it was his clear, mature, and veritable intuition. When he had ended, a
pause ensued. The oil-lamps began to go out one by one, and Schoendel
remarked, that grace had not yet been said. A quarter of an hour
afterwards Gabriel took his leave and retired to his room. Here the
careful housewife even before the break of the Sabbath had lit a
well-filled lamp, that still burned clear. Gabriel shut the door
rapidly and tossing off cloak and cap, cried with gnashing teeth and
fists spasmodically clenched, "Tear pitilessly at the ever bleeding
wounds of my heart, keen was your aim and sure the blow, you could not
have rent my raging soul with a pang of greater anguish! Did you gaze
into the secrets of my breast? Is a Cain's sign imprinted on my
forehead, that every one at his will may read upon it my ignominious
past? As this woman with flashing eyes spoke to me of that day of
atonement, of that knight, of that Jewish maiden and her blind
mother--and how they cast him forth with mockery and scorn--did
it not seem as if she would have unfolded before me a detested period
of my own life? And when she looked at me and asked if I had ever
stood solitary and forsaken by the death-bed of a mother? If I had
yet a tender father? that was no chance, that cannot have been a
chance.--Chance can decide battles. Chance can let me fall alive into
the hands of the Imperialists--but that is no chance, that is a
presentiment, a dark impulse, an instinct, to hate me, to mortify me.
But you are right, I hate you too, with the most unbridled strength of
a sore, provoked tiger--revenge, to revenge myself, that is now the
only thought that keeps me alive.--I must find the woman, the _woman_,
that might have saved me as I hovered on the brink of a bottomless
abyss--and that let me be dashed to pieces--I must find her, she cannot
escape me--she is here in Prague, shut up within the gates of the
Ghetto! Oh, how I gloat upon a sweet revenge--to take sweet and fearful
vengeance, and then to perish for ever.--But what if I should die
first, if the trumpet summoned me to battle, if I perished on the
field,--if the outlaw fell alive into the hands of the Imperialists!
No, no, that cannot be or--there is in sooth a God."
Gabriel paced his chamber impetuously--visions of the past filling
him with the most torturing recollections, passed over his soul.--To
die? He said at length suddenly stopping, "I fear not death, I have
looked it in the face motionless and unconcerned in the whirl of
battle, but before I die, oh, that I might find him, whom I have sought
for ten long years, whom I might, perhaps, even yet embrace in these
arms.--Thou, whom men call all-mighty and all-merciful," he suddenly
cried, opening the window and lifting his gaze to the starry heaven,
"Thou! give me my father, give me him though it be at my life's
last breath--let him rest one moment, and may it be my last, on my
breast--and I will acknowledge Thee, and I will bend my proud spirit
even in death before Thee! But where to seek him, where to find him! I
am sure of nothing, am sure of nothing but that I hate them all with a
nameless hatred, and have good reason to hate them!"--
III.
On Saturday Gabriel had gone to early prayers with his landlord in the
Old-synagogue. The service had lasted till near mid-day. Reb Schlome
had then paid a visit to the chief Rabbi. At the midday meal, which was
shared by two guests, they met again.
"How were you pleased with us in the old synagogue?" asked Reb Schlome.
"It is a beautiful building, quiet and order prevails among you. I must
express my thanks to you, I know I am only endebted to you for it, that
I, a stranger student, was called upon to expound, an honour that this
Saturday was only conceded to distinguished persons.... I obtained the
names of all who were called upon to expound, they were universally men
of weight and character, but with regard to the last, who was called
upon just before me, no one would or could give me precise information,
though all seemed to know him."
"I will explain that to you," said Schlome; "that man is a member of
the well-known family of Nadler, a family that, even now I scarcely
dare to say so, fifty years ago in spite of their wealth and prosperity
was shunned by everyone. People would not associate with them. No one
would marry their daughters, no one would converse with them, every one
kept away from them in the houses of prayer; they could obtain no
tenants; the very poor despised the alms which they would have lavished
in abundant measure. You can easily divine the cause,--there rested on
the grandfather of this unhappy family the weight of a suspicion which
afterwards proved to be groundless, that he was one of those who cannot
be received in the congregation of the Lord. The family suffered
fearfully under this foregone conclusion. It was that great thinker,
the high Rabbi Loew, who first devised a means of once for all
dispelling the clouds of obloquy, in that he--it is this very Saturday
exactly six-and-thirty years ago--in a lecture, with the approval of
the ten chief personages of the then community, uttered a solemn curse
against all those who should dare any longer to injure the reputation
of the family, to speak evil of the dead, or to apply the name of
Nadler as a contumelious epithet to any one in the Jewish community.
