"We boys spent our time monotonously and quietly, our life was now made beautiful by the love of our little friend Carpel. But on a sudden the hardest blow that could befall us, destroyed our calm happiness. It was that feast of atonement when I and my brother, as we should in a few days be thirteen years old; were fasting for the first time. The day was declining, the departing sunbeams cast their red light, that gradually faded before the advancing darkness, through the lofty narrow windows of the Old-Synagogue, and the tapers were already dimly burning. A profound silence prevailed in the vast space filled with worshippers, when my father stepped to the desk to offer the appointed evening prayer. I myself, though weary and excited, leant against the marble enchased wall which incloses the steps that lead up to the tabernacle in order to look my father in the face as I listened. He was a wonderfully glorious man and at that moment was like an angel. Thus had my childish spirit pictured the Prophet Elias!--His form was tall and unbowed. The dark beard, but scantily sprinkled with grey, fell down upon his breast and curved strikingly upwards against the long white robe, while the locks of his hair, which forced their way from under his turban, were already shining in the silvery glimmer. His noble face now bore a stamp of the deepest devotion, and over his flashing eyes, whose glance kindled enthusiasm, there glowed a dark purple flame in the centre of his forehead. The prayers on the day of atonement are striking, but in my father's mouth they made an extraordinary impression. He did not look into the prayer-book that laid open before him, but gazed heavenwards, so that it seemed as if what he was saying came from the inspiration of the moment, as if he was a divinely inspired seer. Every word that sounded with the full melody of his voice from his lips penetrated victoriously and irresistibly into the hearts of all present. As he repeated the confession of sins with agitating expressiveness all were melted into tears, and when on the other hand he gave utterance in prayer to a devout trust in God's mercy, all felt exalted and strengthened. At length he came to the end. With pious confidence in God he intoned seven times at the top of his voice: 'The everlasting is our God' and as the thousand voiced loud chorus of all who were present broke magnificently against the vault of God's temple, my father sank suddenly down:--I caught him in my arms....
"'I die,' he said in a feeble but audible voice. 'Lord of this world! my father dared to breathe his life away upon the scaffold for the glory of Thy holy name.--Me Thou hast not accounted worthy of this favour.... but Thou permittest me to die here, on holy ground, reconciled to Thee, at the conclusion of the festival of atonement.--Father of all I thank thee!'--then he signed to my brother also to draw near him, and said in faint dying voice that grew ever weaker and weaker: 'My children, time presses.... Your mother rests in the grave at Cologne.... In Prague, as attendant in this consecrated house, I have passed the loveliest most tranquil years of my life.... Love one another.... sorrow not, despair not!... What God doeth that is well done.... this world is but the vestibule of the next, bear this ever in mind, and some dayon your own deathbeds inculcate it on your children--a benediction--a faint 'Hear oh Israel,' and the noble man was no more!
"The day but one after we stood weeping at his grave as we returned to our now desolate house, I asked my brother: 'What shall we do now?' The sensible boy fixed his bright eyes upon me. 'Didst thou not hear what our father said at his decease? Your mother lies buried in Cologne ... We have prayed to-day at our father's grave, shall we not also visit the last resting-place of our dear forsaken mother?'
"'Yes, yes dear, brother,' I cried, casting myself with loud sobs on his breast, 'to Cologne, to Cologne, to our mother's grave.'
"During the seven days of mourning we arranged that directly after the feast of tents we would start on our long journey. To our single friend the little Carpel we made known our intention to his deep and infelt regret. Tears rose in the poor boy's eyes, but he repressed them like a man, that he might not vex us still more. On the feast of Tabernacles we both, my brother and I, kept our 13th birthday. It was just the day on which expositions are made. We attended the early service and got ourselves called upon to expound. Then we went to the burial ground, where the rulers of the Old-synagogue had caused a handsome gravestone to be erected to my father, on which a bunch of grapes and the symbols of a Levite were chiselled.... and then with slender bundle on back and staff in hand went forth from the gate. Carpel accompanied us for an hour. He pressed a small purse into the hand of each of us, and assured us, that it consisted entirely of his own savings and that he had said nothing to his father about this present. Then we renewed once more our covenant of eternal friendship....
"'Forget me not, dear friends,' said Carpel as he took farewell.... 'Mosche! I thank thee once more; we are still boys, but shall some day be men, do not forget, Mosche; that in Prague you have a friend, whose life you have saved, who is for ever thy debtor, who is prepared every moment of his life to pay the heavy debt.... Forget me not, as I will never forget thee! Carpel kissed me, my brother, then flung himself once more sobbing aloud on my breast. Exerting all the force of my soul I at length tore myself away.... We set off, Carpel sat himself down upon a hillock and gazed weeping after us.... He was very sorry for us.... We were so lonely, so forsaken. Father and mother lying in the grave, and our one faithful little friend staying behind in despair!--Ignorant of the road we wandered over all Germany. We experienced many a sorrow, many a pain, but were sometimes entertained compassionately and sympathetically. After a difficult journey of many months we at length arrived at the end of our travel, at Cologne. Our hearts beat high as we passed through the city-gate. But the unwonted fatigues of the long way, had exhausted my brother's strength, and the poor boy fell down, sick and worn out, in the open street. I was alone with him in a strange city, my burning eyes sought help despairingly--then God sent us a preserver. An elderly gentleman stepped out of the house on the threshold of which my brother was lying unconscious.
"'A sick child in the open street?' he enquired, 'who is the boy?'
"'It is my brother,' I answered shyly, 'we are orphans, we have come from far away out of Bohemia, to visit our mother's grave....'
"'Carry the boy into the room upstairs,' was the gentleman's order, 'lay him in bed, let him have some broth, I will attend to him directly....'
"'We are Jew-boys, gracious Sir,' I cried quickly.
"'I too am a Jew,' smiled the worthy man, 'I am Baruch Süss, favourite physician to our gracious Elector, the Archbishop of Cologne.'"
