magnificent Frau Emilie, wife of the new registrar. Her husband has
lived ten years in Barnow, but he is still called the "new registrar,"
to distinguish him from his colleague, who has been there twice as long.
Frau Emilie will show you a calling-card, and answer as follows: "How
can one associate with such a person? Look at her card--why has she not
had it printed in the proper way, with her maiden name in the usual
place? Because it would not look well to put 'Christine von Negrusz,
_nee_ Bilkes, _divorcee_ Silberstein.' Her real name is Chane, her
father is Nathan Bilkes, and another Nathan--Nathan Silberstein--is her
first husband. Negrusz is eccentric. First he wanted to marry the
daughter of a millionaire, an Armenian baron, and when this was
forbidden, he suddenly comforted himself by falling in love with the
rather good-looking Jewess, and he bought her from her husband...."
"Bought?" you will ask with surprise--"for money--for hard cash?"
"Of course--why not?" your informant will reply. "Are you really
surprised? To a Jew everything is salable--even a wife. It is said that
Negrusz had to pay down a thousand gulden. If you do not believe me, ask
every one in Barnow, or, better still, ask Nathan Silberstein how much
he got. He is a wine-merchant, and though he is continually traveling
about, he is sure to be at home for the great feasts. He will tell you
that he gave her up to the district judge willingly. Now, I ask you, can
we associate with such a woman?"
Emilie, the magnificent, is right for the most part. Frau Christine was
really Chane, and she had been Chane Bilkes, and afterward Chane
Silberstein. The wine-merchant had given her up voluntarily to the
district judge. She was right also when she said that it was impossible
for her--Emilie--to know such a person. She was quite wrong about the
money transaction.
The price paid was not a bank-note, but a human heart.
* * * * *
The synagogue is a gray weather-beaten building, erected long ago,
almost in the middle ages. The country people call it the Judenburg
(Jews' strong-hold), because the Jews once took refuge in it, and
intrenched themselves there, when Prince Czartoryski came to murder and
rob them. One of his reasons for doing so was that he wanted sport, and
there were no foxes or wild boars to be found in the neighborhood in the
hunting season; and another was, that he wanted money. The Jews hid
themselves and their property behind the walls and iron bars of the
synagogue, and held out until the men of Jagiellnica arrived from their
neighboring fortress, and relieved them. At that time the walls of the
Judenburg were strong, and the iron-work firm; but the bars are all
broken now, or they are lost, and the walls are half in ruins. As if to
testify to the importance of the building as a holy refuge, the poorest
of the Jews' houses are built round it on three sides. On the fourth
side, the sluggish river Lered flows so close to the synagogue that
there is only space for two dwellings. One of these is a large new
house, painted yellow--an unusual decoration in this vicinity--and the
other is a dirty, ruinous cottage clinging forlornly to the bank of the
river. The yellow house seems to be shoving its poorer neighbor over the
brink, the moldering walls of the hovel hang so directly above the slow
sad water. The rich wine-merchant, Manasse Silberstein, used to live
with his son in the large house, and a very poor man, Nathan Bilkes, had
lived for many years in the hovel.
Nathan had been a _dorfgeher_ (peddler) as long as his strength had
lasted, and then he spent a weak lonely old age upon his hardly earned
savings, eked out by the charity of the community. He had become
prematurely old and weak, like most people of his hard-working,
poverty-stricken class.
A _dorfgeher_ means, in the language of his co-religionists, a traveler
who gains his livelihood by supplying the surrounding villages with the
necessaries of life. On Sundays he tramps out of the town with an
enormous pack upon his back, in which is stored all that the heart of a
Ruthenian peasant could wish for, except the one thing most desired--for
the _dorfgeher_ does not sell schnapps.
