E-text prepared by Joseph E. Loewenstein, M.D.
NINA BALATKA
by
ANTHONY TROLLOPE
INTRODUCTION
Anthony Trollope was an established novelist of great renown when _Nina
Balatka_ was published in 1866, twenty years after his first novel.
Except for _La Vendee_, his third novel, set in France during the
Revolution, all his previous works were set in England or Ireland and
dealt with the upper levels of society: the nobility and the landed
gentry (wealthy or impoverished), and a few well-to-do merchants--people
several strata above the social levels of the characters popularized by
his contemporary Dickens. Most of Trollope's early novels were set in
the countryside or in provincial towns, with occasional forays into
London. The first of his political novels, _Can You Forgive Her_, dealing
with the Pallisers was published in 1864, two years before _Nina_. By the
time he began writing _Nina_, shortly after a tour of Europe, Trollope
was a master at chronicling the habits, foibles, customs, and ways of
life of his chosen subjects.
_Nina Balatka_ is, on the surface, a love story--not an unusual theme for
Trollope. Romance and courtship were woven throughout all his previous
works, often with two, three, or even more pairs of lovers per novel.
Most of his heroes and heroines, after facing numerous hurdles, often
of their own making, were eventually happily united by the next-to-last
chapter. A few were doomed to disappointment (Johnny Eames never won
the heart of Lily Dale through two of the "Barsetshire" novels), but
marital bliss--or at least the prospect of bliss--was the usual outcome.
Even so, the reader of Trollope soon notices his analytical description
of Victorian courtship and marriage. In the circles of Trollope's
characters, only the wealthy could afford to marry for love; those
without wealth had to marry for money, sometimes with disastrous
consequences. By the time of _Nina_, Trollope's best exploration of
this subject was the marriage between Plantagenet Palliser and Lady
Glencora M'Cluskie, the former a cold fish and the latter a hot-blooded
heiress in love with a penniless scoundrel (_Can You Forgive Her?_
1865). Yet to come was the disastrous marriage of intelligent Lady
Laura Standish to the wealthy but old-maidish Robert Kennedy in _Phineas
Finn_ and its sequel.
But _Nina Balatka_ is different from Trollope's previous novels in four
respects. First, Trollope was accustomed to include in his novels his
own witty editorial comments about various subjects, often paragraphs
or even several pages long. No such comments are found in _Nina_.
Second, the story is set in Prague instead of the British isles. Third,
the hero and heroine are already in love and engaged to one another
at the opening; we are not told any details about their falling in
love. The hero, Anton Trendellsohn is a successful businessman in his
mid-thirties--not the typical Trollopian hero in his early twenties, still
finding himself, and besotted with love. Anton is rather cold as lovers
go, seldom whispering words of endearment to Nina. But it is the fourth
difference which really sets this novel apart and makes it both a
masterpiece and an enigma. That fourth--and most important--difference
is clearly stated in the remarkable opening sentence of the novel:
Nina Balatka was a maiden of Prague, born of Christian parents,
and herself a Christian--but she loved a Jew; and this is her
story.
Marriage--even worse, love--between a Christian and a Jew would have
been unacceptable to Victorian British readers. Blatant anti-semitism
was prevalent--perhaps ubiquitous--among the upper classes.
Let us consider the origins of this anti-semitism. Jews were first
allowed into England by William the Conqueror. For a while they
prospered, largely through money-lending, an occupation to which
they were restricted. In the 13th century a series of increasingly
oppressive laws and taxes reduced the Jewish community to poverty, and
the Jews were expelled from England in 1290. They were not allowed to
return until 1656, when Oliver Cromwell authorized their entry over
the objections of British merchants. Legal protection for the Jews
increased gradually; even the "Act for the More Effectual Suppressing
of Blasphemy and Profaneness" (1698) recognized the practice of Judaism
as legal, but there were probably only a few hundred Jews in the entire
country. The British Jewish community grew gradually, and efforts to
emancipate the Jews were included in various "Reform Acts" in the first
half of the 19th century, although many failed to become law. Gradually
Jews were admitted to the bar and other professions. Full citizenship
and rights, including the right to sit in Parliament, were granted in
1858--only seven years before Trollope began writing _Nina Balatka_. By
this time wealthy Jewish families were growing in number. This upward
mobility and increasing economic and political power no doubt made the
British upper classes envious and resentful, fuelling anti-semitism.
