KIERSON'S ESCAPE.
For weeks Joseph languished in prison, in total ignorance of the fate
that awaited him. At first the Governor was too busy to attend to the
case and it afterward slipped his memory entirely. For reasons of his
own, Loris did not interfere. Although he had instigated the arrest of
the Jew, he was careful not to inform his father of the true cause of
the trouble. His injured eye and general appearance required some
explanation and a drinking bout with some of the University students was
given as the cause. For the preservation of order, however, he advocated
the arrest of the offender and Kierson was taken into custody. Loris'
course was not dictated by caprice. If his august father knew that he
had sought an alliance with a daughter of the despised Hebrew race, he
would vent his wrath upon Loris' head for compromising the honor of the
noble family of Drentell.
The punishment usually inflicted upon students for quarrelling among
themselves was light and limited to a small fine. Kierson's was an
aggravated offence, however. The dignity of the Governor's son had
suffered, and as there was no precedent the case was allowed to drag on
indefinitely. Loris used his influence with the authorities to keep
Joseph in durance.
Meanwhile, the Israelites were not idle. Convinced that Kierson had done
nothing but his duty, they drew up a petition to the Governor, pleading
for mercy. Rabbi Mendel himself carried the document to the palace,
trusting to supplement the petition with his own eloquence.
Alas! the time when Mendel Winenki was a power in the Governor's house
had long since passed. There was a ruler now who knew not of the Rabbi
and his deeds, and Mendel had not even the satisfaction of speaking to
his excellency in person. He and his petition were referred to the Chief
of Police, the official who was supposed to have the entire matter in
charge.
Sick at heart, Mendel sought that worthy functionary. He carefully read
the petition, put it in his pocket and promised to look up the case and
report it to the Governor as soon as possible.
It was poor consolation that the Rabbi took to his people. Their
petition had accomplished nothing. It was not even possible to discover
where Joseph was concealed and whether he had already been sentenced or
not. Kathinka was heart-broken. She knew not what to do. A praiseworthy
impulse to go to the palace and throw herself at the Governor's feet was
checked by the thought that Loris might be there to delight in her
humiliation and to use his power to defeat her prayer.
After several weeks of suspense, the poor girl received a letter. It was
in a strange handwriting and she opened it with trembling hands. She
glanced hastily at the signature and with a cry allowed the missive to
fall to the ground.
"What is it, Kathinka?" asked the Rabbi, who had been sitting near-by.
"Read it, father; it is from Drentell!" cried his daughter.
The Rabbi took the letter up anxiously and his eyes ran eagerly over its
contents. Kathinka saw the deadly pallor that spread over his
countenance, watched his quivering lip and darkening brow. He read to
the end, and crumpling the letter in his hand, he threw himself upon the
sofa in a paroxysm of grief. The girl who had never before seen her
father so affected became seriously alarmed.
"What is it, father? What does he write?" she asked.
"Read it, my child; it is for you," sobbed the poor man. "Read it and
decide," and he handed the letter to his daughter, while the tears ran
down his cheeks.
Kathinka, with varied emotions, opened out the paper and read the
contents. The note was as follows:
BELOVED KATHINKA:--You will justly reproach me for having
remained silent so long, but do not attribute it to a waning of my
affection. I love you more devotedly, more tenderly than ever. Your
cruelty to me at our last interview has but served to fan the flame
of my passion. I have since thought only of you. I know your heart
is set against me on account of the arrest of your betrothed. Do
not blame me for having a hand in his incarceration. The law of the
land is severe, and although I exerted my influence, I was
powerless to stay its hand in the matter. Your friend is condemned
to a life-long exile in Siberia. It is a terrible fate, worse than
death itself. You alone can save him from it. Consent to come to
me, to share my heart, to make me the happiest of men, and I myself
will plead with the Governor and obtain his pardon. The day that
sees you at my side will restore your friend to liberty. Do not
deem me cruel. I would serve you if you but gave me the right to do
so. I await your reply. LORIS.
When Kathinka had ceased reading, she dropped the letter and hid her
burning head in her hands, while her body rocked with grief and despair.
Her father gazed at her in silence, with a look of intense commiseration
on his face.
"What can I do?" she moaned, at length. "What would Joseph have me do?
He would rather die a thousand deaths than owe his liberty to my
degradation. Father, my duty is clear! Joseph is innocent of any crime
and the God of Israel will protect him."
"God bless you, my daughter," replied the Rabbi. "You have spoken well.
Will you answer this letter?"
"No, father; I shall treat it with contempt. The writer can draw his own
conclusions from my silence."
It was a sad day for both the Rabbi's and Kierson's families. The
latter, much as they loved their only son, sincerely approved of
Kathinka's decision.
"If he must go to Siberia," they sobbed; "he will go without a sin upon
his soul. We are all in the hands of the Almighty."
Old Kierson thenceforth went daily to the police headquarters,
endeavoring in vain to obtain information about his son. He found no
one that could enlighten him as to his present condition or future fate,
and he trudged homeward, feeling daily more sick at heart, more
depressed in spirit.
