'Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of deathI will not fear the crafty wiliness of the evil-doerFor thou art with me! Thou art in all my ways:The firm staff of faith is my confidence!'
'Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of deathI will not fear the crafty wiliness of the evil-doerFor thou art with me! Thou art in all my ways:The firm staff of faith is my confidence!'
"The aged Rabbi had sunk upon his knees in prayer upon the steps that led up to the tabernacle. 'Lord,' he implored, 'I suffer infinite sorrow, yet, oh that we might fall into the hands of the Lord, for his mercy is boundless.--Only not into the hand of man! Ah, we know not what to do; to Thee alone we look for succour! Call to remembrance Thy mercy and gracious favour, that has been ever of old. In anger be mindful of compassion! Let Thy goodness be showed unto us, as we do put our trust in Thee!'
"But God at this season did not succour his children, in his unsearchable counsels it was otherwise ordered. The first door was burst open, the mob pressed into the vestibule of God's house, a single frail door separated oppressed and oppressors.
"'Lord,' cried the Rabbi in accents of deepest despair, 'Lord, grant that the walls of this house in which we and our fathers with songs of praise have glorified and blessed Thy name--that the walls of this temple of God may fall together, and that we may find a grave under its ruins! But let us not fall alive into the hands of the barbarians, let not our wives and maidens become a living prey to the wicked.' 'No,' now exclaimed a powerful voice, 'that shall they not, Rabbi!--Wives and maidens; do you prefer death at the hand of your fathers, husbands, brothers, death at your own hands to shame and dishonour? Would you appear pure and innocent before the throne of the Almighty instead of falling living victims into the hands of those blood-thirsty inhuman men outside.--Would you? Speak, time presses,' and again resounded from a hundred women's lips 'Rather death than dishonour!'--
"His lovely blooming wife pressed up close to the side of the man who had thus spoken, her baby at her breast: 'Let me be the first, let me receive my death from thy loved hands,' she murmured softly. With the deepest emotion of which a human soul is capable he clapsed her to his breast. 'It must be done quickly,' he said with hollow trembling voice. 'The separation must be speedy, I never thought to part from you thus! Lord, Most Merciful, forgive us, we do it for Thy holy name's sake alone! Art thou ready?'
"'I am,' she said, 'let me only once more, but once more, for the last time kiss my sweet, my innocent child--God bless thee, poor orphan, God suffer thee to find compassion in the eyes of our murderers.... God help thee! We, dear friend, we part but for a short time, thou wilt follow me soon, thou true-hearted!'--
"With the most infinite sorrow that can thrill a human breast, the husband pressed a fervent parting kiss, and a last touch of the hand upon the loved infant that absolutely refused to leave its mother, and the bared and heaving breast.--One stroke of the knife, and a jet of blood sprinkled the child's face and spouted up against the walls of the house of God.--The woman sank, with a cry of 'Hear, o Israel, the Everlasting our God is God alone' and fell lifeless on her knees.--
"All the other women, including Judith, followed the heroically courageous example. Many died by their own hands, many received the death-stroke from their husbands, fathers, brothers, but all of them without a murmur, silent and resigned to God's will. They had to tear away tender children, who weeping and wringing their hands climbed on to their father's knees, and piteously implored them, not to hurt their mother--it was a scene, horrible and heart-rending, a scene than which the history of the Jews, the history of mankind knows none more agonising. It was accomplished! No woman might fall alive into the hands of the persecutors, the last death-sigh was breathed, and the few stout men, who had desired only so long to defend the inner door, stepped backward. A fearful blow, and the door, the last bulwark, fell in, sending clouds of dust whirling over it. The knight, brandished battle-axe in hand, stood on the steps that led up into the house of prayer, his countenance disfigured by wrath, behind him crowded an immeasurable mass of people armed with spits and clubs and iron flails. 'Yield your women and children,' he shouted in a voice of thunder, at length betraying his real intention--'and abjure your faith!'
"'Look at these blood-dripping steaming corpses,' said a man who stood nearest the door, 'they are women and maidens, they have all preferred death to dishonour.--Do you think that we men fear death at thy hands and the hands of thy murderous associates? Murder me, monster, and be accursed, here and hereafter, in this world and the next, for ever and ever!'--a moment afterwards the bold speaker lay on the ground weltering in his blood. At sight of the countless corpses of the women the beastly rage of the populace, that saw itself cheated of the fairest portion of its booty, mounted to absolute madness. Hyenas drunk with blood would have behaved with greater humanity. Not a life was spared, and even infants were slaughtered over the bodies of their mothers. Blood flowed in streams. One boy alone was later on dragged still living from under the heaps of dead. As they approached the tabernacle, in order to inflict the death-stroke on the Rabbi, who knelt on the steps before it, they found him lifeless, his head turned upwards towards the East, a soft smile upon his death-like features. Death had anticipated them; his pure soul had exhaled in fervent prayer.
"The mob surveyed the work that had been accomplished, and now that the thirst for blood was stilled, shrunk in terror before the bloody horror that had been perpetrated.--The tabernacle remained untouched, the house of God unplundered. Discharging oaths and curses at the knight, their ringleader, the wild troop dispersed in apprehensive fright of the divine and human judge. But King Wenceslaus left the iniquity, in spite of the most urgent representations of the Bohemian nobility, unvisited and unpunished. But from that day his good angel left him. The spirit of those helpless murdered ones seemed continually to hover about his head. His reign became unfortunate. The nobility felt itself deeply injured by this outrage upon justice. A series of interminable disputes sprung up between the nobles and populace, and Wenceslaus who went on from one cruelty to another was twice imprisoned by the states, and died at length, probably of the trouble and anxiety cause by a bloody revolt of the Hussites that had broken out shortly before his death. To his life's end he never recovered either happiness on confidence.--The knight too, the author of that foul deed, who afterwards marched through the country, burning, robbing and murdering was overtaken by a righteous punishment. The Archbishop of Prague ten years later, at the time of the second captivity of Wenceslaus, hanged him up with fifty other robbers in sight of the city of Prague.--His name was forgotten."
"You are a wonderful narrator," thus Gabriel broke the silence that had lasted for some time, after Schöndel had ended her story: "I could listen to you by the hour."
Indeed he had been especially struck by the impassioned elevation of her language, and the choiceness of her expressions so little in accordance with her position in life.
"Excuse a question," he began again after a short pause. "I feel myself for the first time really at home, when I am intimately acquainted with those about me. A happy chance led me to your house, a house than which I could not wish or find a better--but you will not be offended with my frankness. I am surprised to find such remarkably easy circumstances in the house of a servant, and still more in you, dear goodwife, such an unusually high degree of cultivation.--Perhaps, you will explain this to me."
"Oh yes," replied the goodman, "but at table, it is late and we will sup."
The three took their seats and an old maidservant came in. The goodman said a blessing over a flagon of wine, they washed their hands, and after grace had been said over two cakes of white bread that had up to that moment been covered by a velvet cloth, the maid-servant placed the smoking dishes on the table. The two men set too with a will.
"You know, Reb Gabriel," began Schlome, "where two are sitting and the word of God is not between them so may I ask you to impart to me some of the results of your religious researches."
"Researches," said Gabriel slowly, "I will try"--and passing his hands slowly over his forehead, and rubbing his eyes as though he would force back all other thoughts, and conjure up recollections long left in the background, he began a very ingenious dissertation upon the Talmud. At first measured and thoughtful as though moving on strange and slippery ground, he became gradually more confident and at home, and expressed himself as he warmed with that oriental vivacity, that gives to these studies a singular attraction. He displayed unusual knowledge. All that he said, was so acutely considered and well-balanced, that he easily repelled the objections that Reb Schlome here and there attempted to interpose. He, in spite of his ripe knowledge of the Talmud and his practised dexterity soon saw the futility of every disputation and listened to the student in almost reverential silence to the end. "That is a glorious dissertation," he said, when Gabriel left off speaking, "and our assessor of the college of Rabbis, Reb. Lippman Heller will be delighted to have got such a scholar. But you do not often attend his lectures?"