Gabriel shuddered but read on:--
"Bustling servants carried my sick brother up the broad stairs into a splendidly furnished room and laid him in bed. I stayed with my brother. The noble humane Baruch Süss examined him with the greatest attention and found that he was lying sick of an inflammatory fever, that he probably would require nothing but complete repose, and that it would not be possible to form a decided opinion as to the further progress of the disorder till after a lapse of one and twenty days.--Suddenly fresh childs' voices were heard at the door, which was pulled open and two lovely maidens peeped into the room. The roguish smile on their face rapidly yielded to the deepest emotion, as their father enjoined silence by a sign, and informed them in a low voice that they must give up their room for the present to a poor parentless boy, who had fallen suddenly ill in the street.The two maidens were the daughters of Baruch Süss, Miriam and Perl."
The manuscript escaped from Gabriel's nervously trembling hand. Must the memory of his grandfather, of his mother, just to-day, in the hour when, obstinately advancing, he wished to cut off the last possibility of retreat, must it just to-day be awakened in him in such a strange, unexpected, he was obliged reluctantly to admit, in such an almost miraculous manner? Was he perhaps to discover in this writing, that a curious accident had played into his hands at a critical moment, a solution of the mystery of his birth? And if he did find it, should he account all these remarkable coincidences as chance, or rather as a wonderful proof of that all powerful providence which he had often so defiantly challenged? These thoughts assailed Gabriel with all the compass of their fearful import, and worked upon him all the more effectually, as the tide of the swiftly succeeding events of the day was calculated to shake the strongest determination. He paced impetuously up and down the room. "I must not read further," he muttered to himself, "till I have embraced a resolution. If I should find a disclosure about my father in this manuscript, if I durst hope that he would fold me in his arms, that he would press me lovingly to his breast, Gabriel, what in the whole past, what in the future would matter unto you? If I could find my father, if I could find him such as I have always pictured him to myself in the short moments of blissful dreams, if such I could fold him in my arms--though it were but for the most infinitesimal instant of time that the human mind can conceive--God!"
Gabriel's passionate excitement had attained a height that may easily be imagined. In the most violent excess of a feeling that eagerly sought an escape he had uttered the word, that, at least in his self-communings, had not passed his lips for a long series of years, and he almost shuddered, as the strange sound fell, if involuntarily, almost believingly from his mouth....
"But if he be dead, and gone," cried Gabriel, looking up suddenly almost joyfully, "if I should learn precisely out of this manuscript, that he is irrecoverably lost to me.... if then no other tie than vengeance, continues to bind me to this life,then,then, ... my purpose remains immoveable."
He sat down, and his eyes could not fly over the somewhat faded characters with sufficient swiftness. He read on:--
"My brother was taken the best care of. Death had once ravished from our benefactor Baruch Süss two hopeful boys in one week. These boys must have been of about our age, and this circumstance heightened the sympathy that his noble heart felt for us, especially for my sick brother.--It happened just as Baruch Süss had prophesied. For three weeks my brother lay in fever and delirium: on the twenty first day he dropped for the first time into a profound and peaceful slumber. Süss waited for the sick child's waking with almost fatherly compassion. At length my poor brother to my inexpressible delight opened his beautiful dark eyes, raised himself in bed, and looked about him in wonderment. 'Where are we? Mosche!' he asked in a feeble trembling voice. I threw myself passionately on to his neck and my tears bedewed his pale sunken cheeks.
"'Thou hast been ill, poor child,' said Süss, 'God has permitted thy recovery, thou must be grateful to him.'
"I related with an overflowing feeling of gratitude, with how much goodness our benefactor had behaved towards us, and as my brother seized the noble man's hand in deep emotion, pressed it to his quivering lips, and vainly struggled after words to express his heartfelt thanks, a strange convulsive movement passed over the face of Süss, and his eyes filled with tears.... 'You are dear good boys!' he said, profoundly agitated.... The memory of his two early lost sons may have combined with the warm sympathy of his own great heart. He hurried out of the room, that he might not depress the spirits of the convalescent by his unwonted emotion. We remained alone. At this moment we felt ourselves infinitely calmed, we did not stand any longer so entirely alone, so entirely forsaken! Süss allowed the convalescent to take fresh air in the garden attached to his house, and it was there, that we became better acquainted with his daughters. They were probably rather younger than ourselves. Both of them, but especially Miriam the elder, had been endowed with the most excellent natural gifts. Their extraordinary and, especially for maidens of their age, almost unparalleled beauty most perfectly harmonised with a subtle, comprehensive, deeply penetrating intellect, with a disposition that seemed formed to be a shining example to youthful womanhood. The friendly, confiding, almost sisterly behaviour of the girls which their good father manifestly approved of, made a profound, inerasable impression upon us.
"So long as my brother was not quite recovered, we dared not think of accomplishing the aim of our journey, of visiting our mother's grave. It cost me a severe struggle, not to hasten alone to the burial ground, but it would have vexed my poor brother, and I loved him so fervently!
"At last he was strong enough.... we walked out to the burial ground. Our father had given us a sufficient description of the stone that covered our mother's grave; we found it easily, and the long desired aim of our journey was reached. The frame of mind in which we found ourselves I cannot paint to you, my dear children? The most reverential fear, the most sorrowful emotion seized powerfully hold of our young minds.... We prayed long and softly, and when at length we were forced to tear ourselves away in order to return home, we flung ourselves with loud sobs into each other's arms. 'We have no father, no mother, ...' said my brother, deeply moved. 'I have only thee, thou hast only me!--I will love thee for ever, for ever, I will never forsake thee, never! Brother, love me too, as I love thee!...'
"I could not answer from excitement. I folded him impetuously to my loud-beating heart, and pressed my hot lips to his pale forehead, on which at that instant a bright streak of flame was burning. The firm bond of brotherly love was to be knitted if possible still more closely, the beautiful covenant was anew concluded, in a sacred hour, in a spot that was infinitely holy to us children!