From that day no one ventured to withdraw himself from intercourse with
them, and all the more honour was shown to them that they consumed
their wealth for the benefit of the poor and afflicted, lived strictly
in accordance with the Law, and moreover people wished to make them
forget the humiliation and injustice of many a long year. On this
account people do not like to talk about them, and avoid everything
that might lead to further explanations about this family."
Gabriel had listened in silence with the deepest sympathy. "See,
Schoendel," Reb Schlome suddenly exclaimed, "I notice a very remarkable
resemblance between Reb Gabriel and you, a resemblance, about which I
yesterday by lamplight thought that I had been deceiving myself. In the
middle of his forehead too a fiery spot is wont at times to gather."
"That is strange," said Gabriel earnestly and thoughtfully.
"Not so strange as you believe," struck in one of the guests, "it is a
not uncommon appearance I have heard of one of the Imperialist officers
who has a mark on his forehead, I think two crossed swords--probably
your mother, when she carried you under her heart, saw a sudden
conflagration, or is it an inherited family-mark; had your father also
such a mark on his forehead?"
Gabriel had listened to the guest attentively, he gave no answer, but
the red stripe of flame on his forehead became more conspicuous and
clearly marked than before. "I myself," said the other guest by way of
confirmation, "some years ago when I studied at the school in Mainz,
knew a madman, named Jacob, and in his case too as soon as he became
excited just such another mark made its appearance in the centre of his
forehead; probably the concurring circumstances were the same with each
of you."
"Moreover," added the guest, after a short consideration, "I fancy that
I have seen that same madman in this very place."
"You are not mistaken," said Schoendel, "the mad Jacob is here in
Prague, and our lodger Reb Gabriel can if he likes give us some news
about him, for he has taken a great fancy to him, and often passes
whole days with him without coming home or visiting the lecture-rooms."
It seemed for an instant as if Gabriel would have contradicted the
goodwife, but he quickly recovered his self-possession and remained
silent--at that moment the old maid-servant entered and announced a boy
who was enquiring after Herr Gabriel Mar, and was urgently desirous of
speaking to him.
"Excuse me," he said, rising quickly, "I must let the boy come to my
room and hear what he has to say."
The boy must in fact have brought some important news, for Reb Gabriel
did not return to table and sent his excuses by the old maid-servant--a
soldier has arrived here from his country, such was the old Hannah's
story, and he is breathlessly hurrying to hear, how it fares with all
at home--the good student.
The two guests did not seem to share the old maid's favourable opinion.
"A strange student that," opined one of them, "sits at table and speaks
no word of his Talmudic investigations, gets up and does not pray, goes
away and kisses no scroll."
Reb Schlome felt that his wife was right the other evening when she
said, that Gabriel was less devout than other students, but he allowed
this with reluctance, for Gabriel's rich stores of Talmudic science had
won his estimation and good will. He requested, therefore, one of the
two students to let them have a Talmudic discourse, and after this had
been complied with recited the prayer after meat.
* * *
Gabriel had scarcely waited till the door of his room was shut to speak
with the boy alone.
"What do you bring me, John," he asked hastily.
"Gracious Sir," answered the boy, "my relative begs respectfully to
announce, that Ensign Herr Smil von Michalowitz is just arrived from
Pilsen with a message to your Honour, and waits in your house."
"Good boy, run on, I will follow immediately."--Gabriel hastily
donned cloak and cap and went out--Although the house which he was
leaving was situated by the Old-synagogue and, therefore, outside of
the Ghetto-gate, he was obliged to pass through the Ghetto in order to
reach the Plattnergasse by the nearest route. He stopped at the back of
a house. He knocked twice at a closed door; this was quickly opened,
and he hurried up a back-staircase to a room, on the walls of which,
sabres, travelling-pistols and other arms were hanging, crossed in
varied confusion one upon the other. He threw off cloak and cap, girded
a dagger about his loins, without lingering over the choice enveloped
himself in a knight's mantle and stepped through a door in the tapestry
into a large adjoining room. Here he was already expected. A slightly
made young man in the embroidered uniform of one of Mannsfield's
cavalry-officers was pacing impatiently up and down.--
"Welcome to Prague, Herr von Michalowitz," said Gabriel in a friendly
way, "do you bring me good news from Mannsfield?"