Everything else he sells: straw hats, leather belts, boots,
clasp-knives, flowers, ribbons, corals, love-philters, stuffs for gowns,
spindles, linen, tallow, hardware, images of the saints, charms,
wax-candles, needles, linen thread, and newspapers of the last week. He
sells everything, and all are his customers--from the cavalry officers,
who buy his smuggled cigars, and the pastors and gentry, who buy his
fine stuffs, to the poorest peasant. Throughout the whole week he goes
from village to village, from house to house--in the height of summer
and the depth of winter. He knows everybody, and all know him. If they
require his wares they invite him to cross their thresholds; if they
want to buy nothing they drive him away, and if he does not go
immediately they hound their dogs at him. The peasant and the noble, the
chaplain and the young lieutenants, sharpen their wits at his expense;
and if their jokes are not always ready, they try their switches and
spurs. But he never wearies, and from early morning until late evening
he raises his hoarse cry, and haggles and cheats wherever he can. If he
can not get money in exchange for his wares, he will take what he can
get--skins, grain, chickens, ducks, or eggs. On Friday afternoons he
returns to town, and for one whole day he feels himself a man; but on
Sunday he becomes nothing but a _dorfgeher_ again....
Nathan Bilkes was a _dorfgeher_, and the above is a description of his
life, which differed in no way from that of others of his trade. His
father had found him a wife in due time. She had proved most excellent,
but had died soon after her marriage, leaving two children.
The children grew up, strong and beautiful, in the dark cheerless
cottage, as one sometimes sees sweet flowers blooming in the midst of
rubbish and decay. But their father bewailed their strength and beauty,
for these qualities lost them to him. His children so passed out of his
life that he grew to look upon them as dead. The son was obliged to
become a soldier, because Nathan could not pay the fifty gulden that
were required to obtain his release. Baer Blitzer, the broker, had said
that it could be done for fifty gulden, but the money was not there. The
lad went to Italy with his regiment, and after the battle of Magenta his
name was in the official list as "missing." His old father waited long
for his return, but he never came back. His daughter, too, died to him.
"My Chane," the old man took care to say, "was a beautiful Jewess; but I
do not know the heathen (_goje_) Frau Christine."
The _dorfgeher_ had not foreseen that his daughter would be a source of
trouble to him. His Chane had been as obedient as she was lovely,
modest, and industrious. She was not alone beloved by her father--she
was a universal favorite.
No one grudged her good luck when old Manasse Silberstein sought her
hand in marriage for his only son Nathan. It was a great and unexpected
good fortune; for these people are strictly divided into classes, and
the rich and poor seldom intermarry. This custom is natural; for the
only occupation they were permitted to follow was money-making, thus the
possession of wealth has been their sole happiness for many generations.
The poor peddler was at first incredulous. Old Manasse was very rich,
and had a large grocery business, and a prosperous trade in Hungarian
and Moldavian wines. It was a great distinction for the poor girl that
his choice fell upon her.
Nathan Silberstein was a man of irreproachable character. He was a
fine-looking young fellow, honest, straightforward, and intelligent, and
knew the Talmud as well as he knew his trade. As he was to be a
merchant, his father had had him taught High German. With the help of
his teacher he learned reading and writing, and waded through a
"complete letter-writer," and a "complete index of German municipal
law." These two books were supposed to represent his German library; but
hidden in his bookcase, under great Hebrew folios, was one other little
German book. On Saturday afternoons, when he went to spend his holiday
in the park, he took this little volume in his pocket. He read it in a
solitary corner where the green leaves rustled around him, and at these
times he felt something within him moving in sympathy with the poetry,
of which he was unconscious during the rest of the week. Perhaps it was
his heart beating. On the back of the book the title was written in gilt
letters, "Schiller's Poems."
When his father told him he had chosen him a wife, and who she was to
be, his heart was untouched. He answered dutifully, "As you will,
father;" but the color left his face as he spoke. The girl was as
obedient to her father as he was to his, only she blushed instead of
turning pale when she heard the name of her future husband.
The betrothal took place, and three months later they were married.
In the interval, Nathan gave his _fiancee_ presents of costly pearls and
precious stones; and she embroidered a robe in gold and silver for him
to wear in the synagogue. Their conversations were always on indifferent
subjects. They did not talk of themselves or their future life, and they
did not talk of the past; for though they had been neighbors all their
lives, they had no mutual recollections.