Trollope chose to have _Nina_ published anonymously in _Blackwood's
Magazine_ for reasons which he described in his autobiography:
From the commencement of my success as a writer . . . I had
always felt an injustice in literary affairs which had never
afflicted me or even suggested itself to me while I was
unsuccessful. It seemed to me that a name once earned carried
with it too much favour . . . The injustice which struck me did
not consist in that which was withheld from me, but in that which
was given to me. I felt that aspirants coming up below me might
do work as good as mine, and probably much better work, and yet
fail to have it appreciated. In order to test this, I determined
to be such an aspirant myself, and to begin a course of novels
anonymously, in order that I might see whether I could succeed in
obtaining a second identity,--whether as I had made one mark by
such literary ability as I possessed, I might succeed in doing so
again. [1]
Why did Trollope start his "new" career with a novel whose central theme
was a subject of distaste at best--more likely revulsion--to the vast
majority of the reading public? Perhaps the nature of the novel itself
led him to consider publishing it anonymously, although we know he was
not averse to controversial subjects. In his first book, _The Macdermots
of Ballycloran_, which he thought had the best plot of all his novels,
the principal female character is seduced by a scoundrel and dies giving
birth to an illegitimate child.
Certainly _Nina_ was well-suited for the experiment because of it's
different setting and subject matter. Perhaps further to disguise his
authorship, Trollope wrote _Nina_ in a style of prose that reads almost
like a translation from a foreign language.
The experiment did not last long enough to test Trollope's hypothesis.
Mr. Hutton, critic for the _Spectator_, recognized Trollope as the author
and so stated in his review. Trollope did not deny the accusation.
One cannot discuss _Nina Balatka_ without addressing the question, was
Trollope himself anti-semitic? A careful reading of his works does not
provide a clear answer. Jews appear in some of his books and are referred
to in others, often as disreputable characters or money-lenders. They are
seldom mentioned by his Christian characters with respect, probably
realistically reflecting the sentiments of the classes he wrote about.
Some of his greatest villains in his later novels--Melmotte in _The Way
We Live Now_ (1875) and Lopez in _The Prime Minister_ (1876)--are rumored
to be Jewish, but Trollope never unequivocally identifies them as Jewish.
Perhaps his Christian characters expect them to be Jewish because they
are foreigners and villains.
However, if one ignores the dialogue of his characters, even the
descriptive and editorial comments by Trollope himself at first seem
anti-semitic. He consistently uses "Jew" as a pejorative adjective
instead of "Jewish." His descriptions of the appearance of Jewish
characters are usually unflattering and stereotypical. Even Anton
Trendellsohn, the hero of _Nina Balatka_, is described as follows:
To those who know the outward types of his race there could be no
doubt that Anton Trendellsohn was a very Jew among Jews. He was
certainly a handsome man, not now very young, having reached some
year certainly in advance of thirty, and his face was full of
intellect. He was slightly made, below the middle height, but was
well made in every limb, with small feet and hands, and small
ears, and a well-turned neck. He was very dark--dark as a man can
be, and yet show no sign of colour in his blood. No white man
could be more dark and swarthy than Anton Trendellsohn. His eyes,
however, which were quite black, were very bright. His jet-black
hair, as it clustered round his ears, had in it something of a
curl. Had it been allowed to grow, it would almost have hung in
ringlets; but it was worn very short, as though its owner were
jealous even of the curl. Anton Trendellsohn was decidedly a
handsome man; but his eyes were somewhat too close together in his
face, and the bridge of his aquiline nose was not sharply cut, as
is mostly the case with such a nose on a Christian face. The olive
oval face was without doubt the face of a Jew, and the mouth was
greedy, and the teeth were perfect and bright, and the movement of
the man's body was the movement of a Jew.
This is not the typical description of the romantic hero of a Victorian
novel. Even so, Trollope's description of Anton is less derogatory than
his description of Ezekiel Brehgert, a character in a later novel, _The
Way We Live Now_:
He was a fat, greasy man, good-looking in a certain degree, about
fifty, with hair dyed black, and beard and moustache dyed a dark
purple colour. The charm of his face consisted in a pair of very
bright black eyes, which were, however, set too near together in
his face for the general delight of Christians. He was stout fat
all over rather than corpulent and had that look of command in his
face which has become common to master-butchers, probably by long
intercourse with sheep and oxen.
The case for Trollope being anti-semitic is harder to support, however,
when one considers the behavior of his Jewish characters. Brehgert,
whose physical description above is stereotypic, is one of the few
characters in _The Way We Live Now_ whose actions are completely
honorable. Trollope wrote 16 novels before _Nina Balatka_; only two of
those contain Jewish characters. The first, who plays a minor role in
_Orley Farm_ (1862), is Soloman Aram, an attorney--a Victorian Rumpole
--known for defending the accused at the Old Bailey. His skill is needed
to defend Lady Mason against a charge of perjury, much to the distaste
of her Christian advisors. He acts with dignity and shows great
consideration for the personal comfort of Lady Mason during her trial.