"'What will you do now?' asked Süss, when we returned, grave and agitated, to his house. This question surprised us. Since our father's death we had entertained no other thought, could not have grasped any other thought than to pray at our mother's grave. It had so entirely filled our young minds, had kept our spirits in such perpetual excitement, that we had not even for a moment considered what was to come after, that we now for the first time cast a scrutinising look upon our future. We stood with downcast eyes for a while in silence before Süss. My brother recovered himself first. 'What do we propose to do?' he repeated.--'Before anything else to render thanks to you, dear benefactor, for your inexpressible goodness, for the kindness, for the fatherly affection that you have devoted to us poor forsaken orphans in such abundant measure, to thank you for tending me a poor boy, and with God's assistance healing me in a sore sickness--to thank you, ye dear good girls for your compassion, for that ye were not proud towards the poor stranger boys, that you weeped when I was sick and rejoiced, when the good God let me recover,--for that you were kind to us as sisters, you rich beautiful maidens to us poor, poor boys!' ... and next he continued after a short pause during which he strove to overcome his deep emotion, and swallowed with an effort his hot tears, next we shall pursue our journey, go to some school, study God's word, and endeavour to become worthy of our father Reb Jizchok Meduro, to become worthy of our grandfather, who ended his life heroically upon the scaffold, in remembrance of whom the fiery mark sparkles on our forehead in moments of sanctification!'
"My brother ceased; he was glorious to look upon, his eyes flashed beaming with soul, and the fiery mark of which he spoke, even then rose splendidly and contrasted with the pale, still somewhat sickly, child's face, with the pure forehead white as alabaster.--I gazed with a sad fraternal pride on my twin-brother, who seemed to draw his words in strange wise out of his breast. The two girls sobbed softly, and Baruch Süss required some time to collect himself.
"'I will not let you go, you dear fine boys,' he cried, 'never, no never God forbid that I should let you go out into the wide world, forsaken, orphaned. Seeing that a fortunate dispensation caused you to cross my threshold, you must now remain with me. I too had once two beautiful good boys.... The Lord hath taken them from me. Will you supply their place to me? Will you be my sons, will you be the brothers of these girls?'
"This unlooked for offer took us by surprise. The blissful feeling that we had suddenly, unexpectedly, found a new home struggled with an innate proud reluctance to accept a benefit for which we could make no return save our boundless gratitude.--We wavered for an instant and knew not what reply to make; but when Miriam grasping our hands with tearful eye and trembling voice implored us not to go away, to stay with her father--it seemed to us as if no opposition could be thought of; we stayed.
"Baruch Süss treated us ever with fatherly kindness, and we always succeeded in preserving his favour. Our late father had already initiated us in the study of God's word, and so it came to pass, that in spite of our youth we had soon made rapid progress. In the house of Süss we had now full leisure to indulge in our wonted occupations. All our wants were cared for in the kindest manner, and we soon felt as much at home as in the house of our parents--Baruch Süss was besides so good as to let us be instructed in those sciences, of which our father in the tenderest years of our boyhood had only been able to give us the first indications. His exertions in our favour had the best consequences. The examples of our forefathers continually hovered before our souls, and urged us to the greatest industry, to the highest sacrifices. We were soon proposed as a brilliant pattern to the Jewish youth, not only in Cologne, but in the whole Rhine-country--our names were every where mentioned with distinction, and Baruch Süss felt himself thereby richly rewarded. We lived happily and contentedly, and grew up.--I may now when all that is over say so--two splendid youths, equally well developed in mind and body, while Miriam and Perl blossomed into exquisitely lovely young women.
"I had arrived at the age, when the heart willingly opens to love. Miriam's infinite attractiveness, the enrapturing grace of her demeanour, her noble heart, her wonderfully penetrating mind, had made a powerful, ineffaceable impression upon me, an impression that soared to the height of love. I did not make the slightest attempt to conquer this noble passion. Miriam's most friendly kindest sympathy did not permit me to regard my bold hopes as unattainable, the less that Baruch Süss too, when we became young men, made no difference in his domestic economy, allowed us to make use of the intimate 'Thou' to his daughters, and recognised our deserts with almost fatherly affection.--His immense wealth, his influence, his position at the electoral court, made it moreover possible for him in the choice of his sons-in-law to neglect the petty considerations which so frequently stand in the way of the dearest wishes. I rocked myself in dreams of a happy glad future, but I avoided giving expression to these sweet dreams and my hopes remained for months a secret even to my dear and infinitely loved brother, to my brother whom in fact I loved more than myself! At length it seemed to me treachery against my fraternal affection, if I should any longer preserve silence with respect to a feeling that struck daily deeper root in my soul. We occupied a room in common, and in the dusk of a fading summer's day I opened my heart to him. I held my arms twined about his neck, and leant my head on his cheeks. It seemed to me, as if he suddenly shivered and began to tremble; but I convinced myself that it was a delusion, and as he gazed for a long while fixedly before him, I thought, that liveliest sympathy for me had plunged him into a deep reverie. I sought to read his features, but the increasing darkness made this impossible. 'Art thou then convinced that Miriam loves thee?' he enquired at length in a dull voice. I had often put the same question to myself, and ever given it an answer favourable to myself, and Miriam's behaviour justified me in doing so; but I forgot that she behaved exactly in the same way to my brother, and it was only the later unfavourable turn, which this connection, that at first caused me so much happiness, took, which directed my attention to that fact, without however my being ever able to fully make out the real state of the case: and even to this day, when manifold experiences have increased my knowledge of human nature, I cannot say for certain whether Miriam then loved me or my brother, or whether her virgin heart hovered in anxious timorousness between us. At that time I believed that I could answer my brother's question with an honest yes. The dejected silence into which my brother sunk anew, was equally misunderstood by me, I thought that I saw therein only an excessive fear lest Baruch Süss should refuse me his daughter's hand. I remained but a short time involved in this error; I was suddenly bitterly undeceived. Some days afterwards I awoke in the night and heard a loud and violent talking and weeping in my room. I sprung swiftly from my couch. It was a clear starlight night, and the pale moonlight fell just upon my brother's bed--he, as was often the case with him, was talking in his dreams. The sorrow, that was printed on the sleeper's face, the large tears, that welled from under his closed lashes and rolled over his pale cheeks, filled me for a moment with a strange pensive grief; but I soon smiled at my childish pity. I would wake him, scare away the evil dream, that enchained his mind--but as I was about to call him, there fell on my soul, as it were a quivering flash of lightning, followed by a roaring thunderclap, and the words which escaped slowly from his lips became on a sudden clear and transparent.--I listened with restrained breath.