"I have as yet had a good deal to arrange after my journey and cannot attend the lecture as often as I could wish; but now, dear sir, as we have already had our discourse on the Talmud, tell me, how it happens that you are so prosperous and yet a servant, how it comes to pass that your wife has attained to such a high degree of culture, as one so seldom finds in a Jew, especially a woman, on account of the oppression that the Jews, in spite of much even if slow progress, have still to endure. Explain this to me, unless special reasons impose silence upon you."
Schlome, who had already enjoyed the thought of proving to his guest that he too had profitably devoted himself to Talmudic studies, was obliged to put it off to another opportunity and yield to the earnestly expressed wish of his guest. "I am now much pleased with you, Reb Gabriel, and as I feel more and more convinced that you are a genuine scholar, a certain feeling of distrust--I may now confess it openly--that sometimes came over me with respect to you, is disappearing, and I am heartily rejoiced at these your frank expressions.--So listen: I am the son of Reb Carpel Sachs--may the memory of the just be blessed.--My father was a very rich and pious man and made the best use of his fortune. The Community, whose chief overseer, and the Old-synagogue, whose ruler he was, have much to be thankful to him for. I was his only child and was the more precious to my father, as in me the memory of my early lost mother survived to him. His affectionate care for me knew no bounds. I never dared to go out alone, I never dared to leave him even for a moment, and all my tutors were obliged to give me their lessons in his presence. As overseer of the community frequently brought into relation with the leading men of other religions, he saw the necessity of a Jew, devoting himself to the assiduous study of universal sciences as well as to more strictly religious studies, that the Jewish nation might stand worthily by the side of the whole race of mankind as opposed to the Judaic alone. In spite of his many occupations he was often with the worthy Löwe, and the partner of his varied studies. I myself very early received instruction in the learned languages and natural science, without on that account at all neglecting the study of our holy scripture. It was on a lovely winter morning, I, a little boy, was sitting by my father in his study reading the Bible. The servant announced a man, who urgently desired to see my father, and almost immediately he entered the room carrying a little girl in his arms. I shall never forget the scene, even this day it rises up before me clear and lifelike.--The man was large and strongly built, but deep lines of sorrow and trouble were stamped upon his earnest noble features. The child, that with anxious tenderness he still held in his arms, was a lovely blooming little girl; I need not farther describe her, picture to yourself my goodwife, a girl of three year's old. Both were poorly clothed, the stranger wore the dress of a needy wandering Pole, the little girl seemed insufficiently protected from the cold by her tattered garments, and her father--for that the stranger apparently was--warmed her tiny frozen hands that were fast entwined round his neck with the breath of his mouth.
"'I and my child,' said the stranger, 'arrive from a long and difficult journey. I have come straight to your house, Reb Carpel, I ask that help from you, that you both can and will afford me. Grant me an hour of your time, I must speak with you alone.' These few words of the stranger, and even before they had been spoken, his reverend aspect had obviously, in spite of the meanness of his dress, made a favourable impression upon my father. He rose from his seat, held out his hand to his visitor in sign of welcome, and placed a chair by the stove in which an hospitable fire was burning. My father bid me take the little girl with me to my room, and let the servant give her some supper. Schöndel looked at her father, and when he put her down, and told her she might, took hold of my hand with a confiding smile and went with me, I do not know what passed in secret between the two men, but when two hours later my father opened the door of his apartment, I heard him say aloud: 'Since you will neither be our counsellor nor assessor, nor Klaus Rabbi, I consider it a special Providence, that just at this very moment the post of upper-attendant in the Old-synagogue is vacant, that that exactly meets your wishes, that I can have a decisive word in arranging your appointment. I believe that I am sure of the consent of my associates. I will see besides that that respect, Rabbi, which is your due, is paid to you by all the servants and the congregation, with whom in truth you will not be brought into contact. You will be able to live in the manner you wish, unknown, cut off from all society, devoted to your studies. I look upon it as a piece of good fortune, Rabbi, that you have granted my request, and consent to initiate my boy in the depths of our holy Scripture.' 'I thank thee, Reb Carpel, but call me not Rabbi, call me Mosche as....' He saw me and stopped.
"I was astounded at the almost reverential behaviour of my father. The first person in the community, he well knew how to keep up his dignity on all occasions, and it could only be a very distinguished individual indeed, who could be gladdened by such treatment.
"'Schlome, kiss the Rabbi's hand, from to-day he will undertake the care of your education,' said my father. I lifted his hand respectfully to my lips and from that time Reb Mosche seemed to me a being of a superior nature. My father let him immediately into occupation of a house close to the synagogue, the residence of the upper-attendant for the time being, the very rooms in which we are now living, and the next Saturday, after a long parley with the other overseers of the synagogue, it was announced to the frequenters of the Old-synagogue, that a stranger, for whom Reb Carpel Sachs answered in every respect, had been appointed upper-attendant. Here then my step-father lived, here it was that I as little boy came to make my first essay in the study of the Talmud, here we closed his wearied eyes. Rabbi Mosche was a wonderful man, all that, he said and did evinced the profoundest religious feeling. He lived retired from all society and the only visits that he received were from the high Rabbi Löwe and my father. His expositions were clear and easy to be understood, and my rapt attention, and firm determination to win his approbation came excellently to the aid of my lessons. The man usually so reserved, soon shared his love between his only child, whom he almost idolised, and me. My father too loved with an infinite love the stranger's motherless child. We children clung to one another with extraordinary tenderness, a feeling, that, God be praised and thanked, has never been extinguished in our hearts. When I received nay lessons from her revered father, Schöndel would sit by me by the hour and listen, and even when I was occupied by other studies, the dear little maid was my constant companion. To this circumstance and to the remarkable industry and talents of my wife you must ascribe the fact, that in a menial position she surpasses in knowledge and culture many ladies of rank.--In a word, this confined room was even in my free hours the place where I loved best to be, I knew no higher enjoyment than to converse with Rabbi Mosche. I was often allowed to help him in certain business about the synagogue, and I was the more glad to do so, as it enabled him to decline the assistance of all the inferior servants that were under his orders. What a childish pleasure I took on every Thursday evening at the thought of the coming morning! Friday, I was always up betimes, no need to wake me--dressed myself and ran down to Reb Mosche. He was already expecting me, I took his hand and we went together to the adjoining house of God. To this day a perfectly empty temple makes a singular, not easily to be described impression upon me, and when the grating doors opened and our steps echoed loud in the cool and empty space, it seemed to me as though the blissful breath of God's peace was upon me. My teacher first opened his desk in the tribune, then placed candles in the chandeliers, and trimmed the lamp, that ever burneth, with fresh oil, and I was allowed to follow him carrying the flask of oil, candles and everything that he usually wanted. All this was done in the profoundest silence, as if we feared by a word to dispel the stillness that reigned through the building dedicated to God's service. When all was duly arranged I sat me down on the steps that led up to the tabernacle and began to read out of the Bible to my teacher the portions of Scripture appointed