"I wish I brought better, your Grace," answered the officer with a bow.
"First of all, however, I have the honour to deliver the autograph
despatch of the General-Fieldmarshal, I partly know its contents and am
commissioned to give your Grace all further necessary explanations."
Gabriel hastily unsealed the despatch and cast a glance over its
contents. "Our troops have still no pay," he cried, stamping his
foot angrily, while the fiery mark on his forehead kindled to a deep
red--"still nothing? and they promised me everything, money, munitions,
forage, reinforcements. It's enough to drive a man mad! You would
scarcely believe, Herr von Michalowitz, what a difficult position I am
in here! Nothing can be done with this Frederick.--The Bohemians could
not have elected a worse king.--He listens to his preachers, goes out
hunting, gives banquets and tournaments--of Emperor and League he takes
no heed.--His Generals are in constant feud with one another and only
agree when it is a question of putting a slight upon or deposing Thurn
and Mannsfield.--These gentlemen let me sue for reinforcements and
plans of operation, as if they were things that concerned my own
private advantage, as if I was asking an alms for myself. Believe me,
Frederick must succumb. Who does he oppose to these experienced skilful
Generals? an Anhalt against a Tilly, an Hohenlohe against a Boucquoi.
The Bohemians are brave soldiers, but they are badly led. I can speak
openly to you, Sir Ensign, who have been the constant confidant of our
plans.--There is only one conceivable way for Frederick to get the
upper-hand--Anhalt and Hohenlohe must be dismissed, and Matthias Thurn
take the command."
"It is indeed melancholy," answered the Ensign bitterly, "that all our
most energetic and best-laid efforts are so badly supported at Prague.
This Anhalt gives up one strong position after another, and if things
go on so, it is to be feared that Archduke Maximilian will drive
the Prince in under the walls of Prague, and force him to accept a
battle,--unless he has been entirely won over by the Imperialists--and
a battle lost before the gates of Prague...."
"Would still not be decisive," interposed Gabriel. "I am well
acquainted with Prague, it is strongly situated, and could hold out a
long time.--I suppose you know the capital city of your native country?
The citizens are brave, well-trained in arms, and in the old and new
quarter at least devoted to the king's party.--Frederick's power is
still great, Mannsfield man[oe]uvres in the enemy's rear; fresh troops
are on the march from Hungary.... Sir Ensign, say to my friend
Mannsfield, that a battle lost before the gates of Prague would not put
an end to the war;--but that Anhalt must not remain at the head of the
army. So long as he commands in-chief, everything is at stake ... and
to think that two such losers-of-armies as Anhalt and Hohenlohe should
command thirty thousand men, while the hero Mannsfield, alone, forsaken
by the Union and the weak Frederick for whom he is fighting, without
support, without money, in an unknown country, surrounded by secret and
open enemies, makes head with a small force against one three times his
superior.--How does he bear the hard blows of fickle fortune?"
"With his usual calm, with unshakeable equanimity. Oh, there is but one
Mannsfield, Sir Major-General, in such a hero alone do martial fame,
and martial deeds attain so high a point. It is an event unparalleled
in the annals of history, that a Count, first legitimized by the
Emperor Rudolph, should defy the Emperor and whole Empire--should defy,
without money, land, or support, under a ban, solitary, by the force of
his sword and name alone.--What are all of us in Mannsfield's camp? are
we the troops of the Union, which concluded on the 3d of July an
ignominious peace with the league? are we the mercenaries of this Count
Palatine, who placed the crown of our Fatherland upon his head for a
merry pastime? By God and my knightly honour, no! What are we? we are
nothing but Mannsfield's children, all of us, from the meanest
artillery-driver up to you. Sir Major-General! We all cleave to him
with faith as firm as a rock, we follow his standard alone, his call
alone. We offer our lives for Mannsfield, his is our sword, our blood,
our honour, our name, our oath; for well we know that he leads us on to
naught but victory or an honourable soldier's death."
