THE PRIEST IN THE SYNAGOGUE.
Mikail did not allow the grass to grow beneath his feet. Stimulated by
the approval of the Czar as well as by his own undying hatred, he lost
no time in collecting the statistics that were required for his
purpose.
Hitherto he had been content to accept hearsay evidence in his estimate
of Jewish life and character; he had never knowingly come in contact
with one of the race. Convinced, however, that public opinion was not
half severe enough, he determined to personally investigate their manner
of life. For some days, therefore, he made periodical trips through the
old Jewish quarter, sounded the Christians with whom the Jews
occasionally associated, and with an acute but not impartial eye, made
his observations.
It was Saturday of the week following the events narrated in the last
chapter. The snow that mantled the earth was frozen solid, and the bells
tinkled merrily as the sleighs skimmed over the glistening road. A cold
bracing air sent the blood surging through the veins of the pedestrians
and brought the ruddy glow of health to their cheeks.
The priest, bent upon new discoveries, walked rapidly in the direction
of the Jewish quarter. Suddenly he stopped. He had almost run against a
man who was hurriedly walking in the opposite direction.
"What, Loris! is it you?" he cried, upon recognizing his protector's
son. "What are you doing in this part of the town?"
"I might repeat the question," answered Loris. "Why is a priest roaming
about these streets, when he should be counting his beads up in the
Petcherskoi convent?"
Mikail frowned. Loris' sneering tone grated harshly upon him.
"I owe you no explanation," he said, curtly; "but if it will give you
any satisfaction to know, I am following up a subject of importance to
the State."
"And I," said Loris, confidingly, "am following up a far more
interesting subject. You should see her, Mikail! Such a head, such eyes,
such a form! To think that I have wasted so many months abroad while
Kief held such a treasure!"
"What do you mean?" asked the priest, dryly.
"A young girl, of course. She must live about here somewhere. I saw her
come up this street, but when I turned the corner she had mysteriously
disappeared. I tell you, Mikail, she is a beauty. I shall not rest until
I find her!"
"You are seeking perdition," exclaimed the priest, wrathfully. "A pretty
face is Satan's trap to lure a weak soul into his toils."
"Convent talk!" answered Loris, disdainfully. "Why do I stand here and
speak to a priest about a woman? When you take your vows of celibacy you
pretend to dislike anything that wears petticoats. But I doubt whether
even you could resist the temptation of a handsome face and voluptuous
form."
Mikail's eyes flashed. He was about to reply to Loris' sneer, but, by a
severe effort, he checked his rising anger, and without another word
turned on his heel and walked away.
"Ill-natured cur!" muttered Loris. "They are all alike--hypocritical
fools! With all their pretended virtue, I would not like to expose the
best of them to even a moderate temptation."
Mikail walked through a maze of lanes until he came to the street which
had formed one of the boundaries of the "Jews' town." He now observed,
for the first time, groups of Jewish men, women and children, dressed in
their holiday attire, pass him and enter a large building not far away.
"It is their Sabbath, and they are going to their barbarous worship,"
thought the priest, as he crossed himself.
He went further into the quarter, carefully avoiding the groups that he
encountered, and finally entered the dwelling of a Christian woman, who
sublet rooms to Jewish tenants. The information which awaited him here
must have been important, for it was quite a while before he emerged
into the street and retraced his steps towards the city. His path led
directly past Mendel's synagogue. Through the window he heard the chant
of the _hazan_, and he paused, reflectively.
"After all," he murmured, "what harm can it do if I go in. I am in
search of facts and where shall I be better able to find them than in
the Jews' stronghold, their synagogue?"
Crossing himself devoutly, he opened the door and entered.
The _shamas_ (sexton), surprised to see a _gallach_ (priest) in the
synagogue, stood for some moments in doubt, but finally shuffled up to
the stranger and showed him a seat in the last row of benches.
Mikail sat down passively. For a moment he seemed dazed and stupefied.
Perhaps it was only the heat and the glare of the burning candles; but
gradually a strange spell came over him, which he tried in vain to shake
off.
He could not remember ever having been in a synagogue, and yet the
praying-desks, the pulpit and the ark for the holy scrolls seemed
singularly familiar. He looked up. Yes, there was the latticed gallery
filled with women, just as he had expected to find it!
The _hazan_ was intoning a prayer. Between the words he interjected a
number of strange trills and turns. How weird it all sounded, and yet
how familiar to the wondering priest. Mikail found himself almost
instinctively supplying the following word before it was uttered by the
reader. Then the congregation arose and responded to the prayer, and
Mikail arose, too, and it seemed as though the words of the responses
were laid upon his tongue.
It was strange, very strange, and yet it was fascinating.
Again the congregation arose. The Rabbi went to the ark at the back of
the pulpit and took out one of the scrolls, covered with a red velvet
cloth curiously embroidered with golden letters. Mikail followed his
every movement with intense interest. He scarcely breathed.
"_Shema Israel,_" sang the Rabbi; "_Adonai Elohenu,_" and then he paused
a moment to clear his throat of something he must have inhaled.
"Why don't he continue," thought Mikail, impatient at the momentary
interruption, and then in a voice loud enough to be heard over the
entire synagogue, he ended the sentence by crying:
"_Adonai Echod!_"
All turned to look at the speaker, and they whispered among themselves
in surprise at hearing a monk recite the _shema_ in a _schul_. The women
looked down from the gallery in amazement.
Mikail's face flushed. His first impulse was to flee, to get out of the
accursed place, to break the spell of enchantment that bound him. With a
muttered prayer he strode to the door, only to find it locked from
without. It was customary to bolt the door during certain portions of
the service, to prevent noise and consequent disturbance.
The priest was therefore obliged to remain. Obeying a natural impulse,
he made the sign of the cross, set his jaws firmly, and awaited further
developments.
The _hazan_ opened the Pentateuch and the _parnas_ of the congregation
was called to the _Torah_. Every movement was anticipated by the priest.
The parnas reverently lifted the fringes of his _tallis_, and with them
touched the sacred Scroll; then, kissing them, he recited the customary
blessing. Mikail repeated it with him. It sounded almost as familiar as
his own liturgy. Suddenly a reaction came over the stern and haughty
priest as the services continued. A strange storm broke within his
bosom; undefined recollections, visions of a once happy home, a tangled
revery of fanciful memories chased each other through his excited brain.
Without knowing why, he felt the hot tears coursing down his cheeks,
tears which not even the harsh treatment he had endured during his early
years at the monastery could force from their reservoirs. One after
another, seven men were called to the _Torah_, and their actions and
prayers were a repetition of those of the _parnas_. The monotonous
reading at length came to an end, Mikail heard the bolts withdrawn, and
with hasty strides he cleared the passage into the street. On he sped
through the city, looking neither to the right nor the left, scarcely
knowing whither he went, until he finally reached the Petcherskoi
convent, where he had taken up his temporary quarters. Without returning
the greetings of the monks, apparently unconscious of his surroundings,
he went straight to his cell and there gave way to a flood of passion.
An hour afterwards a monk found him upon his knees before an icon, in
fervent prayer.
"I have been bewitched, Sergeitch," he said, with his wonted calmness.
"Pray for me that the evil spirit may leave me."