for the week. The earliest frequenters of the synagogue found us ever busy with our studies in the Bible. I passed a peaceful and contented youth. The mysterious obscurity that enveloped my second father,--for so had Reb Mosche become to me--was only calculated to heighten, if possible, the feeling of reverence with which he had inspired me and I dared not even wish to raise this veil that enshrouded him. Neither Schöndel nor I would for worlds have asked him about his past life, which had of a surety been fruitful of sorrow to him, and even my father, to whom his secret was probably known, preserved the most unbroken silence with respect to it. The mutual relation of the two men was also a singular one. Sometimes they addressed one another, as though years and years ago they had known one another as children, and yet my father had never left his native town, while Reb Mosche on the contrary--Schöndel could just remember it as in a dream--had come from a very great way off. I myself with respect to Reb Mosche adopted that demeanour which the Talmud enjoins in the intercourse of scholar and tutor. I fulfilled his smallest wishes, and learned to interpret them from his look; and if I chanced without intending it to vex him by my talk, I was inconsolable and could have wept by the hour. This, however, seldom happened, and I can only recollect one instance of it. As we were reading the Psalms we had come to that passage, 'Behold how good and how pleasant it is for brethren to dwell together in unity!' and I expressed the childish wish, that as well as Schöndel whom I regarded as my dear little sister, I had a brother too. 'My son,' replied Reb Mosche earnestly, 'what God doeth, that is well done! Wherefore dost thou desire a brother? Brothers do not always love one another, there where love and friendship should prevail, enmity and strife have often mastery. Cain slew his brother Abel, Jacob and Esau were brothers, but Esau hated Jacob. Joseph was sold by his brethren, and the brethren of the greatest prophet, even the brethren of Moses spoke evil of him.' I gazed in astonishment at the face of my respected teacher, a bitter smile played upon his lips, a tear shone in his mild eye.--
"I will not further weary you with the descriptions of my youth,--which while they fill me with sad remembrances, are probably to you a matter of indifference. My youth slipped away as happily and as untroubled as my childhood. I ripened to manhood, Schöndel developed into a most beautiful young woman. Our infelt mutual attachment was known to both fathers, and Schöndel's two and twentieth birthday was fixed for our betrothal.--Eight days before, one Saturday afternoon I was sent for to the room of my father, where I found my father-in-law also. 'My son,' he began, with deep emotion, 'I have joyfully consented to your marriage, I have known you from a child, you are infinitely beloved and dear to me, and I can now depart in peace from my own loved child whenever the Lord calls me. But I have a request to make to you, and your own worthy father adds his prayers to mine. See, Schlome, see, I have early grown grey with trouble and sorrow, I have been unhappy, and to-day I must confess it to you with deepest affliction, have learned to know the iniquity of mankind. We both, thy father and I, are ignorant when God will send his messenger to us.--Schlome, do not refuse our request!Remain always attendant in the synagogue." I was for a moment petrified with astonishment, I had expected anything but this wish; but it was not for me to pry into the reasons of the strange petition. My father fully agreed with him, I had nothing to do but consent.--Eight days afterwards was the wedding. The poor of the community had liberal alms, every synagogue, every charitable institution was bountifully remembered, but the marriage-feast was celebrated quietly and without display. When the two fathers came home from the wedding, they fell into one another's arms with expressions of the highest excitement, 'Reb. Carpel! could you have hoped for this when we separated forty years ago,' asked my father-in-law, 'could we have expected ever to meet again? and yet the gracious Lord of all grants us the felicity of uniting our only loved children in the holy bonds of wedlock.' 'Now, we may die in peace,' replied my father, with the deepest emotion.
"My father seemed to have spoken prophetically. In the first year of our marriage died my never-to-be-forgotten father, shortly afterwards my father-in-law. Their souls seemed linked to one another by the bonds of friendship even for the next world, and they rest in adjoining graves.
"'My children,' said Rabbi Mosche, on his deathbed, 'your father, Reb. Carpel Sachs, has left you a store of this world's goods, I am poor, I leave you naught but my blessing, my infinite love. In this sealed packet is the record of my life's history written in the long winter nights for your benefit. Only after twenty years may you break the seal, when he that wished to do me evil, is dead, and God will have already forgiven him. That which was dark to you will then become clear. My life was dedicated first to God, next to you, and my boundless love will not expire with my last breath. Have God ever before your eyes, what he doeth that he doeth well. This world is but the vestibule of a more beauteous world beyond. Murmur not. Trust in God! Farewell! God bless you. May the Eternal One let the light of his countenance shine upon you. May the Everlasting turn his face upon you and give you peace for evermore! Hear, o Israel, the Everlasting our God is one God!' that was his last breath, his beautiful soul expired."
Reb Schlome was obliged to stop, the recollection had seized him with overpowering might, his wife too sobbed aloud.
"We had suffered two violent blows following quickly one upon the other," he continued after a long pause with more composure. "The unutterable grief that filled us can only be measured by one whose bosom has felt a like affliction, who has stood at the death-bed of a man, as highly prized and dear to him. We felt as if the whole world had escaped our grasp, we both were now so solitary and forsaken."
"Solitary and forsaken," echoed Gabriel in a heart-rending voice that quivered with agony, "solitary and forsaken, and yet ye were two, who hung upon one another with infinite affection."
"You too have stood sorrowing, solitary and forsaken, by the bed of a dying father, a dying mother?" asked Schöndel with infelt sympathy.
"Yes, yes," replied Gabriel vehemently, almost screaming. "Yes, yes, I did once stand by a mother's death-bed, wringing my hands and despairing! Oh, a very tender mother, virtuous and tender, she loved me, her only child, with a love that conquered death.--Oh, a good, good mother, and I was, indeed,solitary and forsaken when she died!"
The student spoke these words with wild and passionate bitterness, his large and brilliant eyes rolled restlessly, a pallor as of death, and a purple flush covered in rapid succession his face marred, but once so beautiful.
"Do not let the recollection obtain such mastery over you," implored Schöndel soothingly, "consider: Perchance you have still a tender father."--
"A tender father? No--yes.--Is it not true, fathers are all tender, more tender than mothers?--
"Neither husband or wife had ever known a mother and kept silence."
"A father!" repeated Gabriel, with an expression of the most poignant despair, and as though he would force back the overflowing tide of his feelings, he pressed his hands violently against his breast; and then after a short pause recovered himself, wiped the sweat, that had collected in heavy drops, from his forehead and said with a visible effort, "Excuse me, my friends, but you know, profound sorrow cannot be restrained."
"Your sorrow must still be fresh," remarked Schlome.
"Oh, a deep heart-wound is never healed. But enough of this, proceed," exclaimed Gabriel; "the twenty years have not yet elapsed, and you are still unacquainted with the affecting fortunes of your father-in-law?"
"No, it is but nine years since he passed into a more beautiful existence, his life-history still rests unopened in the chest that stands in your room.--We do not even know the name of his family."
"Strange!" said Gabriel; "you too never knew your mother? dear housewife."--
"My father never alluded to his past history," she replied, "my mother must have died in my earliest childhood."--
"Well for you!" cried Gabriel, and as both gazed at him in astonishment, he continued hurriedly, "Well for you, that you cleave to your father with the indissoluble link of love, that he still survives in your memory; may you some day thus survive in the heart of your--but you have no children?"
"God has not blessed our union with children," answered Schöndel, sadly.
