smiled.

"Rabbi!" he said, "I have understood your wish--depend upon your servant; he will find men whose hands are strong and whose hearts are steel. Rabbi!" he added, entreatingly, "let a gentle ray from your eyes fall upon your servant; let him see your wrath is softened towards him. My soul without your love and favour is like a well without water or a dark prison where no love enters."

Todros replied:

"No gentle ray will come from my eye, nor will my wrath be softened till the writing has been torn out of the accursed hands."

Moshe groaned:

"Rabbi, the writing shall be in your hands tomorrow."

The moon fell bright upon the faces of both men, of whom one looked at the heavens, the other into his master's face. The master searched the heavens for the silvery streaks which are the ways the angels travel from star to star through eternity; the pupil looked into the master's eyes for the reflection of the supernatural light.

In both their minds the name of the angel of death whom they had called up was present--yet both their hearts were full of love and boundless admiration.