At the end of a week, Kathinka received a second letter from her
persecutor. It was more offensive than the first. It stated that Joseph
was still a prisoner; that owing to his (Loris') influence the sentence
had not yet been carried out. There was still time to save him from
ignominious exile. He hinted, moreover, at a movement to drive the Jews
out of Kief and promised to avert the catastrophe if Kathinka yielded to
his persuasions. There were passion and insult in every line.
The poor girl was almost distracted with grief and mortification, the
more so as it became necessary to take the entire Jewish community into
the secret.
Rabbi Mendel hastily summoned a meeting of the influential men of his
congregation and laid the matter before them. There was great
consternation when it was learned that a new danger threatened the race,
but there was not one among them who would not have suffered the
cruelest persecution rather than allow the Rabbi's daughter to sacrifice
her honor for their salvation. It was impossible to form a plan of
action, for as yet the peril that menaced them was too indefinite, but
Mendel exhorted them to do nothing that might throw the slightest
reproach upon Israel.
The Governor's animosity towards the Jews now became manifest. The acts
of intolerance were in themselves insignificant, but they were like the
distant rumblings of thunder that precede the storm and were not easily
mistaken by the poor Hebrews.
Because of Kierson's thrashing the ruler's son, an edict was issued
expelling Jewish students from the University of Kief. Some time after,
a Jew who, through Mendel's influence during Pomeroff's palmy days had
obtained the office of under-secretary to a police magistrate, was
summarily dismissed "because he was a Hebrew." Then followed an edict
restricting the attendance of Jewish children at the public schools, and
expelling all children whose parents had not resided in the city for at
least ten years, retaining the others only upon the payment of an
exorbitant tax which none but the wealthy could afford. These and many
other petty acts of intolerance caused the Jews no little uneasiness.
One day Rabbi Winenki was sitting in his study. It was raining in
torrents without, and the landscape appeared deluged and desolate. The
Rabbi gazed out at the dismal scene and sighed regretfully as he thought
of those whose occupations compelled them to remain out of doors in such
miserable weather.
Suddenly the door was thrown open and Joseph came, or rather rushed,
into the room. His face was pale as death; his garments, torn and
tattered, were soaked with rain. He had become thin through long
confinement and every line of his features betokened abject misery.
The Rabbi started as though he beheld a spectre, but seeing that the
young man was about to sink to the floor exhausted, he sprang to his
feet and helped him to a chair.
"What, Joseph! God be praised! Kathinka, Recha, come quickly," he cried,
running to the door leading to an adjoining apartment. "Bring some
brandy."
Kathinka was not long in coming, and unmindful of his appearance, with a
cry of joy, she fell upon Joseph's bosom and kissed him rapturously.
"Oh, Joseph, I am so happy!" murmured the girl. "Are you free, entirely
free?"
Joseph gasped for breath. He could not speak. The Rabbi hastily poured
some liquor into a glass which Recha had brought and held it to the
young man's lips. The draught seemed to revive him.
"Hurry," he whispered, looking about him, anxiously; "hide me somewhere
before the officers come after me."
A look of disappointment passed over the Rabbi's face.
"Then you are not acquitted?" he asked.
"No! I escaped. I'll tell you all about it, but not here. They might
come and find me. Let us go upstairs, anywhere out of sight. Send for my
parents! It would be dangerous for me to visit them, but I must see them
before I leave."
"You are not going away again!" cried Kathinka.
"I must. It is death to remain here!"
The Rabbi supported the young man while he went to an upper floor, and
leaving him to the ministrations of his wife and daughter, he despatched
a messenger to the Kiersons to inform them of the arrival of the
unexpected guest.
By the time they were all assembled, Joseph had, in a measure revived
and recovered his cheerful spirits.
"But where have you been and what have you been doing?" asked the Rabbi,
after the first loving greetings had been exchanged.
"I have been in a terrible place," sighed the student, shuddering at the
mere recollection of his experience. "When I was taken from home I was
led to the jail near the barracks, up in the Petcherskoi quarter, and
without a trial, without a hearing of any kind, I was thrown into a
cell about five feet square. After my eyes had become accustomed to the
darkness, I looked about me. In one corner I found a bed of straw with a
cover as thin as paper. A broken chair and a rough wooden basin
completed the furniture. The place reeked with corruption and filth, and
the stench was almost unbearable. Of the vile food they placed before
me, I could eat nothing except the bread. It was _trefa_, but had it
been prepared according to our rites, its nauseating appearance would
have caused me to reject it.
"There I lay for weeks, perhaps months, for I lost all reckoning of
time, without knowing what was to be done with me. I almost wished they
would send me to Siberia, so that I might escape that foul atmosphere.
If their jails are so terrible, what must be the condition of their
Troubetzkoi prison?"
"Poor boy," sobbed his father, "what a terrible experience you have had.
But tell us, how did you escape?"
"By the merest accident. They recently changed the warden of the prison,
and the new incumbent, a kind-hearted man, at once visited the cells and
inquired into the charges upon which each prisoner was detained. When he
heard my story, he evinced the greatest surprise, and on investigating
the matter, he came to the conclusion that I had been forgotten by the
authorities, as it was not customary to detain a prisoner so long upon
so slight an offence. The charge against me was simply participating in
a student's quarrel, and the warden was inclined to be lenient with me.