"'I love my dear brother more than life,' he said, 'and he loves Miriam!... Hush, Hush! No one shall hear of it, but Thou, my God and Lord; Thou that beholdest my writhing, lacerated heart.... I will be silent, silent as the grave for ever.... not Miriam, not my brother, no man shall hear of it.... Oh! indeed I am glad, brother! dear brother, take Miriam for thy bride.... and, I can surely die! I will not trouble the joy of your wedding day, I will not weep.... No! I will be glad and laugh at your happiness, will laugh so right heartily, as on my brother's day of rejoicing, on the wedding day of him whom I most ardently love.... Oh, mine is no forced laugh, I laugh so truly from my whole heart; see--ha, ha, ha!...'
"But my brother did not laugh, but sobbed convulsively. My heart contracted frightfully, an indescribable, almost physically painful grief thrilled through me--I could not at first speak for maddening sorrow, but then cried aloud, casting myself upon the bed of my sleeping brother: 'no, dear one, no, thou shalt not give her up.... Miriam shall be thine.... thine, thine, for ever.'
"My brother awoke.--What I said, showed him clearly, that I was acquainted with his heart's secret. I lay upon his breast sobbing aloud.
"'A woman, dear brother!' he began at length with trembling voice vainly striving for composure--'a woman, though it were the glorious Miriam, shall not divide our hearts. Thee only I possessed in the wide world, thou wert my all, brother! Dost yet remember, how thou, thyself sick and weary, didst carry me in thy arms, when on our journey to the mother's grave I had wounded my foot? Dost yet remember, how thou didst watch at my sick-bed for three weeks together, and didst scarcely get any sleep? Dost yet remember, how our dying father exhorted us to love one another? Dost yet remember, how we renewed the covenant at our mother's grave?--And do you think that I, that I have forgotten all that, all that? No, brother: take thou Miriam to wife.... be happy!
"A noble strife arose between us. Each of us wished to give up with bleeding heart, and neither would accept the sacrifice offered by fraternal love.--The most curious, the strangest ideas, such as could only be born of so desperate a situation, danced in rapid succession before us.--Lot, Miriam herself should decide; but they were rejected as fast as entertained. At last a manly resolution the fruit of a long painful struggle ripened in us:we would both give her up. Neither of us should possess Miriam, and our love should remain a secret for ever. In our mutual passionate brotherly love we determined to forget the infinite sorrow that filled us.--
"We wished, we were bound to leave the house at daybreak, to which the mightiest ties enchained us. On the next day we stood pale, confused, with tears in our eyes before our friend Süss who had loved us as a father, and declared to him with hesitating voice our suddenly formed resolution of leaving his house, of proceeding farther on our journey. Süss was alarmed, he glared at us speechlessly, our fixed purpose seemed to have overthrown one of his favourite schemes. He vainly endeavoured to detain us, fruitlessly enquired the reason that had caused us to take a step so unexpected. 'Stay with me, I have good designs for you....' repeated Süss over and over again sadly, and when he saw how immovably we remained true to our purpose, he said at length painfully subduing his pride: 'Stay with me, be my sons.... I have only daughters, two lovely glorious daughters.... but I wish also to have two sons.... Will you not be my sons? My daughters, I have good ground for thinking so, are affectionately disposed towards you....' Süss said no more, his parental pride struggled with his parental love.--To us it was clear that Süss had intended to make choice of us as his sons-in-law, and that his daughters had fully shared the wish. I and my brother, as twins usually are, were almost exactly like one another, for which of us would Miriam have decided? A painful torturing pause ensued. Süss could not divine the real reason, why we who had entered his house as poor orphan boys, despised his exquisitely graceful daughters, the loveliest, wealthiest, noblest maidens among the German Jews. We, my brother and I, needed all the strength of our manhood, not to succumb to the unutterable pain of despair. One of us must of necessity be standing close to that hotly desired aim, that we both, each with the fullest force of his will, were striving to attain--and now to be obliged to draw back, to be obliged to draw back in silence, and by so doing to inflict an injury perhaps mortal on him whom we loved beyond measure--that thought annihilated us.
"Süss, wounded in the most sensitive place of his heart, in his pride as a father, was profoundly mortified. 'I cannot and must not detain you any longer,' he said with bitter grief.... 'Go!... may you never repent having thus departed.' Then he stepped hastily to the door and said with an accent that rent our hearts: 'Oh, would that you had never crossed the threshold of my house!...'
"We would not thus separate from our benefactor. We hastened after him to his room--it was closed against us: We sent by an old servant of the house to ask that we might as a favour be allowed to take farewell of his daughters, it was refused us. We almost succumbed to the unutterable grief of despair..... On the evening of that same day we proposed to leave Cologne, the inexhaustible goodness of Süss furnished us with an abundant outfit for our further journey--but he would never see us again. At night-fall we got into the travelling carriage, that waited for us at the back door of the house. We cast a sorrowful look at the window of that room which Miriam occupied.... two maiden faces looked forth into the gathering twilight, and the violent trembling of one of them, who pressed her handkerchief to her eyes, showed that she was sobbing impetuously--it was Miriam!
"Our hearts beat audibly, my brother's beautiful features were frightfully disfigured, he must have suffered as unutterable woe as I did.--I gazed into his face, visibly convulsed with sorrow. 'Brother,' I said, 'there is yet time.... I can renounce.... do thou return to Miriam. If Miriam wavers between us both, or even if she loves but one of us, thy return will be decisive in thy favour.... Thou, Miriam, our benefactor Süss, you all will be happy....'