"What God doeth, is well done! cling fast to that belief," now interposed Schlome, in quiet and earnest accents. "See, I was once sore troubled about it; we, my wife and I, have neither brethren, nor friends--we always lived so retired from all company--and even if we had friends, the love of a child for its parents can be supplied by nothing else, nothing can be weighed in the balance with it.... It made me sad when I thought that if the Lord should call me or my wife to himself, one of us must be left behind, desolate and forsaken in bitterest woe.--It made me sad when I thought, that with us would be entombed the memory of my father and father-in-law, that with me the long web would be broken, that humanity was ever destined to weave since the world's creation.--But consoling encouraging thoughts in time germinated in my heart. 'Murmur not! this world is but a vestibule of the next,' had my father said, and says not also the prophet? 'Oh, let not the childless lament, I am as grass that withereth!--Thus saith the Lord to them that are childless, they that observe my feast-days, and choose that which pleaseth me and hold fast to my covenant. Even unto them will I give in my house and within my walls a place, and a name better than of sons and of daughters. I will give them an everlasting name that shall not be cut off.' I bow to the decree of the Allwise, what he doeth is well done--I live happy in the performance of my duties, for the future, One that is above will provide--if, hereafter, my soulless body be lowered by strangers into the vault, my spirit will mount upwards to God!"--
Schlome spoke with honest warmth, this was no pleasant self-deception, it was his clear, mature, and veritable intuition. When he had ended, a pause ensued. The oil-lamps began to go out one by one, and Schöndel remarked, that grace had not yet been said. A quarter of an hour afterwards Gabriel took his leave and retired to his room. Here the careful housewife even before the break of the Sabbath had lit a well-filled lamp, that still burned clear. Gabriel shut the door rapidly and tossing off cloak and cap, cried with gnashing teeth and fists spasmodically clenched, "Tear pitilessly at the ever bleeding wounds of my heart, keen was your aim and sure the blow, you could not have rent my raging soul with a pang of greater anguish! Did you gaze into the secrets of my breast? Is a Cain's sign imprinted on my forehead, that every one at his will may read upon it my ignominious past? As this woman with flashing eyes spoke to me of that day of atonement, of that knight, of that Jewish maiden and her blind mother--and how they cast him forth with mockery and scorn--did it not seem as if she would have unfolded before me a detested period of my own life? And when she looked at me and asked if I had ever stood solitary and forsaken by the death-bed of a mother? If I had yet a tender father? that was no chance, that cannot have been a chance.--Chance can decide battles. Chance can let me fall alive into the hands of the Imperialists--but that is no chance, that is a presentiment, a dark impulse, an instinct, to hate me, to mortify me. But you are right, I hate you too, with the most unbridled strength of a sore, provoked tiger--revenge, to revenge myself, that is now the only thought that keeps me alive.--I must find the woman, thewoman, that might have saved me as I hovered on the brink of a bottomless abyss--and that let me be dashed to pieces--I must find her, she cannot escape me--she is here in Prague, shut up within the gates of the Ghetto! Oh, how I gloat upon a sweet revenge--to take sweet and fearful vengeance, and then to perish for ever.--But what if I should die first, if the trumpet summoned me to battle, if I perished on the field,--if the outlaw fell alive into the hands of the Imperialists! No, no, that cannot be or--there is in sooth a God."
Gabriel paced his chamber impetuously--visions of the past filling him with the most torturing recollections, passed over his soul.--To die? He said at length suddenly stopping, "I fear not death, I have looked it in the face motionless and unconcerned in the whirl of battle, but before I die, oh, that I might find him, whom I have sought for ten long years, whom I might, perhaps, even yet embrace in these arms.--Thou, whom men call all-mighty and all-merciful," he suddenly cried, opening the window and lifting his gaze to the starry heaven, "Thou! give me my father, give me him though it be at my life's last breath--let him rest one moment, and may it be my last, on my breast--and I will acknowledge Thee, and I will bend my proud spirit even in death before Thee! But where to seek him, where to find him! I am sure of nothing, am sure of nothing but that I hate them all with a nameless hatred, and have good reason to hate them!"--
On Saturday Gabriel had gone to early prayers with his landlord in the Old-synagogue. The service had lasted till near mid-day. Reb Schlome had then paid a visit to the chief Rabbi. At the midday meal, which was shared by two guests, they met again.
"How were you pleased with us in the old synagogue?" asked Reb Schlome.
"It is a beautiful building, quiet and order prevails among you. I must express my thanks to you, I know I am only endebted to you for it, that I, a stranger student, was called upon to expound, an honour that this Saturday was only conceded to distinguished persons.... I obtained the names of all who were called upon to expound, they were universally men of weight and character, but with regard to the last, who was called upon just before me, no one would or could give me precise information, though all seemed to know him."
"I will explain that to you," said Schlome; "that man is a member of the well-known family of Nadler, a family that, even now I scarcely dare to say so, fifty years ago in spite of their wealth and prosperity was shunned by everyone. People would not associate with them. No one would marry their daughters, no one would converse with them, every one kept away from them in the houses of prayer; they could obtain no tenants; the very poor despised the alms which they would have lavished in abundant measure. You can easily divine the cause,--there rested on the grandfather of this unhappy family the weight of a suspicion which afterwards proved to be groundless, that he was one of those who cannot be received in the congregation of the Lord. The family suffered fearfully under this foregone conclusion. It was that great thinker, the high Rabbi Löw, who first devised a means of once for all dispelling the clouds of obloquy, in that he--it is this very Saturday exactly six-and-thirty years ago--in a lecture, with the approval of the ten chief personages of the then community, uttered a solemn curse against all those who should dare any longer to injure the reputation of the family, to speak evil of the dead, or to apply the name of Nadler as a contumelious epithet to any one in the Jewish community. From that day no one ventured to withdraw himself from intercourse with them, and all the more honour was shown to them that they consumed their wealth for the benefit of the poor and afflicted, lived strictly in accordance with the Law, and moreover people wished to make them forget the humiliation and injustice of many a long year. On this account people do not like to talk about them, and avoid everything that might lead to further explanations about this family."
Gabriel had listened in silence with the deepest sympathy. "See, Schöndel," Reb Schlome suddenly exclaimed, "I notice a very remarkable resemblance between Reb Gabriel and you, a resemblance, about which I yesterday by lamplight thought that I had been deceiving myself. In the middle of his forehead too a fiery spot is wont at times to gather."
"That is strange," said Gabriel earnestly and thoughtfully.
"Not so strange as you believe," struck in one of the guests, "it is a not uncommon appearance I have heard of one of the Imperialist officers who has a mark on his forehead, I think two crossed swords--probably your mother, when she carried you under her heart, saw a sudden conflagration, or is it an inherited family-mark; had your father also such a mark on his forehead?"
Gabriel had listened to the guest attentively, he gave no answer, but the red stripe of flame on his forehead became more conspicuous and clearly marked than before. "I myself," said the other guest by way of confirmation, "some years ago when I studied at the school in Mainz, knew a madman, named Jacob, and in his case too as soon as he became excited just such another mark made its appearance in the centre of his forehead; probably the concurring circumstances were the same with each of you."
"Moreover," added the guest, after a short consideration, "I fancy that I have seen that same madman in this very place."
"You are not mistaken," said Schöndel, "the mad Jacob is here in Prague, and our lodger Reb Gabriel can if he likes give us some news about him, for he has taken a great fancy to him, and often passes whole days with him without coming home or visiting the lecture-rooms."
It seemed for an instant as if Gabriel would have contradicted the goodwife, but he quickly recovered his self-possession and remained silent--at that moment the old maid-servant entered and announced a boy who was enquiring after Herr Gabriel Mar, and was urgently desirous of speaking to him.
"Excuse me," he said, rising quickly, "I must let the boy come to my room and hear what he has to say."
The boy must in fact have brought some important news, for Reb Gabriel did not return to table and sent his excuses by the old maid-servant--a soldier has arrived here from his country, such was the old Hannah's story, and he is breathlessly hurrying to hear, how it fares with all at home--the good student.
