A FATHER'S GRIEF.
Two days after the dramatic scene that we have just related Jacob was
alone at his house, when he was surprised by a visit from Jankiel
Meves, he who had furnished Ivas his first shelter. The old man, who
appeared to be very sad, commenced by saying that he had profited by a
sojourn in Warsaw to once more see Jacob, for whom he had the greatest
esteem and whom he considered the hope of Israel. Then he spoke of the
troubles of the country, and Jacob told him of the situation, and of
his vain efforts to restrain the impetuous youth of the city from
certain defeat; he added that he was discouraged, for his advice had
been rejected with contempt, indignation, or rage.
"That is no reason," replied the visitor, "for abandoning your mission
of peace, which is a divine inspiration. All truths," added he, "are at
first badly received by men, but they soon take root, and often the
very ones that shrugged their shoulders and refused to listen are the
ones who become the most fervent converts."
"Thanks for your consoling words," replied Jacob; "you reawaken hope
within my heart."
"Alas! I seek consolation from you," cried Jankiel; "I am an
unfortunate father, a prey to the greatest sorrow. In my house shame
and mourning are unwelcome guests. A serpent has glided secretly into
my home, and has left his venom."
"I dare not ask you to explain your words," said Jacob.
"But I wish to tell you all. It is no secret; evil is difficult to
conceal when the malefactor is proud of it. Of what use to me is the
wealth that I have amassed by the sweat of my brow? To-day my most
cherished daughter is no more to me than a stranger, and Lia is dead to
her father! You know the David Seebachs, father and son. Accursed
house, where the holy laws are neglected and ridiculed! Why has my
daughter looked towards that dwelling? Would that she had died rather
than that. Lia, my Lia, has been seduced by the younger David, who
afterward abandoned her to her shame. And I--I ought to refuse her a
refuge under my roof, so that she may not contaminate her pure and
innocent sister, who laments the poor unfortunate in the most abandoned
grief. My coffers are full of money, but Lia, perhaps, will be tortured
with hunger! David was married; it was not known, for he lived apart
from his wife. You saw Lia when you were at my house. Poor child, she
believed in him; she was beautiful, but now she is a wreck; so young,
what will become of her?"
With these words the old man wept bitterly, and in his despair tore his
hair.
"You are," continued he, "honest and good; do not repulse me. Aid
me. I am her father; honour demands that I keep aloof from my fallen
child,--I who press the chaste lips of another daughter. My heart is
broken, and I come to you."
"I am at your service," said Jacob gently. "Where is the unfortunate?"
"Here in Warsaw. But I am not permitted to see her; she dares not
appear before me. The vile seducer has left her dishonoured. Who knows
to what degree of misery she may fall! I have brought money for her;
but, for her as for myself, there must be silence as to whence it
comes. Will you take charge of it?"
"Certainly. I am at your service."
"I have the money with me. Take it and procure for her a shelter and a
tranquil existence, where she at least can mourn in solitude, far from
mocking sneers. Let her want for nothing. This is the service I beg you
to do for me."
The old man took from his pocket a wallet, and tearing it open with
trembling hands placed on the table several bank-notes of value, and a
piece of paper bearing in Hebrew Lia's address.
Then embracing Jacob, "I leave for home to-day," murmured he, his voice
broken by his sobs. "The air of this city oppresses me. Write to me.
No, no! don't write. I will return. You will tell me all. Save her. The
child is weak and accustomed to tenderness. Now she must meet misery,
labour, suffering."
"Cease from lacerating your heart," said Jacob. "Trust me, I will be a
faithful friend."
"Do not spare expense," cried the poor father. "Don't think of economy.
I will supply you with more, but I beg of you not to let her know where
it comes from; rather let her believe that distant relatives have aided
her, that God has touched their hearts in her behalf."
With these words Jankiel raised his eyes to heaven. A passage of the
Psalms came to his mind, and he recited a prayer. Jacob was affected
almost to tears.
"I thank you for your confidence," said he. "I feel honoured by it, as
you know me so slightly."
"I have heard much good of you," replied Jankiel, "and I was called to
open my heart to you as to a compassionate physician. Farewell!"