"'And thou?' asked my brother in a tone of the woefullest reproach.
"'I go far away and strive to forget....' I tried hard to answer, but my voice shook, and tears rolled irrestrainably over my cheeks. My brother fell sobbing into my arms.--'I will never forsake thee, Brother!' he cried--'good brother! cast me not away from thy noble heart.'
"We went from one school to another; our name was already known far and wide, we met with a friendly reception everywhere: but we felt nowhere at home. We never mentioned Miriam, but the memory of this hapless love threw a gloom over our life. We plunged with unwearied industry into the study of God's word, we increased our stores of knowledge, but the thorn in our bleeding hearts did not therefore pain us the less.... We had acquired in the Talmudic world an unheard of renown for students, we were often honoured by letters from illustrious Rabbis, who desired our advice, our opinion upon scientific religious questions. The most important Rabbinates were offered to us, we might have obtained the highest aim of a Talmud-student. But neither of us could do so. Memory still drove us unquietly from place to place.
"A year had elapsed since our departure from Cologne, when in one of our wanderings we happened to hear that the younger daughter of the wealthy electoral physician Süss had given her hand to her cousin Joel Rottenberg of Worms, while the elder had previously absolutely refused to enter into the bond of matrimony. This news filled both of us with a strange sensation of sadness. To each of us, though he dared not allow it to himself--a ray of hope seemed to dawn:--and yet neither of us would have been made happy without the other. Once more, for the last time I asked my brother whether he would return to Miriam; but he saw my soul's infinite sorrow, after a short violent struggle his fraternal affection conquered, he stayed with me; we would never separate:
"Another year elapsed, we were then living in Germersheim, a community not far from Spires. We had in the course of our short residence there won the approval and respect of the Rabbi, and when he died soon after our arrival, he enjoined the community upon his death-bed to elect one of us as his successor, and it besieged us with petitions that one of us would accept the vacant chair of the Rabbi; and marry the daughter of the defunct who lived with her now widowed mother. I was still in no mood to accept these offers, however attractive and honourable they might be; my brother also decidedly refused them. We determined therefore to withdraw ourselves from all further discussion by a distant journey. I was busily occupied in my little room in the house of the Rabbi's widow packing my effects for the journey, when my brother suddenly entered. He was pale as a corpse, his looks were troubled.
"'Do you know what a foreign student has just been relatingin the lecture-room?'
"'What?'
"'Miriam Süss has at length yielded to her father's entreaty and given her hand to her cousin Joseph Süss of Spires.--The wedding was solemnised magnificently at Cologne.'--
"I felt a warm sympathy for my brother; at that moment I perceived for the first time that he was of a more passionate nature than I. The heavy blow, which I had expected for years, came upon him like a thunderbolt out of a blue sky. He fell upon a chair, in vain he pressed his hands to his face, the tears welled out between his fingers.
"'But brother, brother,' I cried, myself struggling to keep down all the recollections and thoughts that awoke within me, couldest thou have expected anything else? Why troublest thou thyself? What can it now signify to thee? be a man, brother, be strong!'
"'God!' sobbed my brother, 'could I have known that!... could I have known that Miriam would be so weak as to forget me! oh! brother, brother, believe me, Miriam loved only me, me and none else, she could love no one, as she loved me! oh, I made a great, an infinitely great, sacrifice to thee, when I gave her up,fruitlessly gave her upto thee!... oh! why wert thou not magnanimous, why didst thou accept this sacrifice?'
"I looked into my brother's face with the deepest grief, I had never seen him so passionate, so excited before, and yet I thought that I knew him as well as myself, for was he not my twin-brother. It seemed to me almost as if at that moment the dark night of madness was shadowing his clear spirit. The fire in his eyes sparkled wildly and weirdly.
"'Thou hast made a fruitless sacrifice of thyself to me?' I repeated painfully agitated: 'did I desire it, did I wish for it?--and I, I? dost think my heart is of stone? dost think that I have suffered less than thou, because I have said nothing? I too have often screamed in the bitter agony of my soul, as I watched in despair through the long melancholy night.--Consider, brother! I, I do not reproach thee.'
"I suffered inexpressibly: the news, which again painfully tore open my heart's wounds, joined to the passionate unjust reproaches of my brother, whom I loved so tenderly, by whom I believed that I was so tenderly loved, agitated my mind with such violence that I fell dangerously ill. For eight weeks I strove with the angel of death. In the confused wild fever dreams of my sickness it sometimes seemed to me as if an angel approached my couch, as if a girl's white hand touched my burning forehead--once I thought, that a lovely woman bent over my bed and that a tear rolled down upon my face.--God--praised be his name--granted my recovery. He refreshed me with the springs of his infinite grace. The sickness had had the most beneficial, the most inexplicable influence upon my life. A new fresh stream of blood seemed to roll through my veins. I was restored not only to bodily, but also to mental health. My love for Miriam, now the wife of another, which I must have violently eradicated, had died out in a miraculous manner. Oh yes, it was a miracle! and I thanked God for that instance of his goodness!--The noble handsome girl who had nursed me with more than a sister's care, who had watched night after night by my bed, full of sympathy and compassion, was thy mother, dear Schöndel.--Leah the daughter of the Rabbi's widow.... Thy mother was lovely and good. As long as Miriam had reigned in my heart, I had not noticed the wonderfully beautiful maiden, but now, that I was once more free, my earnest gratitude was easily converted into an infelt, fervent, faithfully returned love. Half a year after my convalescence Leah became my wife, and I took my seat in the Rabbi's chair at Germersheim.
"During my sickness my brother had shown me the most self-sacrificing love, and had attached himself again to me with the greatest tenderness, as though to make me forget the inauspicious reproach that had pained me so much. I had never borne ill will against him. True it is that he had shaken with rude hand the firm bonds, that held our hearts entwined, that the hasty word which he had uttered, had touched me to the quick,--but, dear children! you do not know what brotherly love is, you do not know, how one loves a brother, and above all a twin-brother!... From our birth, from our mother's lap we had been united to one another by the sweetest holiest bonds.--The same pulsation had stirred our hearts, we had lain on the same mother's breast, we had hitherto fairly and equally shared every sorrow and every joy.--I could not help it, I was constrained to love my brother with undiminished cordiality!