The two guests did not seem to share the old maid's favourable opinion. "A strange student that," opined one of them, "sits at table and speaks no word of his Talmudic investigations, gets up and does not pray, goes away and kisses no scroll."
Reb Schlome felt that his wife was right the other evening when she said, that Gabriel was less devout than other students, but he allowed this with reluctance, for Gabriel's rich stores of Talmudic science had won his estimation and good will. He requested, therefore, one of the two students to let them have a Talmudic discourse, and after this had been complied with recited the prayer after meat.
Gabriel had scarcely waited till the door of his room was shut to speak with the boy alone.
"What do you bring me, John," he asked hastily.
"Gracious Sir," answered the boy, "my relative begs respectfully to announce, that Ensign Herr Smil von Michalowitz is just arrived from Pilsen with a message to your Honour, and waits in your house."
"Good boy, run on, I will follow immediately."--Gabriel hastily donned cloak and cap and went out--Although the house which he was leaving was situated by the Old-synagogue and, therefore, outside of the Ghetto-gate, he was obliged to pass through the Ghetto in order to reach the Plattnergasse by the nearest route. He stopped at the back of a house. He knocked twice at a closed door; this was quickly opened, and he hurried up a back-staircase to a room, on the walls of which, sabres, travelling-pistols and other arms were hanging, crossed in varied confusion one upon the other. He threw off cloak and cap, girded a dagger about his loins, without lingering over the choice enveloped himself in a knight's mantle and stepped through a door in the tapestry into a large adjoining room. Here he was already expected. A slightly made young man in the embroidered uniform of one of Mannsfield's cavalry-officers was pacing impatiently up and down.--
"Welcome to Prague, Herr von Michalowitz," said Gabriel in a friendly way, "do you bring me good news from Mannsfield?"
"I wish I brought better, your Grace," answered the officer with a bow. "First of all, however, I have the honour to deliver the autograph despatch of the General-Fieldmarshal, I partly know its contents and am commissioned to give your Grace all further necessary explanations."
Gabriel hastily unsealed the despatch and cast a glance over its contents. "Our troops have still no pay," he cried, stamping his foot angrily, while the fiery mark on his forehead kindled to a deep red--"still nothing? and they promised me everything, money, munitions, forage, reinforcements. It's enough to drive a man mad! You would scarcely believe, Herr von Michalowitz, what a difficult position I am in here! Nothing can be done with this Frederick.--The Bohemians could not have elected a worse king.--He listens to his preachers, goes out hunting, gives banquets and tournaments--of Emperor and League he takes no heed.--His Generals are in constant feud with one another and only agree when it is a question of putting a slight upon or deposing Thurn and Mannsfield.--These gentlemen let me sue for reinforcements and plans of operation, as if they were things that concerned my own private advantage, as if I was asking an alms for myself. Believe me, Frederick must succumb. Who does he oppose to these experienced skilful Generals? an Anhalt against a Tilly, an Hohenlohe against a Boucquoi. The Bohemians are brave soldiers, but they are badly led. I can speak openly to you, Sir Ensign, who have been the constant confidant of our plans.--There is only one conceivable way for Frederick to get the upper-hand--Anhalt and Hohenlohe must be dismissed, and Matthias Thurn take the command."
"It is indeed melancholy," answered the Ensign bitterly, "that all our most energetic and best-laid efforts are so badly supported at Prague. This Anhalt gives up one strong position after another, and if things go on so, it is to be feared that Archduke Maximilian will drive the Prince in under the walls of Prague, and force him to accept a battle,--unless he has been entirely won over by the Imperialists--and a battle lost before the gates of Prague...."
"Would still not be decisive," interposed Gabriel. "I am well acquainted with Prague, it is strongly situated, and could hold out a long time.--I suppose you know the capital city of your native country? The citizens are brave, well-trained in arms, and in the old and new quarter at least devoted to the king's party.--Frederick's power is still great, Mannsfield manœuvres in the enemy's rear; fresh troops are on the march from Hungary.... Sir Ensign, say to my friend Mannsfield, that a battle lost before the gates of Prague would not put an end to the war;--but that Anhalt must not remain at the head of the army. So long as he commands in-chief, everything is at stake ... and to think that two such losers-of-armies as Anhalt and Hohenlohe should command thirty thousand men, while the hero Mannsfield, alone, forsaken by the Union and the weak Frederick for whom he is fighting, without support, without money, in an unknown country, surrounded by secret and open enemies, makes head with a small force against one three times his superior.--How does he bear the hard blows of fickle fortune?"
"With his usual calm, with unshakeable equanimity. Oh, there is but one Mannsfield, Sir Major-General, in such a hero alone do martial fame, and martial deeds attain so high a point. It is an event unparalleled in the annals of history, that a Count, first legitimized by the Emperor Rudolph, should defy the Emperor and whole Empire--should defy, without money, land, or support, under a ban, solitary, by the force of his sword and name alone.--What are all of us in Mannsfield's camp? are we the troops of the Union, which concluded on the 3d of July an ignominious peace with the league? are we the mercenaries of this Count Palatine, who placed the crown of our Fatherland upon his head for a merry pastime? By God and my knightly honour, no! What are we? we are nothing but Mannsfield's children, all of us, from the meanest artillery-driver up to you. Sir Major-General! We all cleave to him with faith as firm as a rock, we follow his standard alone, his call alone. We offer our lives for Mannsfield, his is our sword, our blood, our honour, our name, our oath; for well we know that he leads us on to naught but victory or an honourable soldier's death."
"You are very right. Sir Ensign," replied the General much moved, "he is to all of us a father, brother, friend! What should I have been if I had not fallen in with Mannsfield? Sir Ensign, you have a country, you have a coat of arms, you have a name--I had none of all this, I had nothing but my arm, and a revengeful, torn and bleeding heart!"--
"Yes, Sir Major-General, Mannsfield loves the bold, and brave, and among them are you numbered, by God, you have given good proof of that a thousand times! Name, rank and belief are indifferent to him; Mannsfield asks no questions whether a man is a Reformer, Utraquist or Lutheran, whether gentleman or knight, burgher or peasant, German or Bohemian? Consider, your Grace, that too forces me to admire Mannsfield.... has not this Frederick estranged the hearts of all Bohemians from him, in that he has by the advice of his sternly calvinistical intolerant Chaplain Abraham Schulz bitterly offended Catholics, Utraquists and Lutherans? I am a man of war and no scholar, I am a mere soldier, and have paid little attention to theology, but yet I hold that in this world, everyone should be allowed to believe what he likes, that is an affair to be settled by his own conscience; but no one should be permitted to be a hindrance and stumbling block to another, and throw ridicule upon that which is an object of respect and dear to his neighbour.... Why did we violently revolt from the illustrious House of Austria, under which we were great and powerful? Because we wished to be free to choose our faith, and now steps in this Frederick, whom we ourselves elected, whom we aggrandized, and we are no better off! Your Grace! You are no Bohemian and cannot comprehend, what a painful day the 3d of September in last year is to me, on which thirty-six lords, ninety-one knights and almost all the municipalities permitted themselves to be befooled by the brilliant eloquence of Wilhelm Raupowa and elected this incapable Frederick.--I too, as well as my uncle, the royal Burgrave, were among the voters."
The General was silent. Memories slumbered in his soul like sparks in a tinder; the lightest breath might kindle them to a clear blaze. The Ensign misinterpreted the silence. He had said much, that might have made an unpleasant impression upon the General. He was of low origin, no Bohemian, perhaps a co-religionist of the Palatine. "Your Grace," he therefore again began in an embarrassed way, after a short pause, "have I, perhaps, offended you? Are you, perchance, one of those, who busy themselves with religious studies, and learned ecclesiastical disputations? Are you, Sir Major-General, may I venture to ask, yourself a Calvinist? It's all the same to me, General, I should respect your high rank, your gallantry even if, you will excuse the joke, even if you were a Jew or a Heathen...."