The second Jewish character in Trollope's novels was Mr. Hart, a London
tailor who runs for a seat in Parliament in _Rachel Ray_ (1863). This
served no purpose in the plot; the situation probably was included
because legislation to allow Jews to serve in Parliament had been
passed only five years before, and the issue was still one of public
discussion. Mr. Hart's appearance is brief; he speaks only one or
two lines, and the reader is not told enough about him to judge his
character. Trollope describes him thus:
. . . and then the Jewish hero, the tailor himself, came among
them, and astonished their minds by the ease and volubility of his
speeches. He did not pronounce his words with any of those soft
slushy Judaic utterances by which they had been taught to believe
he would disgrace himself. His nose was not hookey, with any
especial hook, nor was it thicker at the bridge than was becoming.
He was a dapper little man, with bright eyes, quick motion, ready
tongue, and a very new hat. It seemed that he knew well how to
canvass. He had a smile and a good word for all--enemies as well
as friends.
In that novel, Trollope, himself, comments on prejudice and bigotry:
. . . Mrs. Ray, in her quiet way, expressed much joy that Mr.
Comfort's son-in-law should have been successful, and that
Baslehurst should not have disgraced itself by any connection
with a Jew. To her it had appeared monstrous that such a one
should have been even permitted to show himself in the town as a
candidate for its representation. To such she would have denied
all civil rights, and almost all social rights. For a true spirit
of persecution one should always go to a woman; and the milder,
the sweeter, the more loving, the more womanly the woman, the
stronger will be that spirit within her. Strong love for the thing
loved necessitates strong hatred for the thing hated, and thence
comes the spirit of persecution. They in England who are now
keenest against the Jews, who would again take from them rights
that they have lately won, are certainly those who think most of
the faith of a Christian. The most deadly enemies of the Roman
Catholics are they who love best their religion as Protestants.
When we look to individuals we always find it so, though it
hardly suits us to admit as much when we discuss these subjects
broadly. To Mrs. Ray it was wonderful that a Jew should have been
entertained in Baslehurst as a future member for the borough, and
that he should have been admitted to speak aloud within a few
yards of the church tower!
_Nina Balatka_ presents a sharp contrast between the behaviors of the
Jewish and Christian characters. Nina and her father Josef Balatka
live on the edge of poverty; he was cheated out of his business by his
Christian brother-in-law, who is now wealthy. Josef's only source of
money was to sell his house to Anton Trendellsohn's father, who for many
years has allowed Josef and Nina to remain in the house without paying
any rent. Nina's Christian relatives use every form of deceit in their
attempt to turn Anton against Nina. Nina's Aunt Sophie spews invective
in every direction. She tells Nina, "Impudent girl!--brazen-faced,
impudent, bad girl! Do you not know that you would bring disgrace upon
us all?" To Nina's father she says, "Tell me that at once, Josef,
that I may know. Has she your sanction for--for--for this accursed
abomination?" To her husband she says, "Oh, I hate them! I do hate them!
Anything is fair against a Jew." And during a meeting with Anton she
exclaims, "How dares he come here to talk of his love? It is filthy--it
is worse than filthy--it is profane."
Anton's family also opposes the marriage, but Anton's father's behavior
toward Nina is in sharp contrast to that of her aunt:
The old man's heart was softened towards her. He could not bring
himself to say a word to her of direct encouragement, but he
kissed her before she went, telling her that she was a good girl,
and bidding her have no care as to the house in the Kleinseite. As
long as he lived, and her father, her father should not be
disturbed.
Anton, being more a businessman than a lover, at times behaves
insensitively toward Nina. Otherwise, throughout the novel, the Jewish
characters act with honesty and kindness. Even the Jewish maiden who
wants to marry Anton does not scheme to break up his engagement to Nina
but rather befriends Nina and eventually saves her life. One has to
wonder whether Trollope intended this contrast to induce his readers to
reconsider their prejudices. Consider his perception of his duty as a
writer:
. . . And the criticism [of my work offered by Hawthorne],
whether just or unjust, describes with wonderful accuracy the
purport that I have ever had in view in my writing. I have always
desired to 'hew out some lump of the earth', and to make men and
women walk upon it just as they do walk here among us,--with not
more of excellence, nor with exaggerated baseness,--so that my
readers might recognise human beings like to themselves, and not
feel themselves to be carried away among gods or demons. If I
could do this, then I thought I might succeed in impregnating the
mind of the novel-reader with a feeling that honesty is the best
policy; that truth prevails while falsehood fails; that a girl
will be loved as she is pure, and sweet, and unselfish; that a man
will be honoured as he is true, and honest, and brave of heart;
that things meanly done are ugly and odious, and things nobly done
beautiful and gracious. . . There are many who would laugh at the
idea of a novelist teaching either virtue or nobility,--those, for
instance, who regard the reading of novels as a sin, and those
also who think it to be simply an idle pastime. They look upon the
tellers of stories as among the tribe of those who pander to the
wicked pleasures of a wicked world. I have regarded my art from so
different a point of view that I have ever thought of myself as a
preacher of sermons, and my pulpit as one which I could make both
salutary and agreeable to my audience. I do believe that no girl
has risen from the reading of my pages less modest than she was
before, and that some may have learned from them that modesty is
a charm well worth preserving. I think that no youth has been
taught that in falseness and flashness is to be found the road to
manliness; but some may perhaps have learned from me that it is
to be found in truth and a high but gentle spirit. Such are the
lessons I have striven to teach; and I have thought that it might
best be done by representing to my readers characters like
themselves,--or to which they might liken themselves. [1]
Given Trollope's philosophy, it is reasonable to believe that the
actions of his characters should speak louder than their words. If
so, Trollope might well have been holding up a mirror to his audience
that they might examine their own prejudices. Unfortunately, we shall
never know.