"You are very right. Sir Ensign," replied the General much moved, "he
is to all of us a father, brother, friend! What should I have been if I
had not fallen in with Mannsfield? Sir Ensign, you have a country, you
have a coat of arms, you have a name--I had none of all this, I had
nothing but my arm, and a revengeful, torn and bleeding heart!"--
"Yes, Sir Major-General, Mannsfield loves the bold, and brave, and
among them are you numbered, by God, you have given good proof of that
a thousand times! Name, rank and belief are indifferent to him;
Mannsfield asks no questions whether a man is a Reformer, Utraquist or
Lutheran, whether gentleman or knight, burgher or peasant, German or
Bohemian? Consider, your Grace, that too forces me to admire
Mannsfield.... has not this Frederick estranged the hearts of all
Bohemians from him, in that he has by the advice of his sternly
calvinistical intolerant Chaplain Abraham Schulz bitterly offended
Catholics, Utraquists and Lutherans? I am a man of war and no scholar,
I am a mere soldier, and have paid little attention to theology, but
yet I hold that in this world, everyone should be allowed to believe
what he likes, that is an affair to be settled by his own conscience;
but no one should be permitted to be a hindrance and stumbling block to
another, and throw ridicule upon that which is an object of respect and
dear to his neighbour.... Why did we violently revolt from the
illustrious House of Austria, under which we were great and powerful?
Because we wished to be free to choose our faith, and now steps in this
Frederick, whom we ourselves elected, whom we aggrandized, and we are
no better off! Your Grace! You are no Bohemian and cannot comprehend,
what a painful day the 3d of September in last year is to me, on which
thirty-six lords, ninety-one knights and almost all the municipalities
permitted themselves to be befooled by the brilliant eloquence of
Wilhelm Raupowa and elected this incapable Frederick.--I too, as well
as my uncle, the royal Burgrave, were among the voters."
The General was silent. Memories slumbered in his soul like sparks in a
tinder; the lightest breath might kindle them to a clear blaze. The
Ensign misinterpreted the silence. He had said much, that might have
made an unpleasant impression upon the General. He was of low origin,
no Bohemian, perhaps a co-religionist of the Palatine. "Your Grace," he
therefore again began in an embarrassed way, after a short pause, "have
I, perhaps, offended you? Are you, perchance, one of those, who busy
themselves with religious studies, and learned ecclesiastical
disputations? Are you, Sir Major-General, may I venture to ask,
yourself a Calvinist? It's all the same to me, General, I should
respect your high rank, your gallantry even if, you will excuse the
joke, even if you were a Jew or a Heathen...."
Pictures out of a time that had long vanished again passed over
Gabriel's soul, his spirit was again fast fixed on some moment of the
distant past. "I busy myself no longer with religious studies," he
answered, absently--"but at one time, at one time it was my highest
enjoyment; but then I was still a J...." he did not finish, he seemed
to awake suddenly from a heavy dream, a deep flush suffused his face,
he stroked the hair off his high forehead, in the centre of which
glowed the purple mark and added hastily in a changed voice: "then I
was still young, very young--but now I think no more of it--and
Mannsfield's faith is mine too."
The way in which the General spoke, the singular expression of his
face, was not calculated to set at rest the Ensign's fears. "Your
Grace!" he went on, "you yourself said in my presence that you had no
name, when you took service in Mannsfield's corps, and yet now you are
the Mannsfieldian General Otto Bitter, known and feared far and wide.
It may be that, you have no genealogy, no past; but you have a future;
with the point of your sword you inscribe your name on the brazen
tablets of history."
"No, no," the General now impetuously continued, "no, not so. Herr von
Michalowitz, believe me, I am not superstitious, not even a believer--I
believe in actually nothing--do you hear! in actually nothing, but
Mannsfield and mine own good sword.--I am not weak, I would not yield
to any presentiment, but one presentiment does haunt me with all the
strength of truth, as clear, as life-like as if I saw it with my own
bodily eyes, _my name will not live in history_.... Mannsfield, Thurn,
Boucquoi, Tilly, Waldstein, all the heroes that fight with us or
against us, have lived for eternity, but my name will perish, will
leave no trace behind it...."