Pictures out of a time that had long vanished again passed over Gabriel's soul, his spirit was again fast fixed on some moment of the distant past. "I busy myself no longer with religious studies," he answered, absently--"but at one time, at one time it was my highest enjoyment; but then I was still a J...." he did not finish, he seemed to awake suddenly from a heavy dream, a deep flush suffused his face, he stroked the hair off his high forehead, in the centre of which glowed the purple mark and added hastily in a changed voice: "then I was still young, very young--but now I think no more of it--and Mannsfield's faith is mine too."
The way in which the General spoke, the singular expression of his face, was not calculated to set at rest the Ensign's fears. "Your Grace!" he went on, "you yourself said in my presence that you had no name, when you took service in Mannsfield's corps, and yet now you are the Mannsfieldian General Otto Bitter, known and feared far and wide. It may be that, you have no genealogy, no past; but you have a future; with the point of your sword you inscribe your name on the brazen tablets of history."
"No, no," the General now impetuously continued, "no, not so. Herr von Michalowitz, believe me, I am not superstitious, not even a believer--I believe in actually nothing--do you hear! in actually nothing, but Mannsfield and mine own good sword.--I am not weak, I would not yield to any presentiment, but one presentiment does haunt me with all the strength of truth, as clear, as life-like as if I saw it with my own bodily eyes,my name will not live in history.... Mannsfield, Thurn, Boucquoi, Tilly, Waldstein, all the heroes that fight with us or against us, have lived for eternity, but my name will perish, will leave no trace behind it...."
The General paced the room many times and with his hand put back the dark locks from his high forehead, then stopped before the Ensign--"I sometimes become very excited, Herr von Michalowitz," he said, "and say much that would be better unsaid--therefore I pray you forget what I have spoken...."
The Ensign bowed in silence. The General threw himself into an arm-chair, motioned the Ensign also to a seat, and after a short pause took up Mannsfield's letter again. "You have captured another wandering Jew? You thought he was a spy, or messenger of the Imperialists, he carried letters in cipher with him?" asked the General, interrupting his reading.
"Yes, your Grace, the prisoner declares, improbably enough, the writings were Hebrew extracts from the Bible and letters to his wife.--The Field-Marshal sends the writings to you probably in the intention that you may prove their contents here in Prague with the assistance of some Rabbi, or clergyman learned in the Scripture." The Ensign with these words laid a sealed packet on the table. "We should almost prefer that he was guilty, in Pilsen, which is imperialist in feeling, we are quite surrounded by spies, we cannot any longer tell who to trust: an example of severity must be made."
The General involuntarily seized the packet, to unseal it, but quickly laid it aside, as if remembering himself, and read on.
"Sir Ensign, I must up to the castle," he said, when he had finished and maturely considered the despatch. "Nothing can be done with Anhalt and Hohenlohe--I must up, and once more speak with the king himself--To-morrow early you shall have the answer for Mannsfield."
"If your Grace will permit me I will accompany you to the castle."
The General rang the bell, a servant, who entered, was ordered to make the necessary preparation, and shortly afterwards the large principal entrance of the house, that led into the Marienplatz, was thrown open, and the General and Ensign rode out of it in the direction of the 'Kleinseite.' At a proper distance followed two mounted attendants armed with pistols and sabres.--
In King Frederick's anteroom three persons were waiting for an audience. They stood in the recess of a lofty bow-window, and were talking in a low voice but with much animation to one another.
"Yes, gentlemen," began John de Bubna, a man of some fifty years old, "yes, it is all Raupowa's fault. Your father--" he turned to the young Count Schlick--"the noble Count Joachim who voted for the Elector of Saxony was quite right--but the past is irreparable, and now we must defend ourselves to the last extremity. Our faith, our freedom, are at stake, is it not so, Thurn?"
The person thus addressed, Count Henry Mathias of Thurn was also of about the age of fifty. Dark eyes with all the fire of youth flashed from his bronzed countenance, as if to give the lie to the thick grey hair; the noble lineaments of his spiritual and thoughtful face showed at the first glance, that a hero's soul dwelt in this powerful and compact frame. He was indisputately the chief leader of his party, an able commander, and the originator of the revolt against the Emperor. It was he who brought about the well-known catastrophe of the 3d of May 1618, when the two Imperial stadtholders, Slawata and Martinitz, were thrown out of window into the court-yard, and supposing it is in the power of a single person, if not to evoke, at any rate to further a crisis on which the future history of the world may depend, Count Matthias Thurn was certainly one of those, who fanned the flames of this outbreak into that wild conflagration which devastated Germany and Central-Europe for thirty years.
He was by birth an Italian, but held rich possessions in Bohemia. A brave soldier, a practised courtier, a subtle diplomatist and excellent speaker, he had won the affections of the nobles, the army, and whole people, and the nation committed to him the weighty and influential place of a defender, or guardian of the faith. Deprived by the Emperor of his office, as Burgrave of Carlstein, he had later on assumed with Mannsfield the joint command of the Bohemian troops. Frederick, however, soon after his coronation, to the deep vexation of the Bohemian army, transferred the command to Prince Christian of Anhalt and Count George of Hohenlohe.
Count Thurn seemed to express his views unwillingly. "Yes, gentlemen, you know I was never the last in the field, I gladly combat for Bohemia. Perhaps a time will again come when I may fight for the cause--but in the meanwhile...."
"Your Grace then is absolutely determined not to accept a command so long as the Prince commands in-chief?" asked Henry Schlick hastily.
"He is right," opined John Bubna; "it was a stupid course of the king, to take the command from our Thurn."
"It is not that," continued Thurn, "at least not that alone; but the war is badly conducted. What did I and young Anhalt, who is far superior to his father in gallantry, and in spite of his youth in military science too, what did we insist upon in the council of war at Rokizan; that we should fall with our whole force upon an enemy wearied out with painful marching. Even Hohenlohe, who is usually very reluctant to embrace a bold project, shared our opinion--there could not be a doubt, we must have gained a victory--then up gets Prince Anhalt and proved to the king in a long speech--but, I cannot bear to think of it, how my splendid plan of operations was frustrated, how instead of fighting they allowed themselves to become involved in a disgraceful treaty, how we, I may say, fled to Unhoscht without striking a blow, or if it sounds better, drew back in good order; for the slight affair at Rakoniz, where, moreover, we lost von Dohna and Graz, cannot be counted anything."
"But the rencounter at Rakoniz," observed Henry Schlick, "remained, as I have heard, undecided. The Imperialists too lost both their Field-Marshals Fugger and Aguaviva; and their General-in-chief Boucquoi was so severely wounded as to have been since incapable of bearing a campaign."
"Sir Count," replied Thurn moodily, "you do not know Boucquoi, he is a worthy antagonist of the very bravest. If it comes to a battle, he will be carried though in a dying state to the field. God grant, that we may not shortly see him before the gates of Prague. At Unhoscht," resumed Thurn, "my patience was exhausted, and when the king, at Anhalt's urgent request went to Prague, I offered to accompany him. I am glad to be here and--"
Thurn was interrupted, for the door of the antechamber opened, and Gabriel, or Mannsfield's Major-General Otto Bitter entered.
"Ah, welcome friend," cried John Bubna, held out his hand to him and led him up to the two others. "Do not be put out, Count Thurn, I answer for my friend Bitter, go on with what you were saying."