The marriage was solemnized with great pomp and ceremony: wine flowed
liberally, mountains of meat and confectionery were consumed, and the
best musicians and merry-andrews enlivened the guests. The young people
then took up their abode in the large roomy house opposite the Dominican
monastery, which Manasse had prepared for his son. They led a busy life;
their days were spent in labor, and they lived on pleasant friendly
terms with one another. They were both good and well-disposed, and as
they had never expected their married life to be spent in an earthly
paradise, they were not disappointed. Custom, a common occupation, and
mutual respect bound them to each other. Time passed uneventfully until
the end of the first year, when a child was born, and the young father
again felt his heart beat as it had not done for a long time. The infant
only survived its birth a few weeks, and grief brought the young couple
into closer sympathy than before. Old Manasse died about the same time,
and the whole responsibility of the business fell upon their shoulders.
Nathan had to go away on long journeys, and Chane became a trustworthy
stewardess of the great house. She learned to read and write German, so
as to be able to help her husband in the business, while his personal
comforts were her ceaseless care. He had the greatest esteem for her,
and brought her many presents from Lemberg and Czernowitz. They were
contented with their lot, and were happy enough.
Happy enough--why were they not quite happy?
Because they did not love one another. They knew nothing of love except
that Christians, previous to marriage, fell in love; and what concern
had a Jew in Christian usages?
They were happy enough, and their married life seemed firmly founded on
esteem for each other, and on their common interests and work; but the
storms of passion were to shake the structure to its base, and after
throwing it down, were to carry them onward to grief and pain.
* * * * *
Barnow is a very small town, a squalid nook in a God-forgotten corner of
the earth, where the great current of life hardly seems to cause the
faintest ripple--but it has its _casino_. This is only a modest little
room in the court behind Nathan's shop, containing two tables and a few
chairs. Nathan had opened it for the use of his principal customers.
Here the officials and magnates of Barnow are accustomed to drink their
morning glasses and discuss politics; and if their wives allow them,
they do the same again in the evening. The high-born Florian von
Bolwinski, a squire without land, and a bachelor, drinks not only his
morning and evening glasses in this room, but sundry others also,
filling up the intervals with expeditions to make love to a cook, or
squeeze a Jew, or execute some important business. The former district
judge, Herr Hippolyt Lozinski, had been a constant customer; and the
little room did him one good service in giving him a red nose, which was
a fine contrast to his yellow complexion. When the red deepened to ruby
color he died, rather to the delight of the district, and to the grief
of his many admirers. Frau Kasimira retired to the estate of the Von
Cybulskies, a small, heavily mortgaged farmhouse near Tarnopol; and the
new district judge, Herr Julko von Negrusz, took up his residence in the
first floor of the white house. He took the place of his predecessor at
the _casino_ also, but without frequenting it so continually as he had
been used to do.
Herr von Negrusz was a man of about thirty. He was recognized at once to
be an excellent jurist, and when better known, he was also considered a
good fellow. A district judge in Podolia is a sort of demigod, and is
either the blessing or curse of the district. Herr von Negrusz made a
good use of his power. There is not much to be said about his external
appearance: he was a slightly built man, with quiet brown eyes and a
face that could neither be called handsome nor ugly. The custom-house
officer's three sallow elderly daughters considered him a barbarian, and
quite unsusceptible to the charms of women. He did not care for ladies'
society.
Herr von Negrusz soon became a constant guest in the little parlor
behind the grocer's shop. He went there daily when he left the office,
and spent half an hour reading the newspapers before going home to the
dinner prepared by his old housekeeper. As the entrance by the court was
inconvenient and not very clean, he always, like most of the guests,
went through the shop where Nathan Silberstein's beautiful wife
superintended the business. It was his habit to pass her with a bow. He
never talked and joked with her, as did most of the older men and the
young officers. He had no particular reason for acting thus, except that
much laughing and joking was not in his way. He may also have thought
that what these men called compliments were probably objectionable to
her; but if so, he was mistaken--Chane was indifferent to what they
said, and regarded their talk as one of the annoyances inseparable from
attendance in the shop, as, for example, the draughts. Her manner was
very decided, and she was well able to protect herself from
impertinence. She answered the elder men with the same lightness as they
used in speaking to her, while she greeted the officers curtly and
laconically. When love was made the subject of conversation, she would
laugh and joke almost extravagantly. Love was not only an enigma to her,
for she had never felt it, but it was positively ludicrous in her eyes.