[1] Anthony Trollope. _An Autobiography_. Oxford University Press,
Oxford, 1950.
Joseph E. Loewenstein, M.D.
Midland, 2003
Copyright (C) 2003 Joseph E. Loewenstein, M.D.
This Introduction to _Nina Balatka_ is protected by
copyright and/or other applicable law. Any use of the
work other than as authorized in "The Legal Small Print"
section (found at the end of the book) is prohibited.
NINA BALATKA
VOLUME I
CHAPTER I
Nina Balatka was a maiden of Prague, born of Christian parents, and
herself a Christian--but she loved a Jew; and this is her story.
Nina Balatka was the daughter of one Josef Balatka, an old merchant
of Prague, who was living at the time of this story; but Nina's mother
was dead. Josef, in the course of his business, had become closely
connected with a certain Jew named Trendellsohn, who lived in a mean
house in the Jews' quarter in Prague--habitation in that one allotted
portion of the town having been the enforced custom with the Jews then,
as it still is now. In business with Trendellsohn, the father, there
was Anton, his son; and Anton Trendellsohn was the Jew whom Nina
Balatka loved. Now it had so happened that Josef Balatka, Nina's
father, had drifted out of a partnership with Karil Zamenoy, a wealthy
Christian merchant of Prague, and had drifted into a partnership with
Trendellsohn. How this had come to pass needs not to be told here, as
it had all occurred in years when Nina was an infant. But in these
shiftings Balatka became a ruined man, and at the time of which I write
he and his daughter were almost penniless. The reader must know that
Karil Zamenoy and Josef Balatka had married sisters. Josef's wife,
Nina's mother, had long been dead, having died--so said Sophie Zamenoy,
her sister--of a broken heart; of a heart that had broken itself in
grief, because her husband had joined his fortunes with those of a Jew.
Whether the disgrace of the alliance or its disastrous result may have
broken the lady's heart, or whether she may have died of a pleurisy, as
the doctors said, we need not inquire here. Her soul had been long at
rest, and her spirit, we may hope, had ceased to fret itself in horror
at contact with a Jew. But Sophie Zamenoy was alive and strong, and
could still hate a Jew as intensely as Jews ever were hated in those
earlier days in which hatred could satisfy itself with persecution. In
her time but little power was left to Madame Zamenoy to persecute the
Trendellsohns other than that which nature had given to her in the
bitterness of her tongue. She could revile them behind their back, or,
if opportunity offered, to their faces; and both she had done often,
telling the world of Prague that the Trendellsohns had killed her
sister, and robbed her foolish brother-in-law. But hitherto the full
vial of her wrath had not been emptied, as it came to be emptied
afterwards; for she had not yet learned the mad iniquity of her niece.