"I am acquainted with the Major-General," said Thurn, while Bitter made a low obeisance.--"My friend's friend is my friend too."--Then Thurn himself with obliging civility presented the young men to one another, "Count Henry Schlick, son of our supreme Judge and Director, the Lord Joachim Andrew Schlick, Count of Passau and Ellbogen, a brave captain--Sir Otto Bitter, Major-General in Mannsfield's army and his right hand man."--
"The name of Schlick," said Otto Bitter politely, "has a genuine ring about it, and you, Sir Captain, as I have been assured on all sides, are worthy of bearing so celebrated a name."
Henry Schlick wished to respond to the General's courteous address, but Matthias Thurn turned to him and asked what brought him to Prague.
"I make no secret of my mission," he answered, "I am come to Prague under instructions from the Field-Marshal to demand the pay of our troops, which is now nearly six months in arrear, and to remind them of the promised reinforcements; I propose to stay here just long enough to urge upon the king and his generals some decisive step which our Mannsfield will support with all his might; but the king is too busy with his festivities, and Field-Marshal Prince Anhalt, has, at least for me, no time unoccupied."
"Hush!" said Bubna, "lupus in fabula, he comes just in...."
The conversation, though it had been carried on in an undertone, was instantly dropped. The double doors of the antechamber were thrown hastily and noisily open, and Prince Christian of Anhalt, Commander-in-chief of the royal army and Stadtholder of Prague, stepped haughtily with a proud look into the anteroom. All present, with the exception of Thurn made a low bow. Anhalt recognised it with a careless nod of the head, and prepared as usual to enter unannounced into the royal apartment. Otto Bitter, however, advanced hastily and said:
"I am fortunate in meeting your Highness here. I am just arrived from General-Field-Marshal the Count of Mannsfield...."
"You have come from Count Mannsfield?" repeated the Prince with a sharp emphasis. "Why does not he make his applications immediately to the commander-in-chief, as every commander of a corps d'armée should do. What is the use of a mediator and go-between? Besides, time and place are very badly chosen for your representations, this is the king's anteroom, and I am on my way to an audience"--so saying, Anhalt, without allowing the General time to reply, passed into the king's audience-chamber. Bitter returned to the other lords; his features were disfigured by rage, and the fiery sign burnt red upon his forehead. All were unpleasantly affected by this behaviour.
"Such is the manner of princes," Henry Schlick tried to make a conciliatory excuse; "he is imperious and hates opposition, do not be so put out by it, Sir Major-General."
"No! to receive an officer of such high desert in such a way," exclaimed Bubna clashing his scabbard upon the floor; "and when he was speaking of Mannsfield!..."
"These men of the Palatinate have always free access to the king," observed Thurn, and out of his eyes flashed, as it were, a consuming lightning--"and as for us, they let us wait."
Andrew of Habernfeld, Frederick's favorite, in full gala-costume, opened at the very moment the door of the king's apartment; he might probably have heard this last observation of Thurn's, spoken in a loud voice.
"Can audience be obtained of his Majesty," asked Thurn drawing himself up proudly, "I mean, by us...."
"The king cannot be aware, that so many gentlemen of the highest dignity wish to speak with him, or else he had surely before this summoned you before him. I will immediately inform him of your presence."
"Bubna, Schlick, and I, have been announced long since and been kept waiting in vain up to this time," replied Thurn stiffly, "Major-General Bitter is also apparently as desirous as we are of an interview with the king.--Meantime it can do no harm if you once more remind him of our presence."
Habernfeld looked very much disconcerted and instantly disappeared. Shortly afterwards he returned breathless. "His Majesty," he announced, "implores the noble lords to spare him all government-business at present. The king celebrates today the anniversary of his arrival in Prague, and invites the lords to betake themselves to the banquet in the hall of Spain."
"A banquet?" replied Thurn almost sadly, and the veins on his noble forehead swelled high; "I am sorry not to be able to accept the gracious invitation, I am not in a humour for banqueting, my thoughts would be ever occupied with the victorious irresistible advance of the Imperialists, and my gloomy face would but mar the festal joy, give this answer to the king, I pray you, do so, Herr von Habernfeld.... that he may graciously excuse my absence...." with these words Thurn threw his cloak over his shoulder, and would have departed.
"Your Grace," cried Schlick, seizing Thurn by the arm, "on every account, pause. He is our lord and king--our self-elected lord and king, he will take it in very bad part."
"My young friend," whispered Thurn in Schlick's ear--"spare me the hated sight of Anhalt carousing by the side of king, while our brave army is offering itself a vain sacrifice. Meat and drink would become poison and gall to me.--You know, I am not easily induced to change a determination that I have once made, therefore, I pray you, Sir Count, leave me."
"I will at least present your humble excuses to the king's Majesty," answered Schlick aloud; "I pray you, Herr von Habernfeld, forget, what the Count may have said in a moment of excitement, he is a warm patriot, a staunch Bohemian, but still the southern blood of Italy flows in his veins."
Thurn went away, the three gentlemen followed Habernfeld to the banqueting-hall. Twilight had in the meanwhile come on. The broad and spacious room was illuminated, fairy-like, with a thousand waxen torches. The rich sea of light broke into countless points of brilliancy upon the lofty mirrors. A sumptuous circle of ladies and gentlemen, mostly from the Palatinate and Germany, passed with merry laughter through the gorgeously ornamented apartment. No one seemed to think of the war--to judge from the attitude of those who were present no one could have had a presentiment that in eight days all this splendor would have disappeared.
At the upper end of the hall was a throne-like elevation, where King Frederick and his spouse sat on two crimson and gold-embroidered chairs of state. They were a wonderful pair. Frederick was then in his twenty-fifth year. Fair waving locks, mild blue eyes, and soft rosy cheeks, gave to his features, an air of weakness, almost effeminacy--and yet the carefully arranged blond mustachio and whiskers became him wonderfully. The costume of the period was especially adapted to set off the advantages of his person in the best light. He was entirely dressed in a suit of dark violet coloured velvet. The close fitting doublet was richly embroidered with gold, the slashed armlets lined with white were ornamented with point-lace. Over a white lace collar hung a gold medallion attached by a red ribbon. The trowsers, cut short at the knee, were there adorned with gold brocade and point-lace. In his left hand he held a black cap with red and white feathers.
Queen Elisabeth was somewhat smaller than Frederick. She was a perfect beauty. Her face bore the stamp of her English origin. Abundant fair golden hair, into which a diadem had been woven by a blue ribbon, cheeks suffused with the most delicate pink, lovely soft blue eyes, gave to the queen at first sight a remarkable resemblance to her husband. She wore a dress of pale green satin. This, low bodied and close fitting, brought out the wonderful fulness of her contour. The string of pearls, that hung round her neck, seemed to flow without any perceptible division into the snowy whiteness of her bosom.--Both, Frederick and his consort, wore satin shoes with large silk bows, and their feet rested upon a crimson cushion.--They gazed cheerfully and good-naturedly at the varied throng. Musicians occupied the gallery and at a sign from Habernfeld, on the entrance of the three officers, struck up a clamorous flourish of trumpets, and then played lively tunes.
