The low part of Langen-Schwalbach, where the Jews live, is the most
ancient portion of the town, the houses they inhabit being just above
and below the great original brunnen or fountain, which, as I have
stated, was celebrated for its medicinal properties even in the time of
the Romans. This immense spring, which rises within a foot and a half
of the surface of the ground (being then carried away by a subterranean
drain), is two or three times as large as the Stahl brunnen, the Wein
brunnen, or the fashionable Pauline. It contains very little iron,
being principally sulphureous. From the violence with which it rises
from the rock, the water is apparently constantly boiling, and such a
suffocating gas arises from it, that, as at the Grotto del Cane, at
Naples, one single inhalation would be nearly sufficient to deprive a
person of his senses. Besides being strongly impregnated with this gas,
it has also such an unearthly taste, that one almost fancies it must
flow direct from the cellar of his Satanic majesty. Still, however, the
Jews constantly drink, cook, and even wash with this water; however,
being below the surface, it is necessary for them to stoop into the
suffocating vapour whenever they fill their pitchers; and as one sees
Jewess after Jewess dipping her dark greasy head into this infernal
caldron, holding her breath, and then suddenly raising her head, with
a momentary paleness and an aspiration which sufficiently explain
her sensations, one feels anything but sympathy for a being who can
voluntarily flutter in such a fetid climate.
With sentiments, I fear, not very liberal, I stood for many minutes
looking at those who came to fill their pitchers; at last, rather a
better feeling shooting across me, I resolved once more to make a trial
of water on which so many of my fellow-creatures seemed to subsist,
and I accordingly dipped my hand into a large washing-tub which an old
Jewess had half suffocated herself in filling with her pitcher. The
woman offered me no sign or word of disrespect; but I saw her cast a
withering look at the water, as if a cup of poison had been poured into
it: she continued, however, very quietly to fill her other tubs; but
after I had walked away, turning suddenly round for a moment, I saw her
upset the tub from which I had drunk, her lips muttering at the same
time some short observation to a sister Jewess standing beside her.
I could not, however, help acknowledging that her prejudice was not
more illiberal, and certainly far more excusable, than my own; and as
I had determined to attend that evening the Jewish synagogue, in the
meanwhile I did what I could to bring my mind to a proper state of
feeling towards a people whose form of worship I was desirous seriously
to witness.
Never had I before chanced to enter a synagogue; yet, when I had
reflected on the singular history of the Jews, I had often concluded
that there must be some strange, unaccountable attraction, something
inexplicably mysterious in their forms of worship, which could have
induced them to brave the persecutions that in all ages, and in so many
countries, had traced out their history in letters of blood.
Full of curiosity, I had therefore inquired at what hour on Friday
their church would assemble, and being told that they would meet "as
soon as the stars were visible," I walked towards the synagogue, a few
minutes after sunset, and in every Jewish house I observed, as I passed
it, seven candles burning in a circle. The house of worship was a small
oblong hovel, not unlike a barn. The door was open, but no human being
appeared within, excepting a man over whose shoulders there was thrown
a piece of common brown sackcloth. This personage, who turned out to
be the priest, stood before a sort of altar; and, just as careless of
it as of us, he stood bowing to it incessantly. There being not much
to see in these vibrations, I walked away, and returning in about five
minutes, I found the congregation had suddenly assembled, and the
service begun.
In the course of my life, like most people, I have chanced to witness
a great variety of forms of worship, several of which it would not
be very easy to describe. For instance, it would be difficult, or
rather impossible, to delineate, by words, high mass, as performed
in the great church of St. Peter, at Rome. One might, indeed,
fully describe any part of it, but the silence of one moment, the
burst of music at another, the immensity of the building, and the
assembled congregation, produce altogether sensations on the eye and
ear which the goose-quill has not power to impart. Again, to the
simple homage which a Peruvian Indian pays to the sun no man could
do justice; one might describe his attitude as he prostrates himself
before what he conceives to be the burning ruler of the universe,
but the fleeting expressions of his supplicating countenance, as it
trembles--hopes--flushes--and then, with eyes dazzled to dimness,
trembles again,--may be witnessed, but cannot be described. One of
the wildest forms of worship I ever beheld was, perhaps, the dance of
the Dervishes, at Athens; for there is a sort of enthusiasm in the
convulsions into which these twelve men throw themselves, which has a
most indescribable effect on those who witness it: it is madness,--yet
it is a tempest of the mind within the range of which no man's senses
can live unruffled;--the strongest judgment bends before the gale, and
insensibly are the feelings led astray by conduct, actions, words,
grimaces, and contortions, which, taken altogether, are indescribable.
But although these and many other forms of worship may be original
pictures which cannot be copied, yet I think a child of ten years
of age, if he could only hold a pen, might give a reader as good a
notion of the Langen-Schwalbach synagogue, as if he had been there
himself a thousand times; for all the poor child would have to do
would be to beg him imagine a small dirty barn, swarming with fleas,
filled with dirty-looking men in dirty dresses, with old hats on their
heads, spitting--hallooing--reading--bowing--hallooing louder than
ever--scratching themselves as they leave the synagogue,--and then
calmly walking home to their seven candles!
To any serious, reflecting mind, all religions, to a certain point,
are worthy of respect. It is true, all cannot be right, yet the errors
are those which fellow-creatures need not dispute among each other;
he who has the happiness to go right has no just cause to be offended
with those who unfortunately have mistaken their course; and however
men's political opinions may radiate from each other, yet their zeal
for religion is at least one tie which ought to connect them together.
However, the Jews of Langen-Schwalbach, so far as a spectator can
judge by their behaviour, do not even pretend to be zealous in their
cause. There is no pretence of feeling, not attempt either at humbug
or effect. They perform their service as if, having made a regular
bargain to receive certain blessings for hallooing a certain time,
they conceived that all they had to do was scrupulously to perform
their part of the contract, that there was no occasion to exceed their
agreement, or give more than was absolutely required by the bond.
As I stood just within the door of the synagogue, listening to their
rude, uncouth, noisy worship, almost every eye was turned upon me, and
the expression of many of the countenances was so ill-favoured, that I
very soon left them, though I had even then a long way to walk before I
ceased to hear the strange wild hullabulloo they were making.