JUDAISM AND POLAND.
The two men traversed in almost uninterrupted silence the short
distance which separated Sestri from Genoa. The route is simply a
continuous line of straggling hamlets. On one mass of rock arose the
ruins of an old tower; above the door was the image of the Virgin,
patroness of the city. The light-house appeared in the distance, then
the harbour, like an amphitheatre around which Genoa la Superba is
built. This beautiful city is seen to best advantage from the sea. It
is a city of palaces, with its colonnades, its porticos and staircases,
its streets climbing toward the sky or sinking in sudden precipices. It
has been likened to an enormous shell thrown up by the waves of the
sea. The marine monster who lived in this shell has been replaced by a
miserable spider; a life full of littleness has succeeded the life of
grandeur of past ages.
In this marble city the inhabitants to-day are somewhat embarrassed.
The shell is too large for them,--this shell, in the bottom of which
the turbulent Genoese Republic vied with Venice in its traffic and its
aristocracy. New peoples are there, new ways. The Balbi and Palaviccini
palaces now have the appearance of tombs, while at the port the modern
Italian struggles for precedence in a new form of existence, perhaps as
full of pride as in the vanished past.
The carriage rolled softly through the streets which led to the
interior of the city.
"Permit me to alight," said the young Pole suddenly.
"Why?"
"To go in search of lodgings."
"I thought it was agreed that we travel together?"
"Yes; but I wish to live alone. I tell you frankly that I have scarcely
enough to finish my journey. It is necessary for me to seek cheap
lodgings."
"Have you not accepted my fraternal offer to stay with me?"
"Yes, perhaps; but poverty has its pride, as wealth sometimes has its
humility. Do not be angry because I wish to retain my independence. It
is so good to be free, when liberty costs only a bad dinner and a
wretched bed."
"I understand your scruples," replied the Jew. "If they were of any
value I would heed them. I do not dream of chaining you to myself. My
offer amounts to little, but it is made with a good heart, and if you
find life with me insupportable you can leave me. In asking you to
share my lodgings, if only for a night, I do not make any sacrifice,
and you owe me no gratitude. Do not refuse. I can share with you
without inconvenience, and it is you who will do me a favour. I am
sad-hearted; solitude oppresses me, I do not wish to be alone. Come
with me to my hotel. I do not ask you to amuse me, but only to be near
me. My heart longs to overflow into the heart of a fellow-man. If I
weary you, you are at liberty to leave me to my sufferings."
"It would be foolish for me," said the Pole, "to refuse such a
courteous invitation. Pardon my too susceptible pride. It was owing to
my poverty."
"I honour the sentiment," replied the Jew smiling. Then he cried to the
driver, "To the Hotel Feder!"
The Hotel Feder, like most of the hostelries of Genoa, of Venice, and
of other Italian cities, is an ancient palace appropriated to this new
service. The structure, half antique and half modern, has a strange
appearance. At the foot of the court, obscure and abandoned, trickles
an old fountain; a narrow path passes under the windows of the
chambers, and on every side can be discovered traces of former
grandeur, relics of a romantic age now superseded everywhere by the
plain practical life of to-day, whose chief end is money-getting.
The companions obtained a large room on the third floor with two beds,
the windows of which commanded a fine view of the port, bristling with
masts, like a garden of shrubs despoiled of their leaves by winter. In
the distance the Mediterranean could be seen stretching away to the
horizon.
They had hardly entered the room when the young man fell exhausted into
a chair, and seemed about to swoon for the second time. Some cologne
revived him, and a slight repast soon dispelled his weakness, the
result of long fasting and excessive fatigue. His strength returned
with rest and nourishment.
"And now," advised the Jew, "lie down on this couch, or perhaps it
would be better to go to bed."
"If you will permit me?" asked the young man timidly.
"Nay, I beg you to do so."
"And you?"
"Oh, I will see Genoa this evening. Never mind me. I will amuse myself;
all I ask of you at present is to sleep; and, mind, you must not even
dream."
He took his hat and cane and left the room. The young man fell like one
dead on the bed, and was asleep before his head touched the pillow.
Fatigue is not the same in old age as in youth, for then sleep soon
restores the exhausted energies.
The young traveller was awakened from his profound slumber by the
discordant braying of the asses grouped under the windows of the hotel.