But at the moment of which I now speak, Nina herself knew her own
iniquity, hardly knowing, however, whether her love did or did not
disgrace her. But she did know that any thought as to that was too
late. She loved the man, and had told him so; and were he gipsy as well
as Jew, it would be required of her that she should go out with him
into the wilderness. And Nina Balatka was prepared to go out into the
wilderness. Karil Zamenoy and his wife were prosperous people, and
lived in a comfortable modern house in the New Town. It stood in
a straight street, and at the back of the house there ran another
straight street. This part of the city is very little like that old
Prague, which may not be so comfortable, but which, of all cities on
the earth, is surely the most picturesque. Here lived Sophie Zamenoy;
and so far up in the world had she mounted, that she had a coach of
her own in which to be drawn about the thoroughfares of Prague and its
suburbs, and a stout little pair of Bohemian horses--ponies they were
called by those who wished to detract somewhat from Madame Zamenoy's
position. Madame Zamenoy had been at Paris, and took much delight
in telling her friends that the carriage also was Parisian; but, in
truth, it had come no further than from Dresden. Josef Balatka and
his daughter were very, very poor; but, poor as they were, they lived
in a large house, which, at least nominally, belonged to old Balatka
himself, and which had been his residence in the days of his better
fortunes. It was in the Kleinseite, that narrow portion of the town,
which lies on the other side of the river Moldau--the further side,
that is, from the so-called Old and New Town, on the western side of
the river, immediately under the great hill of the Hradschin. The
Old Town and the New Town are thus on one side of the river, and the
Kleinseite and the Hradschin on the other. To those who know Prague,
it need not here be explained that the streets of the Kleinseite are
wonderful in their picturesque architecture, wonderful in their lights
and shades, wonderful in their strange mixture of shops and palaces--
and now, alas! also of Austrian barracks--and wonderful in their
intricacy and great steepness of ascent. Balatka's house stood in a
small courtyard near to the river, but altogether hidden from it,
somewhat to the right of the main street of the Kleinseite as you pass
over the bridge. A lane, for it is little more, turning from the main
street between the side walls of what were once two palaces, comes
suddenly into a small square, and from a corner of this square there is
an open stone archway leading into a court. In this court is the door,
or doors, as I may say, of the house in which Balatka lived with his
daughter Nina. Opposite to these two doors was the blind wall of
another residence. Balatka's house occupied two sides of the court,
and no other window, therefore, besides his own looked either upon it
or upon him. The aspect of the place is such as to strike with wonder a
stranger to Prague--that in the heart of so large a city there should
be an abode so sequestered, so isolated, so desolate, and yet so close
to the thickest throng of life. But there are others such, perhaps many
others such, in Prague; and Nina Balatka, who had been born there,
thought nothing of the quaintness of her abode. Immediately over the
little square stood the palace of the Hradschin, the wide-spreading
residence of the old kings of Bohemia, now the habitation of an
ex-emperor of the House of Hapsburg, who must surely find the thousand
chambers of the royal mansion all too wide a retreat for the use of his
old age. So immediately did the imperial hill tower over the spot on
which Balatka lived, that it would seem at night, when the moon was
shining as it shines only at Prague, that the colonnades of the palace
were the upper storeys of some enormous edifice, of which the broken
merchant's small courtyard formed a lower portion. The long rows of
windows would glimmer in the sheen of the night, and Nina would stand
in the gloom of the archway counting them till they would seem to be
uncountable, and wondering what might be the thoughts of those who
abode there. But those who abode there were few in number, and their
thoughts were hardly worthy of Nina's speculation. The windows of
kings' palaces look out from many chambers. The windows of the
Hradschin look out, as we are told, from a thousand. But the rooms
within have seldom many tenants, nor the tenants, perhaps, many
thoughts. Chamber after chamber, you shall pass through them by the
score, and know by signs unconsciously recognised that there is not,
and never has been, true habitation within them. Windows almost
innumerable are there, that they may be seen from the outside--and such
is the use of palaces. But Nina, as she would look, would people the
rooms with throngs of bright inhabitants, and would think of the joys
of happy girls who were loved by Christian youths, and who could dare
to tell their friends of their love. But Nina Balatka was no coward,
and she had already determined that she would at once tell her love to
those who had a right to know in what way she intended to dispose of
herself. As to her father, if only he could have been alone in the
matter, she would have had some hope of a compromise which would have
made it not absolutely necessary that she should separate herself from
him for ever in giving herself to Anton Trendellsohn. Josef Balatka
would doubtless express horror, and would feel shame that his daughter
should love a Jew--though he had not scrupled to allow Nina to go
frequently among these people, and to use her services with them for
staving off the ill consequences of his own idleness and ill-fortune;
but he was a meek, broken man, and was so accustomed to yield to Nina
that at last he might have yielded to her even in this. There was,
however, that Madame Zamenoy, her aunt--her aunt with the bitter tongue;
and there was Ziska Zamenoy, her cousin--her rich and handsome cousin,
who would so soon declare himself willing to become more than cousin,
if Nina would but give him one nod of encouragement, or half a smile of
welcome. But Nina hated her Christian lover, cousin though he was, as
warmly as she loved the Jew. Nina, indeed, loved none of the Zamenoys--
neither her cousin Ziska, nor her very Christian aunt Sophie with the
bitter tongue, nor her prosperous, money-loving, acutely mercantile
uncle Karil; but, nevertheless, she was in some degree so subject to
them, that she knew that she was bound to tell them what path in life
she meant to tread. Madame Zamenoy had offered to take her niece to
the prosperous house in the Windberg-gasse when the old house in the
Kleinseite had become poor and desolate; and though this generous offer
had been most fatuously declined--most wickedly declined, as aunt
Sophie used to declare--nevertheless other favours had been vouchsafed;
and other favours had been accepted, with sore injury to Nina's pride.