The General paced the room many times and with his hand put back the
dark locks from his high forehead, then stopped before the Ensign--"I
sometimes become very excited, Herr von Michalowitz," he said, "and say
much that would be better unsaid--therefore I pray you forget what I
have spoken...."
The Ensign bowed in silence. The General threw himself into an
arm-chair, motioned the Ensign also to a seat, and after a short pause
took up Mannsfield's letter again. "You have captured another wandering
Jew? You thought he was a spy, or messenger of the Imperialists, he
carried letters in cipher with him?" asked the General, interrupting
his reading.
"Yes, your Grace, the prisoner declares, improbably enough, the
writings were Hebrew extracts from the Bible and letters to his
wife.--The Field-Marshal sends the writings to you probably in the
intention that you may prove their contents here in Prague with the
assistance of some Rabbi, or clergyman learned in the Scripture." The
Ensign with these words laid a sealed packet on the table. "We should
almost prefer that he was guilty, in Pilsen, which is imperialist in
feeling, we are quite surrounded by spies, we cannot any longer tell
who to trust: an example of severity must be made."
The General involuntarily seized the packet, to unseal it, but quickly
laid it aside, as if remembering himself, and read on.
"Sir Ensign, I must up to the castle," he said, when he had finished
and maturely considered the despatch. "Nothing can be done with
Anhalt and Hohenlohe--I must up, and once more speak with the king
himself--To-morrow early you shall have the answer for Mannsfield."
"If your Grace will permit me I will accompany you to the castle."
The General rang the bell, a servant, who entered, was ordered to make
the necessary preparation, and shortly afterwards the large principal
entrance of the house, that led into the Marienplatz, was thrown open,
and the General and Ensign rode out of it in the direction of the
'Kleinseite.' At a proper distance followed two mounted attendants
armed with pistols and sabres.--
* * *
In King Frederick's anteroom three persons were waiting for an
audience. They stood in the recess of a lofty bow-window, and were
talking in a low voice but with much animation to one another.
"Yes, gentlemen," began John de Bubna, a man of some fifty years old,
"yes, it is all Raupowa's fault. Your father--" he turned to the young
Count Schlick--"the noble Count Joachim who voted for the Elector of
Saxony was quite right--but the past is irreparable, and now we must
defend ourselves to the last extremity. Our faith, our freedom, are at
stake, is it not so, Thurn?"
The person thus addressed, Count Henry Mathias of Thurn was also of
about the age of fifty. Dark eyes with all the fire of youth flashed
from his bronzed countenance, as if to give the lie to the thick grey
hair; the noble lineaments of his spiritual and thoughtful face showed
at the first glance, that a hero's soul dwelt in this powerful and
compact frame. He was indisputately the chief leader of his party, an
able commander, and the originator of the revolt against the Emperor.
It was he who brought about the well-known catastrophe of the 3d of May
1618, when the two Imperial stadtholders, Slawata and Martinitz, were
thrown out of window into the court-yard, and supposing it is in the
power of a single person, if not to evoke, at any rate to further a
crisis on which the future history of the world may depend, Count
Matthias Thurn was certainly one of those, who fanned the flames of
this outbreak into that wild conflagration which devastated Germany and
Central-Europe for thirty years.
He was by birth an Italian, but held rich possessions in Bohemia. A
brave soldier, a practised courtier, a subtle diplomatist and excellent
speaker, he had won the affections of the nobles, the army, and whole
people, and the nation committed to him the weighty and influential
place of a defender, or guardian of the faith. Deprived by the Emperor
of his office, as Burgrave of Carlstein, he had later on assumed with
Mannsfield the joint command of the Bohemian troops. Frederick,
however, soon after his coronation, to the deep vexation of the
Bohemian army, transferred the command to Prince Christian of Anhalt
and Count George of Hohenlohe.
Count Thurn seemed to express his views unwillingly. "Yes, gentlemen,
you know I was never the last in the field, I gladly combat for
Bohemia. Perhaps a time will again come when I may fight for the
cause--but in the meanwhile...."
"Your Grace then is absolutely determined not to accept a command so
long as the Prince commands in-chief?" asked Henry Schlick hastily.
"He is right," opined John Bubna; "it was a stupid course of the king,
to take the command from our Thurn."