"In the first year of a happy peaceful marriage thy mother presented me with an admirably beautiful girl, with thee, dear Schöndel.... I was happy, but my happiness endured but for a short time; eight days after your birth thy dear never to be forgotten mother died! You may conceive my profound grief! I formed a firm immoveable resolution never to marry again, and following my father's lofty example to dedicate my whole life to the study of God's word, to the religious care of my community, to the education of my only beloved child.--In the conscientious performance of my duties I at length found tranquillity, and when thou, Schöndel, didst gaze at me with thy sweet child-like smile, when thou didst extend to me thy little delicate hands, I felt myself almost happy!
"My brother was my faithful companion. He occupied a small room in my house and studied almost the whole of the day. My heart was filled with the sad remembrance of my deceased wife, so soon snatched from me. I never thought of Miriam except with a sensation of friendly gratitude. Every feeling of love for her.--I have already said so--had quite died out in me. I could have calmly conversed with my brother about her father and sister: but I did not dare to do so, because the profound silence which he preserved, was an unmistakeable sign, that he had not yet conquered his once deep felt love, that it still remained rankling with full strength in his soul. Miriam's name therefore never again crossed our lips. Many advantageous offers of marriage were proposed to my brother, he was elected as Rabbi by many important German communities: but he firmly refused everything, and paid no attention to my well meaning advice.... We often sat all day together, plunged in the study of the Talmud. Once we were engrossed in the solution of a case that had been laid before me for my decision by two Rabbis, who could not come to an agreement with respect to it. We had long remained seated, then in the eagerness of discussion began walking round the room, and at last, as was often the case, happened to stop before the open window. My brother was just on the point of controverting a proposition that I had laid down, when he cast a glance through the window.... He instantly became dumb, his arms fell powerlessly by his side, his lips moved convulsively, but emitted no sound.
"'What ails thee, brother?' I asked in terror.
"He made no answer, but stretched out his arms and pointed to the street; I saw a lady, stepping out of a travelling carriage.
"'What ails thee, brother?' I repeated more earnestly 'I see nothing that can have discomposed you to such a degree.'
"My brother gazed fixedly at me, as if he thought my question an incomprehensible one, then pointed once more at the lady and collecting all his strength, screamed involuntarily in a loud shrill voice: 'Miriam Süss!' and trembling convulsively fell down pale as a corpse. My brother did not come to himself till late in the evening. He was right, it was Miriam. Joseph Süss her husband, had a lawsuit with the magistracy of the city of Spires, and wished to wait for the issue of it at the adjacent town of Germersheim. His wife had followed him. I felt sorry that Joseph Süss had selected just Germersheim for his residence, not for my own but for my brother's sake.
"I did not venture to talk to my brother about Miriam's presence; the sight of her had too much affected him. I made a slight attempt to advise him to go a journey while her stay lasted in Germersheim; but his eyes flashed, as he answered: 'Brother, I have no one in the wide world save thee! I have sacrificed everything, the dearest thing on earth, to thee, cast me not away from thy presence!'
"After a time he became gradually calmer, and I was already beginning to indulge a hope, that he had reconciled himself to his immutable destiny, when after the expiration of some months his behaviour again altered in a strange and striking way. My brother avoided my society, came to me seldomer and seldomer, till at last he shut himself up in his room, and refused either to see me or speak to me. I did not know how to explain this to myself, and only waited a convenient opportunity, to have a private conversation with him. This I at length found, I was usually the first in God's house, and as a rule unlocked its doors. One morning, it was winter. I stepped into the dark and quite empty interior, shortly afterwards the iron gates grated again and a form appeared on the steps that led into the inner synagogue. The pale trembling light of the lamp that ever burneth revealed to me my brother. He stopped irresolutely, as if he would avoid an interview with me alone. I did not give him time to take a resolution, stepped quickly up to him and held out my hand to him. But his hand trembled in mine, he could not bear my steadfast gaze, his eye, that once was wont to look me truly and honestly in the face, remained fixed on the ground, and even his features formerly so beautiful seemed to me marred and disfigured. The red streak of flame on his forehead burned to a deeper hue than had ever been seen on him before, broad violet coloured circles were stamped under his glistening eyes, his blue lips quivered incessantly, it was clear, that my poor brother could not encounter my looks. I gazed into his face, a profound inexpressible pang, an incommunicable sympathy seized my heart:--but then suddenly a ray of conviction flashed across me, brotherly love sharpened my spiritual eyes; Miriam was in Germersheim, her husband was absent, my brother loved her with a furious passion.... his face bore the Cains-mark of guilt, there was no doubt,my poor brother had sore sinned!I let fall his hand! I was too violently agitated, and vainly struggled a long time for a word.... My brother broke the painful death-like stillness that reigned in the broad space with no sound. It was a silent confession to me of his guilt!
"Pious worshippers now began to enter into the temple, and I could say no more to him at present; in the deep silence of night, alone, I determined that he should hear his brother's warning voice.
"I passed the day in a state of most painful excitement. Had my brother's bleeding corpse been laid torn and disfigured at my feet I should not have so profoundly mourned him! Could I with the last drop of my heart's blood have undone that, which I now felt myself constrained to admit as certain,--I would have gladly shed it. It was for me to raise again my brother, my poor fallen brother, out of the bottomless depths to which he had sunk. It was for me to tear him from the strong arm of sin; I knew, that it must have been a hard struggle in which my brother was subdued....