As she thought of this, standing in the gloom of the evening under the
archway, she remembered that the very frock she wore had been sent to
her by her aunt. But I in spite of the bitter tongue, and in spite of
Ziska's derision, she would tell her tale, and would tell it soon. She
knew her own courage, and trusted it; and, dreadful as the hour would
be, she would not put it off by one moment. As soon as Anton should
desire her to declare her purpose, she would declare it; and as he who
stands on a precipice, contemplating the expediency of throwing himself
from the rock, will feel himself gradually seized by a mad desire to do
the deed out of hand at once, so did Nina feel anxious to walk off to
the Windberg-gasse, and dare and endure all that the Zamenoys could say
or do. She knew, or thought she knew, that persecution could not go now
beyond the work of the tongue. No priest could immure her. No law could
touch her because she was minded to marry a Jew. Even the people in
these days were mild and forbearing in their usages with the Jews, and
she thought that the girls of the Kleinseite would not tear her clothes
from her back even when they knew of her love. One thing, however, was
certain. Though every rag should be torn from her--though some priest
might have special power given him to persecute her--though the
Zamenoys in their wrath should be able to crush her--even though her
own father should refuse to see her, she would be true to the Jew. Love
to her should be so sacred that no other sacredness should be able to
touch its sanctity. She had thought much of love, but had never loved
before. Now she loved, and, heart and soul, she belonged to him to whom
she had devoted herself. Whatever suffering might be before her, though
it were suffering unto death, she would endure it if her lover demanded
such endurance. Hitherto, there was but one person who suspected her.
In her father's house there still remained an old dependant, who,
though he was a man, was cook and housemaid, and washer-woman and
servant-of-all-work; or perhaps it would be more true to say that
he and Nina between them did all that the requirements of the house
demanded. Souchey--for that was his name--was very faithful, but with
his fidelity had come a want of reverence towards his master and
mistress, and an absence of all respectful demeanour. The enjoyment of
this apparent independence by Souchey himself went far, perhaps, in
lieu of wages.
"Nina," he said to her one morning, "you are seeing too much of Anton
Trendellsohn."
"What do you mean by that, Souchey?" said the girl, sharply.
"You are seeing too much of Anton Trendellsohn," repeated the old man.
"I have to see him on father's account. You know that. You know that,
Souchey, and you shouldn't say such things."
"You are seeing too much of Anton Trendellsohn," said Souchey for the
third time. "Anton Trendellsohn is a Jew."
Then Nina knew that Souchey had read her secret, and was sure that it
would spread from him through Lotta Luxa, her aunt's confidential maid,
up to her aunt's ears. Not that Souchey would be untrue to her on
behalf of Madame Zamenoy, whom he hated; but that he would think
himself bound by his religious duty--he who never went near priest or
mass himself--to save his mistress from the perils of the Jew. The
story of her love must be told, and Nina preferred to tell it herself
to having it told for her by her servant Souchey. She must see Anton.
When the evening therefore had come, and there was sufficient dusk upon
the bridge to allow of her passing over without observation, she put
her old cloak upon her shoulders, with the hood drawn over her head,
and, crossing the river, turned to the left and made her way through
the narrow crooked streets which led to the Jews' quarter. She knew the
path well, and could have found it with blindfolded eyes. In the middle
of that close and densely populated region of Prague stands the old
Jewish synagogue--the oldest place of worship belonging to the Jews in
Europe, as they delight to tell you; and in a pinched-up, high-gabled
house immediately behind the synagogue, at the corner of two streets,
each so narrow as hardly to admit a vehicle, dwelt the Trendellsohns.
On the basement floor there had once been a shop. There was no shop
now, for the Trendellsohns were rich, and no longer dealt in retail
matters; but there had been no care, or perhaps no ambition, at work,
to alter the appearance of their residence, and the old shutters were
upon the window, making the house look as though it were deserted.
There was a high-pitched sharp roof over the gable, which, as
the building stood alone fronting upon the synagogue, made it so
remarkable, that all who knew Prague well, knew the house in which the
Trendellsohns lived. Nina had often wished, as in latter days she had
entered it, that it was less remarkable, so that she might have gone in
and out with smaller risk of observation. It was now the beginning of
September, and the clocks of the town had just struck eight as Nina put
her hand on the lock of the Jew's door. As usual it was not bolted,
and she was able to enter without waiting in the street for a servant
to come to her. She went at once along the narrow passage and up the
gloomy wooden stairs, at the foot of which there hung a small lamp,
giving just light enough to expel the actual blackness of night. On the
first landing Nina knocked at a door, and was desired to enter by a
soft female voice. The only occupant of the room when she entered was a
dark-haired child, some twelve years old perhaps, but small in stature
and delicate, and, as appeared to the eye, almost wan. "Well, Ruth
dear," said Nina, "is Anton at home this evening?"