He at once made inquiries concerning my future fate, and learned that I
was to be kept a prisoner until my punishment had been definitely
decided upon. As there was no order to keep me in a cell, the warden
allowed me to roam about the prison at will, and I made myself generally
useful about the place. I tried to write to you, to inform you of my
condition, but it was forbidden. To-day, the warden sent his assistant
to town upon an errand, and he himself went down into one of the lower
corridors to dispose of some new prisoners. He had left his keys upon
his table. At last I saw liberty within reach! There was nobody about. I
seized the keys, unlocked the outer gates and ran for my life. I feared
I would be seen and recognized if I came directly through Kief, so I ran
to the outskirts of the town and came here by a roundabout road. I have
walked and run for the last two hours, through mud and rain, through
swamps and ditches, until my feet would support me no longer. I thought
I would never get here."
"And if you should be discovered?" asked the Rabbi.
"Then I will be taken back and treated more harshly than before. I would
rather die than go back to that dreary cell. It is dangerous for you to
harbor me. I must leave here at once, this very night."
"Where will you go?" asked Kathinka, who was seated at the sufferer's
side, and wiped the perspiration from his fevered brow.
"I do not know. Anywhere! Wherever I can find friends to succor me, and
where I can occasionally hear from you and see you."
Mendel reflected a moment.
"The Rabbi of Berditchef is my friend," he said, at length. "Go to him.
I will give you a letter of introduction, and he will do all in his
power to assist you. It is not far from here. If you start on foot
to-night you can reach the place by morning."
"Oh, you surely are not going to-night, and in such weather," cried the
girl. "Don't leave us yet, Joseph; stay with us. We will conceal you."
"Don't make my departure harder than I can bear, Kathinka. I must
go--for your sake as well as for mine. I tremble even now, lest they
should discover me. I will go to Berditchef for the present."
"And your aspirations for a physician's career--what will become of
them?" asked his father.
Joseph sighed, and his eyes were dimmed with tears.
"It will be hard to give up my plans, but I see no alternative."
"Don't worry, my boy," said the Rabbi, consolingly. "There are more ways
than one to make an honorable living. Honesty, thrift and energy will
enable you to succeed in any undertaking. Whether you be a doctor or a
cobbler, we will not think the less of you, and I am sure Kathinka will
love you none the less."
Kathinka threw her arms about her lover's neck and clung to him
affectionately. Joseph's face brightened.
"Get me something to eat," sighed the young man, "for I am famished and
the way is long."
A meal was hastily brought, and a substantial lunch was prepared by
Kathinka's hands, to cheer the wanderer upon his lonely path.
Night came. The storm had not abated, the wind still moaned and the rain
fell in torrents. It was a wretched night for a foot-journey to
Berditchef, and Joseph's mother and his affianced endeavored to persuade
the young man to postpone his journey until morning.
Joseph shook his head, sorrowfully.
"I would be recaptured if I waited. No, I have no time to lose; every
moment is precious. Think of me, my dear ones, and pray for me. When I
can do so in safety, I shall return to Kief; until then, God bless you
all."
Kissing his weeping friends farewell, he wrapped himself in a stout
mantle which the Rabbi had procured for him, and stepped out into the
inhospitable night.
For a time the sorrow-stricken families wept silently; then Mendel
advised the Kiersons to return to their home at once.
"If the police follow him," he said, "they will naturally search your
dwelling first. It will be unfortunate if they find you absent, and
might lead to inquiries which would give them a clue to his whereabouts.
As it is, you can truthfully say that he has not shown himself in your
house."
The old people acted upon the suggestion and reached their house not a
moment too soon. They had scarcely entered before a number of officers
demanded admittance and began a thorough search of the premises.
Satisfied by the replies of the lad's parents that he had not visited
the house, they withdrew in no very amiable humor to continue their
investigations at the house of the Rabbi, where they were equally
unsuccessful. Failing to trace him in the Jewish quarter, the officers
returned to the fortress and reported their lack of success to the
warden. This worthy was at first inclined to lose his temper, but he
finally shrugged his shoulders and muttered:
"Let him go, poor fellow! He has been here nearly two months, and that
is punishment enough for having thrashed a man, were that man the
Governor himself."
A few days later, Kathinka received two letters. The first she opened
was from Joseph. It announced his safe arrival in Berditchef and his
kind reception by the Rabbi's friend, who had at once found him
congenial employment. It abounded in expressions of affection and
undying love. Kathinka pressed it to her lips and, with an overflowing
heart, thanked the Almighty that her lover was safe.
The second letter was from Loris. It, too, was full of passionate
yearning, but its flowery phrases created a feeling of intense disgust.
The Count, evidently ignorant of Joseph's escape, ended his missive with
the assurance that unless Kathinka acceded to his demands, her friend
would be sent to Siberia on the morrow.
Kathinka threw the paper into the fire.