Whoever ventured, between the first and second pints, to say to her, "I
love you," she openly derided and inwardly despised; but whoever
attempted to slip his arm round her waist ... well, to find this out,
you have only to ask little Lieutenant Albert Sturm, a forward,
ill-favored, saucy young fellow, why his right cheek was once redder and
rounder than his left for the space of a week.
She never needed to protect herself from word or look of the district
judge. For the first three months after his arrival they did not
exchange a word. Such stiffness was most unusual in Barnow, where every
one knew each other, more especially as she and Herr von Negrusz
inhabited the same house, and Chane expressed her surprise openly and
unaffectedly to her husband.
One day Nathan stood at the shop-door for a long time in earnest
conversation with the district judge and Florian von Bolwinski. At last
Negrusz went away to his office, while Florian entered the shop with the
merchant, in order to drink an extra glass for the good of his
digestion.
"Nathan," said Chane, "what a strange man the district judge is! He must
be very proud! He has never yet spoken to me."
"No, he is not at all proud," answered Nathan. "He is one of the most
good-natured men I know, but he is not a great talker. Why he is so
silent I can not tell--perhaps he is unhappy."
"Ho, ho!" growled Florian. "What a vain woman your wife is, Pani Nathan!
We are all at her feet, but that is not enough for her. She wants young
Herr Julko to be the next victim. Ho, ho, ho! All her trouble will be
thrown away upon him, however, for he is already in love. God's
punishment is in store for her!"
Chane waited patiently until the old toper had finished speaking: she
was accustomed to his rude witticisms.
"We are not all as light-hearted as you are," she answered, "and this
man really seems too sensible to be capable of falling in love."
Herr Florian put his hands on his sides and laughed and sniggered. "Ho,
ho!" he gasped. "Did you ever hear such nonsense?... Ho, ho, ho!... As
if only stupid people could fall in love!... Am I stupid? and--Pani
Nathan, are you not jealous?--I am in love with her. To punish you, I
must assure you that he is already disposed of!... his heart is buried
in a grave. Ho, ho, ho!"
"Fool!" muttered Chane impatiently, while Herr Florian staggered into
the _casino_ with Nathan.
She could not get what he had told her out of her head, and in the
evening, when she sat arranging business letters with her husband, who
was to leave home next day, she suddenly asked--
"What did Bolwinski mean by saying that Herr von Negrusz's heart was
buried in a grave?"
"I do not know," replied Nathan; "but the story goes that he was in love
with a girl who died, and that he will never marry. It may be true, for
Christians are fools when they are in love."
"Ah!" said Chane, staring thoughtfully at the flame of the lamp.
She soon took her pen again, and finished a letter to Moses Rosenzweig,
ordering a barrel of herrings and five hundredweights of sugar from
Czernowitz.
* * * * *
Next day a strange thing happened.
Herr Florian Bolwinski is not only a fat man, he is also a good-natured
man. As he has never injured any one, he is not afraid of any
one--except his landlady, although he has never injured her. He is
good-natured, but he has one great fault--he tells everything that he
knows, and even invents a little now and then. These additions are the
fruit, partly of a vivid imagination, and partly of his numerous
potations. Next morning, when he sat alone in the _casino_ with the
district judge, he related how Frau Chane had opened her heart to him,
and had confessed, with torrents of tears, her mad love for Herr von
Negrusz, and that she felt inclined to kill herself in despair, because
the object of her passionate love did not take any notice of her, and
would not waste one word upon her, even if she were dying.
Herr Florian did not make his story as short as I have given it above,
but he went into every little particular, giving the most graphic
descriptions of the whole scene.
He interrupted himself several times to laugh, "Ho, ho, ho!" and
ejaculate, "Do you see!" He had to do this to give himself breath, for
Herr von Negrusz said not a word. He listened gravely, only occasionally
allowing a sarcastic smile to play upon his lips. Herr Florian disliked
this smile, and as often as he saw it he could not help feeling
embarrassed. This he tried to hide by adorning his tale still more. "Now
what do you think of it all?" he concluded, out of breath.
"What do I think of it?" repeated the district judge. "I only admire
your wonderful imagination. Adam Mickiewicz is nothing to you."