"He is up-stairs with grandfather, Nina. Shall I tell him?"
"If you will, dear," said Nina, stooping down and kissing her.
"Nice Nina, dear Nina, good Nina," said the girl, rubbing her glossy
curls against her friend's cheeks. "Ah, dear, how I wish you lived
here!"
"But I have a father, as you have a grandfather, Ruth."
"And he is a Christian."
"And so am I, Ruth."
"But you like us, and are good, and nice, and dear--and oh, Nina, you
are so beautiful! I wish you were one of us, and lived here. There is
Miriam Harter--her hair is as light as yours, and her eyes are as
grey."
"What has that to do with it?"
"Only I am so dark, and most of us are dark here in Prague. Anton says
that away in Palestine our girls are as fair as the girls in Saxony."
"And does not Anton like girls to be dark?"
"Anton likes fair hair--such as yours--and bright grey eyes such as
you have got. I said they were green, and he pulled my ears. But now
I look, Nina, I think they are green. And so bright! I can see my own
in them, though it is so dark. That is what they call looking babies."
"Go to your uncle, Ruth, and tell him that I want him--on business."
"I will, and he'll come to you. He won't let me come down again, so
kiss me, Nina; good-bye."
Nina kissed the child again, and then was left alone in the room. It
was a comfortable chamber, having in it sofas and arm-chairs--much more
comfortable, Nina used to think, than her aunt's grand drawing-room in
the Windberg-gasse, which was covered all over with a carpet, after the
fashion of drawing-rooms in Paris; but the Jew's sitting-room was dark,
with walls painted a gloomy green colour, and there was but one small
lamp of oil upon the table. But yet Nina loved the room, and as she sat
there waiting for her lover, she wished that it had been her lot to
have been born a Jewess. Only, had that been so, her hair might perhaps
have been black, and her eyes dark, and Anton would not have liked her.
She put her hand up for a moment to her rich brown tresses, and felt
them as she took joy in thinking that Anton Trendellsohn loved to look
upon fair beauty.
After a short while Anton Trendellsohn came down. To those who know
the outward types of his race there could be no doubt that Anton
Trendellsohn was a very Jew among Jews. He was certainly a handsome
man, not now very young, having reached some year certainly in advance
of thirty, and his face was full of intellect. He was slightly made,
below the middle height, but was well made in every limb, with small
feet and hands, and small ears, and a well-turned neck. He was very
dark--dark as a man can be, and yet show no sign of colour in his
blood. No white man could be more dark and swarthy than Anton
Trendellsohn. His eyes, however, which were quite black, were very
bright. His jet-black hair, as it clustered round his ears, had in it
something of a curl. Had it been allowed to grow, it would almost have
hung in ringlets; but it was worn very short, as though its owner were
jealous even of the curl. Anton Trendellsohn was decidedly a handsome
man; but his eyes were somewhat too close together in his face, and the
bridge of his aquiline nose was not sharply cut, as is mostly the case
with such a nose on a Christian face. The olive oval face was without
doubt the face of a Jew, and the mouth was greedy, and the teeth were
perfect and bright, and the movement of the man's body was the movement
of a Jew. But not the less on that account had he behaved with
Christian forbearance to his Christian debtor, Josef Balatka, and with
Christian chivalry to Balatka's daughter, till that chivalry had turned
itself into love.
"Nina," he said, putting out his hand, and holding hers as he spoke, "I
hardly expected you this evening; but I am glad to see you--very glad."
"I hope I am not troubling you, Anton?"
"How can you trouble me? The sun does not trouble us when we want light
and heat."
"Can I give you light and heat?"
"The light and heat I love best, Nina."
"If I thought that--if I could really think that--I would be happy
still, and would mind nothing."
"And what is it you do mind?"
"There are things to trouble us, of course. When aunt Sophie says that
all of us have our troubles--even she--I suppose that even she speaks
the truth."
"Your aunt Sophie is a fool."
"I should not mind if she were only a fool. But a fool can sometimes be
right."
"And she has been scolding you because--you--prefer a Jew to a
Christian."
"No--not yet, Anton. She does not know it yet; but she must know it."
"Sit down, Nina." He was still holding her by the hand; and now, as he
spoke, he led her to a sofa which stood between the two windows. There
he seated her, and sat by her side, still holding her hand in his.
"Yes," he said, "she must know it of course--when the time comes; and
if she guesses it before, you must put up with her guesses. A few sharp
words from a foolish woman will not frighten you, I hope."
"No words will frighten me out of my love, if you mean that--neither
words nor anything else."
"I believe you. You are brave, Nina. I know that. Though you will cry
if one but frowns at you, yet you are brave."