"After midnight.... all around was sunk in deep sleep--I crept to the door of his room. I knocked at first gently, then louder, no answer followed.--The key of my room also opened this door. It was not till after long hesitation that I crossed the threshold with loud-beating heart. The small lamp, that I carried with me, threw its dull light round about; I stepped to my brother's bed, it was empty.... my brother was not in his room--I sank down in despair; I had in truth before been convinced of my brother's guilt; but the certainty, this horrible certainty that robbed me of every, even the faintest shadow of a hope, seized my heart anew with a grief as terrible as if I had up to that time had not the least presentiment of it! At the very moment, when my fraternal heart was crying out in the depths of its agony, at the very moment when I was prepared to make any sacrifice to save my brother, at that very momentmy brother,my brother, 'my second I--oh no, more, more;' I had loved him more than myself, I would have sacrificed myself thousands of times for him--was wantoning! at that very moment my brother was wantoning in the arms of an adulterous woman,of that woman whom I had once idolized with pure chaste fervent love....
"What was I to do? I must stay, I must wait for him, though my poor heart should break. I seated myself by the table and tried to read a bible by the lamplight: but I could not. Incapable of thought I gazed out through the open window, and made frequent fruitless attempts to collect myself, to ponder over the address with which I proposed to receive my brother. Every second seemed a century, and yet, and yet I would gladly have postponed the painful moment, and yet I trembled sadly at the slightest sound, that the wind made in the passage. I might have sat thus for three long hours that seemed as if they would never end, when I heard a faint rustle, and shortly afterwards a powerful form swung itself through the window. It was my brother.--He remained standing stiff and motionless as a statue before me. At sight of him all my blood flowed back so swiftly and violently to my heart, that I thought that it must indeed burst; a cold shudder crept over my bones, I had half got up, keeping one hand on the open bible, as if I would draw strength and confidence from it. A long pause ensued, it exhausted my nervous system, more than ten years of trouble would have done!
"I had reckoned with certainty that my brother would fall broken-hearted into my arms, that the sight of me at that hour would remind him of all that he had forgotten. I believed that he would come to meet me; but I had deceived myself, my brother remained stiff and motionless and never once dropped his eyes....
"In spite of the immense excitement in which I found myself at this fateful moment, the whole impression of it has continued uneffaced in my memory, and even at this day, when I am writing this history--though almost twenty years have since elapsed,--the image of my poor brother stands with perfect clearness before my soul, the image of my brother, as J saw him then for the last time. He was tall, about the same height as myself, his eyes flashed weirdly under black bushy eyebrows, on his forehead, the fiery sign of our family glowed in deepest purple, his dark beard set off the frightful corpselike pallor of his face, his quivering lips were so violently convulsed that his large moustachios kept continually trembling, his long abundant hair fell in tangled masses over his shoulders."
Gabriel stopped again. From the depths of his soul confused memories all suddenly emerged, that ever became clearer and clearer. That form, which had once pressed its burning lips on the face of the frightened child, stepped life-like before him--a half faded reminiscence of a beggar, who had once followed him in Aix-la-Chapelle from the church door to his house, again gathered life and strength. Strange to say, it now for the first time, after a long series of years had weakened and effaced the impression of these forms, seemed to him, that they resembled each other--that both, Gabriel thought that he could not be mistaken--corresponded with the description of his father. In vain he sought to realise another embodiment of this picture, which he imagined that he had seen only a short time back. But human memory possesses this strange peculiarity, that it is just the impressions of the remotest past, and especially youthful impressions, that survive with greater vividness and clearness, than those, we have received later; and, as the best shot in the heat of battle often misses the nearest aim, in the same way did Gabriel, usually so strong-minded, in his almost mad excitement vainly strive to conjure up this recollection. He hoped perhaps to obtain from what followed more particular discoveries about his father and read on:--
"I was determined to preserve silence, and left it to my brother to break the profound stillness, that could not be less painful to him than to me.... My brother was silent for a long time; his breast laboured fearfully, he breathed heavily, his face too was extraordinarily convulsed as I had never seen it before. The veins on his forehead swelled, as if they would burst, his underlip dropped loosely down, foam gathered on his mouth before he had spoken a word.--I perceived, that he was seeking a word, a thought, wherewith to crush, to annihilate me. I was afraid of him, but nevertheless gazed at him fixedly and steadily. At last after a hard struggle some words escaped from his lips, but his voice sounded hollow and dead: 'What seekest thou here in the dead of night? Why dost thou act as a spy upon me? Art thou my keeper? What dost thou want of me?'
"I had not expected such a stubborn unbending defiance. I stood at first as if turned to stone, but at the next moment my hot Spanish blood immediately boiled over; with a wild passionate excitement, such as one only feels at such a moment, under such circumstances, I answered my brother.
"'Dost thou ask, what I want of thee? Can you dare ask? Can you look me in the face as if you were free and innocent? Do you not sink into the ground for shame? Look into your own breast! Look! your very face bears signs of your wicked wicked deed.... you ask what I want of you? I would save you, tear you from the strong arm of sin, but lo! it holds thee fast in brazen chains!--I stopped, my words seemed ineffectual. My brother's features bore an expression of the wildest fury, he gnashed his teeth, but made no answer.
"'Brother!' I began again, after a short painful pause, 'Brother! hast thou then forgotten everything, everything? Hast thou no more memory for the past, no regard for the future?... Oh, gaze not at me so stonily, as if thou didst not understand me.... Brother, by that infinite love which I have felt for thee, by the memory of our deceased father, by the recollection of our early lost mother upon my knees I implore thee,--think of it,only think of it, what a transgression thou hast committed!... Yes! gaze at me as you will, with eyes sparkling with rage, gnash your teeth, clench your fist, I do not tremble, yes! thou hast fearfully sinned, yes, yes! dost hear?'
"I was so immeasurably confounded by my brother's obstinate unexpected resistance, that I could say no more. I grasped at the bible which was lying on the table, opened at the ten commandments and pointed silently at the seventh.