He had forgotten the events of the past evening, and threw an
astonished glance around the luxurious apartment. He who had for so
long a time been accustomed to sleep in miserable lodgings now awoke in
a pleasant room, and saw a simple but abundant breakfast spread out on
the table beside him.
The Jew returned from a sea-bath, prepared to do it honour.
"Is it then very late?" murmured the Pole, rising from the bed.
"No, not very late. I arose early to enjoy the freshness of the
morning. Have you slept well?"
"I know not."
"How is that?"
"I fell like a piece of lead. I rise as I fell without having stirred,
without having moved even. I have slept the sleep of the dead."
"And how do you feel at present?"
"Strong as Hercules, thanks to you."
"Ah, bah! thanks to youth. Does your head ache still?"
"Not at all."
"Then let us attend to breakfast."
"You treat me too well, dear Amphitryon. This is a breakfast worthy of
Lucullus and of the Sybarites. I have contented myself for a long while
on awakening with a glass of sour wine and a piece of bread with
cheese. A similar repast in the evening, and that was all. I cannot
permit myself luxuries. I, a poor orphan, without future or friend,
have never been pampered."
"It is not necessary that this should hinder your eating," interrupted
the Jew gayly. "I am hungry, and will set you an example. Let us begin.
We will become better acquainted."
"That is true; we do not even know each other's names."
"Very well. I have the honour to present you Jacob Hamon."
"And I," said the Pole in his turn, "my friends have christened me
familiarly with the name of Ivas. In reality I am called Jean Huba.
Huba, and not Hube, which is a German name. You will learn it if you
know Poland a little, for I am from a Russian province, in the language
of which Huba signifies champignon. It is like the Polish Gzybowski or
Gzybowicz. This name became later an addition to the family name of the
Pstrocki who came from Masovia to gain their living in a more fertile
land. In full, I am _Jean Huba Pstrocki ex Masovia olim oriundus, in
Russia possessionatus et natus_."
"Have you any kindred there?" asked Jacob.
"Neither kindred nor an inch of ground. I am an orphan in every sense
of the word. My father, after losing his last cent, and seeing his
little farm in Volhynie devastated by hail and other plagues, died,
leaving me to the charity of men. From pity they sent me to school,
where I passed the examination and entered the university."
"Why did you leave the country?"
"Because with us college pranks are considered as a crime; because we
are not permitted to love our country, neither in its past nor future;
because those who stifle seek the air. For writing some simple
patriotic verses I was threatened with banishment to Siberia."
"Always the malady of the oppressed," remarked the Jew. "Where veterans
are seen tearing up all their rights, the young try to reconquer, and,
in their unreflecting enthusiasm, often find exile, misery, and death."
They both sighed, and Jacob asked:--
"Why do you dream of returning to a country from which you were obliged
to flee?"
"I know not myself" replied Ivas sadly; "I only know that I return to
my native land. Suffering has pushed me to it. I have not learned to
live in any other country, and exile is to me intolerable, morally and
physically. I left home believing that ideas of liberty, concord,
light, and justice vibrated in the hearts of other men as in mine.
Alas! society is not what I thought it. It has no place for the
oppressed, no hand to hold out to the dying, no consolation to offer to
the afflicted, no shelter to the proscribed. I return, then, to the
country I have left. There, at least, beat some generous hearts, while
in Europe"--
"Europe has grown old," interrupted Jacob. "She is afraid of
quarrelling. The world is in the hands of charlatans who profit by the
sufferings of martyrs. Truth is no more comprehended. They mock at her.
Men who are crafty and unscrupulous profit by everything in these days.
Self-interest is the only spring of human interest. The heart has given
out its last spark of generosity, and the world is drifting towards
scepticism and intolerance. Men pride themselves on unbelief, for
liberty has degenerated into an unbridled license. Revolution has set
up a pedestal for the ambition of impostors, and the apostles of
progress make money out of their dupes. Fortunately humanity will grow
better."
While he was speaking, the sun rose high in the heavens, and the heat,
which was great, made it uncomfortable to walk abroad. The Jew closed
the shutters, and the two companions continued their conversation in a
subdued light and comparative coolness.
"I ought to make myself known to you," said the Jew, after a short
silence. "We understand each other already, but my exceptional position
requires explanation. Our acquaintance, which commenced near Genoa,
will not end here, I hope. You can tell me more of yourself later on,
but it is right that I should be the first to make a frank confidence.
It is a courtesy that I wish to show to our new-born friendship.