"Do not you frown at me, Anton."
"I am one of those that do frown at times, I suppose; but I will be
true to you, Nina, if you will be true to me."
"I will be true to you--true as the sun."
As she made her promise she turned her sweet face up to his, and he
leaned over her, and kissed her.
"And what is it that has disturbed you now, Nina? What has Madame
Zamenoy said to you?"
"She has said nothing--as yet. She suspects nothing--as yet."
"Then let her remain as she is."
"But, Anton, Souchey knows, and he will talk."
"Souchey! And do you care for that?"
"I care for nothing--for nothing; for nothing, that is, in the way of
preventing me. Do what they will, they cannot tear my love from my
heart."
"Nor can they take you away, or lock you up."
"I fear nothing of that sort, Anton. All that I really fear is secrecy.
Would it not be best that I should tell father?"
"What!--now, at once?"
"If you will let me. I suppose he must know it soon."
"You can if you please."
"Souchey will tell him."
"Will Souchey dare to speak of you like that?" asked the Jew.
"Oh, yes; Souchey dares to say anything to father now. Besides, it is
true. Why should not Souchey say it?"
"But you have not spoken to Souchey; you have not told him?"
"I! No indeed. I have spoken never a word to anyone about that--only to
you. How should I speak to another without your bidding? But when they
speak to me I must answer them. If father asks me whether there be
aught between you and me, shall I not tell him then?"
"It would be better to be silent for a while."
"But shall I lie to him? I should not mind Souchey nor aunt Sophie
much; but I never yet told a lie to father."
"I do not tell you to lie."
"Let me tell it all. Anton, and then, whatever they may say, whatever
they may do, I shall not mind. I wish that they knew it, and then I
could stand up against them. Then I could tell Ziska that which would
make him hold his tongue for ever."
"Ziska! Who cares for Ziska?"
"You need not, at any rate."
"The truth is, Nina, that I cannot be married till I have settled all
this about the houses in the Kleinseite. The very fact that you would
be your father's heir prevents my doing so."
"Do you think that I wish to hurry you? I would rather stay as I am,
knowing that you love me."
"Dear Nina! But when your aunt shall once know your secret, she will
give you no peace till you are out of her power. She will leave no
stone unturned to make you give up your Jew lover."
"She may as well leave the turning of such stones alone."
"But if she heard nothing of it till she heard that we were married--"
"Ah! but that is impossible. I could not do that without telling
father, and father would surely tell my aunt."
"You may do as you will, Nina; but it may be, when they shall know it,
that therefore there may be new difficulty made about the houses. Karil
Zamenoy has the papers, which are in truth mine--or my father's--which
should be here in my iron box." And Trendellsohn, as he spoke, put his
hand forcibly on the seat beside him, as though the iron box to which
he alluded were within his reach.
"I know they are yours," said Nina.
"Yes; and without them, should your father die, I could not claim my
property. The Zamenoys might say they held it on your behalf--and you
my wife at the time! Do you see, Nina? I could not stand that--I would
not stand that."
"I understand it well, Anton."
"The houses are mine--or ours, rather. Your father has long since had
the money, and more than the money. He knew that the houses were to be
ours."
"He knows it well. You do not think that he is holding back the
papers?"
"He should get them for me. He should not drive me to press him for
them. I know they are at Karil Zamenoy's counting-house; but your uncle
told me, when I spoke to him, that he had no business with me; if I had
a claim on him, there was the law. I have no claim on him. But I let
your father have the money when he wanted it, on his promise that the
deeds should be forthcoming. A Christian would not have been such a
fool."
"Oh, Anton, do not speak to me like that."
"But was I not a fool? See how it is now. Were you and I to become man
and wife, they would never give them up, though they are my own--my
own. No; we must wait; and you--you must demand them from your uncle."
"I will demand them. And as for waiting, I care nothing for that if you
love me."
"I do love you."
"Then all shall be well with me; and I will ask for the papers. Father,
I know, wishes that you should have all that is your own. He would
leave the house to-morrow if you desired it."
"He is welcome to remain there."
"And now, Anton, good-night."
"Good-night, Nina."
"When shall I see you again?"
"When you please, and as often. Have I not said that you are light
and heat to me? Can the sun rise too often for those who love it?"
Then she held her hand up to be kissed, and kissed his in return, and
went silently down the stairs into the street. He had said once in
the course of the conversation--nay, twice, as she came to remember
in thinking over it--that she might do as she would about telling
her friends; and she had been almost craftily careful to say nothing
herself, and to draw nothing from him, which could be held as
militating against this authority, or as subsequently negativing the
permission so given. She would undoubtedly tell her father--and her
aunt; and would as certainly demand from her uncle those documents of
which Anton Trendellsohn had spoken to her.