"What! what!--ho, ho! you do not believe me! My dear Herr von Negrusz, I
do not deserve this. Have you ever heard me tell a lie? And besides
that, what good would it do me? No; on my honor, I am speaking the
truth. I was quite sorry for the poor woman. She is over head and ears
in love with you. I never saw anything like it--even I, who know women
so well. Over head and ears, over head and ears; and now I want to know
what I am to say to her? Nathan is away--do you understand?--away for
three weeks--ho, ho! The woman...."
"Herr von Bolwinski," interrupted the district judge, rising and folding
up the newspapers, which he had been glancing through, "you, who are a
Catholic nobleman, think you may say what you like of the wife of the
Jew Silberstein behind her back. I must, however, tell you that if I did
not know that the story you have just told me is a lie from the first
word to the last...."
"Herr von Negrusz!..."
"I repeat it--a lie from the first word to the last. Had you really been
the bearer of a message of love to me from a faithless woman, I should
have declined any further acquaintance with you. You have been joking in
your peculiar way, which is certainly not my way, for I object to jokes
at the expense of such worthy people as this Jewish couple. I recommend
you not to continue such jokes when you find any of your butts as
reluctant as I...."
Herr Florian lost his temper completely. His story was not credited,
and his good joke was lost. This he might have pardoned, as he was
accustomed to the incredulity of his hearers, but Herr von Negrusz took
his story seriously, almost tragically. He treated him like a schoolboy,
and that he could not stand. He felt that his honor would not allow him
to retract his words, so he rose, and with much gesticulation, said in
an overbearing way--
"Do you know to whom you are speaking--do you hear? Do you know to whom
you are speaking, I ask? You are speaking to me, Florian von Bolwinski.
You must respect what I say; remember what is due to me. I never heard
such language. A liar and a go-between, am I?... ho, ho! I must be
respected. Remain virtuous if you choose, but what I tell you is true.
Chane is in love with you--madly in love...."
"Be silent!"
These words, spoken in a sharp incisive voice, interrupted his flow of
words. He looked toward the door, and his arms fell to his sides, the
blood forsaking his cheeks. Herr von Negrusz turned crimson.
"Be silent," repeated Chane, stretching her hand toward the fat,
trembling little man. Drawn up to her full height, she stood in the
doorway, looking as proud and beautiful as a queen.
Herr Florian let his head sink and his under lip fall, and altogether
looked very sheepish. Chane closed the door, and walked up to the two
men.
"Did--you--listen?" stammered the old sinner, trying to laugh.
"I did not listen," answered Chane, emphatically. "It is not my custom
to try to hear what gentlemen say in this room. It is no concern of
mine. I was engaged in that part of the shop where the spices are; it is
so close to the door that I could not help overhearing. It was bitter
enough to do so, but it is harder still to be obliged to speak for
myself." As she said this the hot blood rushed to her face. She
hesitated, and then continued: "But Nathan is not at home, and I am
compelled to tell you myself, to your face, Herr von Bolwinski, that you
are a liar. Yesterday I did ask my husband if Herr von Negrusz was
proud, as he never spoke to me, as other gentlemen do. I meant nothing
wrong, and therefore, Herr von Bolwinski ... you ... you ought to be
ashamed...."
Herr von Bolwinski did as he was bid; he was ashamed. His face fell, and
his eyes sought the ground. Herr von Negrusz, on the contrary, fixed his
eyes upon Chane. It was dangerous, even for one whose heart was "buried
in the grave," to drink in her marvelous beauty.
"I thank Herr von Negrusz," continued Chane, with increasing hesitation,
and blushing more deeply than before, "for showing a friendly interest
in Nathan and me; and if he will not speak to me, I must speak to him,
and tell him that he is rightly called a noble-minded man, and for my
part, I thank him...."
Like Herr Florian, the district judge found no words of reply, and
looked down somewhat abashed. He seized his hat, and bowing
respectfully, left the room.
His old housekeeper, who had a great regard for him, was distressed at
his loss of appetite that evening, for he sent away his favorite dishes
almost untouched.
* * * * *
The days passed, and imperceptibly a bond of love was formed between
these two hearts, which was sinful and criminal in the sight of God and
man.