"The word 'Jew' contains all my history. It tells my destiny, it
divines my character. This known, the consequences are certain. The
Jew, even while he has ceased to be a pariah in society, still remains
no less an enigma. For several thousand years he has borne engraved on
his forehead his holy mission,--a mission of, suffering, humility, and
abasement. But from this deep abasement he comes out greater, to go
forward toward the universal power he lends to the entire world. He
builds and tears down thrones, dominates over governments, makes laws,
and reigns in an invisible manner. It is with pride that I say it, the
word 'Jew' has immense significance.
"Pardon me if I forget myself in speaking of the Jews. I feel myself a
child of that great family on the foreheads of which the finger of
Moses has inscribed the mysterious name--Jehovah.
"Before being a man I am a Jew. This word recalls much suffering, the
first legislation worthy of humanity, the most ancient morals emanating
from divine wisdom in the Ten Commandments.
"As God is eternal, so are his laws. When nations were wandering and
lost in the by-ways of polytheism and of anomalism (if I can by this
word express the absence of laws), the one God is manifested to us; and
to us is communicated the sacred fire, which we have preserved during
all ages.
"We are spread over the whole world, holding fast the word of God.
During two thousand years we have not made proselytes: we have guarded
the treasure for ourselves. The world is busy, toils and labours; and
we live on, absorbed entirely in guarding this treasure. We are
preserved in all our suffering, a distinct people, bearing everywhere
our country in our hearts, in our holy books and our religious
services, and in all the minute circumstances of life. But to-day, I
fear, alas! that we have thrown from our shoulders this dear burden.
The Jewish idea seems to have diminished with the cessation of
persecution. But to return to my personal history.
"I was born of one of those Jewish families scattered in the Polish
villages. You probably know something of the Jews in Poland, a country
that I love as well as you do, and on which I can cast only one
reproach. The Poles, though deeply imbued with the idea of human
dignity, refused the name of man to all those who were not noble.
Poland, like the Republic of Venice, has not known how to reform
herself. Caste prevailed to so great a degree that she has preferred to
perish sooner than adopt a new mode of existence, and risk all in the
defence of liberty. Nevertheless, in the lives of these people I
recognize a great and brilliant spirit like our own. In speaking of
Poland, I do not call myself a Pole, for I am a Jew, and we are a
distinct people, it matters not what land we dwell in. In judging
Poland's past impartially, one can perhaps criticise, but must
acknowledge that it is full of poetry; it is a Homeric epoch."
"Stop!" cried the young Pole, "you are a son of the present; do not
excuse the past."
"Why do you speak thus?"
"Why? Because I was born in the midst of new ideas. I condemn the most
brilliant epochs of our history, for they were the veritable cause of
our ruin. We who are descended from those guardians of our rights are
now their judges, and we justly consider as the greatest kings those
who tried to crush the nobility to establish their own power."
"You are partly right. Nevertheless, when I meditate on Poland, she
seems to me strange, frightful, at times almost savage, but always
grand and magnificent, chivalrous and noble. No one has a better right
than the Jew to condemn the Polish nobility, yet it is necessary to
judge a nation without personal prejudice."
"We will discuss this subject at another time," interrupted the young
man; "but there is really something strange in the fact that I, a noble
Pole, should condemn the past more than you, a Jew. You are truly
magnanimous!"
Jacob smiled, and said, "I am older than you, dear brother, if not in
years, at least in experience. Suffering, labour, and meditation, and
perhaps, also, the sorrows of bygone generations, have prematurely aged
me."
"That is true; but tell me more about yourself."
"Do not be impatient. I cannot do otherwise. We will travel over a
rocky road, like the mineralogists. Every time that we encounter a
curious stone we will strike it with our hammer to find out what it
contains. So we will pause to discuss different subjects. But do you
not remember that it will soon be time to go to Aqua Sola?"
"Ah, yes! It is true that we shall meet my beautiful benefactress, who,
like the Samaritan, gave me aid in my distress."
"This Italienne who bathed your temples with water, and at the same
time, perhaps, lighted a fire in your heart. But between yesterday and
to-day there is an abyss. Who knows how many will keep the rendezvous
at Aqua Sola?"
"Do you think many will fail to put in an appearance?"
"Experience has taught me to count very little on engagements
twenty-four hours old, and not at all on those dating back several
weeks."
"The evening is still far off," said the Pole.
"Very far. The sun is yet high in the heavens."
"Then pray continue your autobiography."