"'Thou shalt not commit adultery!' I recommenced after a deep pause, during which we could hear our hearts beating.... 'Thou shalt not lust after thy neighbour's wife.... Dost thou see, thus it is written, thus was it declared to listening mankind on flaming Sinai!... Well then, that word of God, that word of God, which was a pillar of fire unto thy people illuminating them in the darkness of night, and an ever refreshing fountain in the heat of the day, that word of God, for which thy grandfather endured a death by fire, that word of God whose everlasting truth, thy father, I, every pious Jew, would have sealed with his heart's blood, that same word of God thou hast despised, cast from thee, trampled under foot!... Art thou not acquainted with the sentence of our wisemen. All shall be inheritors of the kingdom to come, all save three, the adulterer, the....'
"I could say no more, a fearful change came over my brother. His features, even before marred and disfigured, now took an expression so frightful, that they scarcely seemed to belong to an human being, all the blood in his face seemed to have gathered into the dark-red borders about his eyes, these protruded in an unnatural size far out of their sockets, his mouth stood wide open, and disclosed his beautiful white teeth--he resembled at that moment a wild blood-thirsty animal.
"'Thou hast robbed me of this world, wilt thou rob me of the next too?' he yelled, after a long pause with a loud howl and threw himself furiously upon me. I perceived to my unutterable grief, that my well meant but bitter word, had penetrated the inmost recesses of his soul, that the consciousness of his guilt had awaked in him with overwhelming force, that it had suddenly conjured up the darkness of madness over his once so clear and luminous mind.... In vain was now my friendly address, he attacked me with the wild fury of delirium. 'Brother! let go, let go, force me not to exert my strength?' I cried, 'we are still brothers, Twin-brothers, I am still thy Mosche!...' But my brother heeded me not, he seized me in his nervous grasp by the neck. My life was in imminent danger. I did not much value life on my own account; but I desired to preserve thy father for thee, dear Schöndel, thou who haddest none other in the wide world but me, and the thought of thee gave me a giant's strength! I had at first vainly more than once endeavoured to force away my brother, whose hand compressed my throat violently, but could not succeed in doing so.... My breathing became difficult, the blood rushed to my head, lights danced before my eyes. I was giddy, I felt that some decided course must be taken, that I must disengage myself from my terrible opponent. I collected all my strength, and forced him with the whole weight of my body to the ground. 'Peace, Mosche, Peace!' said my brother at last, grinding his teeth, after a fruitless struggle to break from my arms.... let me go, I will be quiet!'
"I trusted his promise, but at the next moment he sprung upon me with the fury and agility of a tiger, fastened his sharp teeth upon my naked breast, and made most desperate efforts to strangle me. I screamed aloud for excess of pain, and seized him, in obedience to a dim instinct of self-preservation, by the throat.... a violent wrench of my sinewy wrist--and my brother with a hollow muttering and distorted visage sunk lifeless down! I stood for an instant in despair, motionless, then threw myself, mad with grief, upon the ground and endeavoured to recall him to life. My exertions were ineffectual!
"I recovered my presence of mind with astonishing rapidity, and it was again the thought of thee, my dear daughter! which drew me out of the wild storm of despair.... I opened the window, and cried out aloud to the star-spangled heaven: 'Lord of the world: Thou hast seen it, Thy paternal eye was watching....I am not guilty of his death, I am no Cain, my hand did not shed this blood!'"
Gabriel, exhausted, almost unconscious, ceased reading, and threw the fateful writing far away from him.... The superhuman strength, with which he had hitherto attentively and greedily devoured the faded characters, gave way. The hope of obtaining information about his father, of searching him out, of being able to fold him to his beating, bursting heart, had pervaded him with the wildest, most blissful rapture--and now, now all these hopes were scattered, annihilated; the very name of his father, which, as if intentionally, was not once mentioned in the manuscript, remained unknown to him.--The more beautiful nobler aim of his life continued to be unattainable by him. What mattered to him the farther contents of the manuscript? Of what importance to him was it to learn, how Rabbi Mosche in that same night had taken flight with his daughter, to escape the avenging hands of human justice? Of what importance was it to him to learn, how Reb Carpel Sachs had received the old friend of his youth with warm affection? Of what importance was it to him to learn, how Reb Mosche, as attendant in the Old-Synagogue had led a peaceful, contemplative life, how he embraced the firm resolution, to give the hand of his daughter to a man who like himself, like his deceased father, would accept the modest office of attendant in the Old-Synagogue, where far from the busy tumult of the world he could peacefully live for his faith, for his duties: calm and isolated, like his father, like himself, might quietly close a storm tossed life.... What did all this and more signify to Gabriel? Had he not learnt that his father was dead, lost to him for ever--did he not know, that the hot unstilled longing of his soul must remain for ever and ever ungratified, were not the thousand threads, with which his heart hung to the sweetest hope of his life, suddenly painfully snapped!... Gabriel read no further. He sat for a while motionless in his chair. Language has no power to express the tempest of emotion, that whirled through his breast, and it needs the boldest flight of imagination, to picture it even in faint colour to oneself.
"That hope then is vanished!" he said at last after long silence, pressing his hand convulsively on his heart, "that hope is vanished!...there remains to me then but one, the only aim of my life. Vengeance... Mannsfield is still at Pilsen, Blume's destiny is yet in my hands!... I thank thee, chance, thou hast wonderfully led me, thou hast solved the torturing doubt in the most critical moment....vengeance is all that is left to me--my resolution continues immoveable!"
The strokes of the Rathhaus clock proclaimed, that it wanted but two hours to midnight. About this time the gates of the Jews-town were shut. Gabriel got up hastily, armed and enveloped himself in his cloak, then passed his hand slowly over his lofty forehead white as marble, as though violently to compress every new risen thought, and stepped to the door. On the threshold he paused once more plunged in the overflowing tide of thought, and cast a glance over the room that he was leaving for ever. It seemed, as if he could not after all tear himself away so easily from the dwelling, in which his grandfather had ended a life fruitful in stirring incidents, where his father had passed the lovely period of innocent youth.--All at once he manned himself, and hastened with flying steps to the Jews-town.--In the short distance there he met a man, with his cloak drawn close over his face; it was Michoel Glogau; but both were too busied with their own thoughts, and neither remarked the other.
Gabriel arrived just in time; immediately after his entrance the gates of the Jews' quarter were closed.