The three officers in their simple uniform made a striking contrast to the rest of the company. Henry Schlick as fine a courtier, as a brave soldier, soon made himself at home among a group of ladies, but Bubna and Bitter felt strange amid the loud hubbub of the assembled guests, and stared silently and gloomily straight before them. Immediately on their arrival Habernfeld had led all three of them up to the place where the king was sitting and Schlick had excused the absence of Count Thurn on the score of urgent business that could not be postponed. General Bitter dared not venture on this occasion to announce the aim of his mission to Prague, but was fully determined in the course of the evening to submit his business to the king. An opportunity soon offered. The king and queen rose from their seats in order to make a tour of the room, and those who were present--for Frederick popular and condescending was fond of saying a word to each--ranged themselves in two long rows. The king, whom the Prince of Anhalt followed at a short distance, began to move down the line of gentlemen, while the queen turned to that of the ladies. Everyone to whom the king addressed an observation made a low obeisance. He spoke to everybody, and had a friendly or flattering word for each. Bitter and Bubna had remained standing together and waited in respectful silence for Frederick's address. As he approached General Bitter, Anhalt whispered something in the king's ear.
"General Bitter, from Mannsfield's camp, is it not so?" asked Frederick, while a shade of vexation flitted over his face--"I am pleased to see you in Prague; but you have been some weeks here. I am surprised that they can do so long without you in Mannsfield's camp...."
Bubna bit his lips till the blood started; and Bitter answered undismayed but calmly:
"Since your royal Majesty is so gracious as to enquire the grounds of my long residence in Prague, I must most humbly take leave to mention the affairs, that I have already once before had the honour of most obediently laying before your royal Majesty...."
"No business, no business," said Frederick, so loud that the bystanders could hear it, "I will for once in my life be joyous and not always thinking of governing and commanding. For the rest," he continued with excitement, "complaints are abroad; that Mannsfield places the district round about Pilsen under contribution as if he were in an enemy's country, and oppresses my own people: a stop must be put to this."
"If your Majesty will only listen to me for a moment," said Bitter hastily. "Mannsfield's corps d'armée is made up mainly of foreigners; bound by no oath to the crown of Bohemia they fight only so long as they receive pay. The pay is six months in arrear, the famished soldier, who has not a whole coat to his body, resembles rather a ragged robber than a man-at-arms, and if Mannsfield were not the adored hero of our camp, the whole corps would long ago have freed itself from the bands of discipline.--We are also surrounded by enemies, for Pilsen and the circumjacent districts are Imperialist in their sympathies, and the storming of Pilsen cost us many a bloody battle and many a skirmish.--The peasants, who should deliver corn and forage, and have up to this time been vainly paid by assignments upon the money that was to come from Prague, are difficult to deal with, and stand up in arms against us in large masses. All the necessaries of life have to be violently procured, sword in hand, out of a hostile and almost exhausted circle.--Your Majesty in your high wisdom cannot really expect that Mannsfield could obtain food for four thousand men and one thousand five hundred horses empty handed. As soon as your Majesty shall have graciously condescended to give orders to your commander-in-chief and paymaster, to pay over to us the sum that is due, there will be an end of all violence, and compensation will be made to those who have been aggrieved. To lay this and one other petition before your royal Majesty am I come to Prague, and as I have not yet been so fortunate as to see the object of my visit crowned with success, I was to my sorrow obliged to determine to remain absent for a time from the army, though every officer, every commander, should stay with his troops."
Anhalt grew pale with anger. Frederick was silent for a moment; the frank unconstrained speech of Mannsfield's officer had surprised and for a moment disturbed his composure.
"You speak very openly and unconstrainedly, Sir General,--I love frankness in a soldier, but you should never transgress the bounds of due respect. I will talk over and consider what you have said to me with my commander-in-chief.--When you return to Mannsfield's camp, do not report to the troops the manner in which you have addressed me--it might injure respect."
Frederick pronounced these words with a sad smile in an undertone, almost in a whisper inaudible to the rest.--He went no farther down the line, the joy of the evening was troubled, the king and queen soon went away, and Bubna and Bitter were the first to follow their example.
"Pest upon the Palatine," cried Bubna furiously, as both together rode down the Spornergasse. "But you stood up stoutly, Bitter: answered word for word and bravely urged your suit. That Frederick stood before thee trembling like a school-boy!Hetalk of oppression and forced contributions, and leaves his own brave troops to perish of hunger!--I cannot find fault with Thurn for having broken quite loose from this luxurious court, and shall wait till he returns again to the helm.--God be merciful to our poor country!"
Before Bubna's house the two Generals took leave of one another, and Bitter alone, followed by his two mounted servants, galloped over the bridge to the Altstadt. As he arrived at the Marienplatz, the clapper of the clock in the tower struck twenty one, equivalent to nine o'clock in the evening.--The owner of the house was waiting for him at the great gate, an armourer, who in times past had served under him as sergeant-major.
"It is already late," whispered Bitter to him, as he rode in, "open the back-door directly, I must be quick."--Shortly thereupon Otto Bitter stepped out of the back-door that led into the Plattnergasse; he wore again the dress of a student and hurried quickly to the Jews-quarter. The proprietor of the house, a man with a wooden leg, closed the door carefully and grumbled as he went across the court: "My general is brave, second to none as a warrior, but this passion is rather despicable for a great lord, now if it were a count's daughter or a lady of rank: but a Jewish wench! I cannot understand it."
Gabriel struck into the shortest way to his dwelling by the Old-Synagogue, he found the gate of the Ghetto still open and passed through the gate in the street called "golden" into it.--He had walked a short distance sunk in deep thought, when suddenly some words struck his ear: "I thank you, dear lady, I cannot accept your company, it is here, I think, quite safe in the streets and I shall soon be at home."
The melodious ringing tone of this voice made an extraordinary impression upon Gabriel. A violent terror for a moment thrilled through him. The strong colossal man was obliged to lean against a wall in order to save himself from falling, his breast heaved with mighty respirations, it seemed as if he did not dare to look about him, as if he was afraid that the form to which that voice belonged would melt before his eyes into nothing. But at the next moment a woman passed quickly by him, and the moon, gliding at that moment from behind a cloud, threw its pale trembling light upon a face that was, as it chanced, but half concealed by a floating veil. He could recognise the features, his ear had not deceived him.--"Found," he cried almost aloud after a pause of speechless rapture; "Gabriel! thou hast drained the cup of sorrow to the dregs! But thy revenge will be sweet, will be fearful!" ... then he followed, unobserved, with hasty step, the woman's form. She stopped for the first time breathless at the Hahnpass before an apparently quite uninhabited dilapidated three-storied house. She opened the house-door with a key that she drew out of a pocket in her dress, and shortly afterwards Gabriel saw a ray of light shooting from a garret-window. Gabriel wiped the perspiration from his forehead, rubbed his eyes, looked about him, laid his hands upon the cold walls of the house in order to convince himself that it was no dream, that filled him with lying phantoms, that this moment had really and truly an actual existence. He might have stood there for some few minutes when again the clear accents of a woman's voice pierced his ear.--"Why do you stand dreaming there, Reb Gabriel?"
Gabriel awoke as from a heavy sleep; a group of women stood before him, among them, his hostess Schöndel. "Why do you stand in the street like this, what are you waiting for? Why have you been neither home nor to service in the Old-Synagogue since mid-day?"
Gabriel recovered himself quickly; he found himself in the neighbourhood of Jacob's house; he had frequently excused his staying away so long from Schlome's house on the plea of his visits to the lunatic; he, unsociable as he was, never conversed with anyone, and Gabriel could feel sure that he would not be betrayed by him at any rate.
"Cannot you see," he said, "I have just come from the poor lunatic, who enlists my sympathies in the highest degree. One should visit those who are afflicted with spiritual infirmities, as well as those who suffer bodily ailment, and, perhaps, to do so is a more excellent work of charity."
"We too return from doing a good action," replied Schöndel; "I belong to the society of 'devout women.' We have been praying at the death-bed of a departing sister, have closed the eyes of a poor forsaken old woman.--It is sad to die solitary and forsaken."--Schöndel dried her beautiful eyes, which were wet with emotion.