Some days passed on after the visit to the jeweller's shop--perhaps ten
or twelve--before Nina heard from or saw her lover again; and during
that time she had no tidings from her relatives in the Windberg-gasse.
Life went on very quietly in the old house, and not the less quietly
because the proceeds of the necklace saved Nina from any further
immediate necessity of searching for money. The cold weather had come,
or rather weather that was cold in the morning and cold in the evening,
and old Balatka kept his bed altogether. His state was such that no one
could say why he should not get up and dress himself, and he himself
continued to speak of some future time when he would do so; but there
he was, lying in his bed, and Nina told herself that in all probability
she would never see him about the house again. For herself, she was
becoming painfully anxious that some day should be fixed for her
marriage. She knew that she was, herself, ignorant in such matters;
and she knew also that there was no woman near her from whom she could
seek counsel. Were she to go to some matron of the neighbourhood, her
neighbour would only rebuke her, because she loved a Jew. She had
boldly told her relatives of her love, and by doing so had shut herself
out from all assistance from them. From even her father she could get
no sympathy; though with him her engagement had become so far a thing
sanctioned, that he had ceased to speak of it in words of reproach.
But when was it to be? She had more than once made up her mind that
she would ask her lover, but her courage had never as yet mounted high
enough in his presence to allow her to do so. When he was with her,
their conversation always took such a turn that before she left him she
was happy enough if she could only draw from him an assurance that he
was not forgetting to love her. Of any final time for her marriage he
never said a word. In the mean time she and her father might starve!
They could not live on the price of a necklace for ever. She had not
made up her mind--she never could make up her mind--as to what might be
best for her father when she should be married; but she had made up her
mind that when that happy time should come, she would simply obey her
husband. He would tell her what would be best for her father. But in
the mean time there was no word of her marriage; and now she had been
ten days in the Kleinseite without once having had so much as a message
from her lover. How was it possible that she should continue to live in
such a condition as this?
She was sitting one morning very forlorn in the big parlour, looking
out upon the birds who were pecking among the dust in the courtyard
below, when her eye just caught the drapery of the dress of some woman
who had entered the arched gateway. Nina, from her place by the window,
could see out through the arch, and no one therefore could come through
their gate while she was at her seat without passing under her eye; but
on this occasion the birds had distracted her attention, and she had
not caught a sight of the woman's face or figure. Could it be her aunt
come to torture her again--her and her father? She knew that Souchey
was down-stairs, hanging somewhere in idleness about the door, and
therefore she did not leave her place. If it were indeed her aunt, her
aunt might come up there to seek her. Or it might possibly be Lotta
Luxa, who, next to her aunt, was of all women the most disagreeable to
Nina. Lotta, indeed, was not so hard to bear as aunt Sophie, because
Lotta could be answered sharply, and could be told to go, if matters
proceeded to extremities. In such a case Lotta no doubt would not
go; but still the power of desiring her to do so was much. Then Nina
remembered that Lotta never wore her petticoats so full as was the
morsel of drapery which she had seen. And as she thought of this
there came a low knock at the door. Nina, without rising, desired the
stranger to come in. Then the door was gently opened, and Rebecca Loth
the Jewess stood before her. Nina had seen Rebecca, but had never
spoken to her. Each girl had heard much of the other from their younger
friend Ruth Jacobi. Ruth was very intimate with them both, and Nina had
been willing enough to be told of Rebecca, as had Rebecca also to be
told of Nina. "Grandfather wants Anton to marry Rebecca," Ruth had said
more than once; and thus Nina knew well that Rebecca was her rival. "I
think he loves her better than his own eyes," Ruth had said to Rebecca,
speaking of her uncle and Nina. But Rebecca had heard from a thousand
sources of information that he who was to have been her lover had
forgotten his own people and his own religion, and had given himself
to a Christian girl. Each, therefore, now knew that she looked upon an
enemy and a rival; but each was anxious to be very courteous to her
enemy.
Nina rose from her chair directly she saw her visitor, and came forward
to meet her. "I suppose you hardly know who I am, Fraeulein?" said
Rebecca.
"Oh, yes," said Nina, with her pleasantest smile; "you are Rebecca
Loth."
"Yes, I am Rebecca Loth, the Jewess."
"I like the Jews," said Nina.
Rebecca was not dressed now as she had been dressed on that gala
occasion when we saw her in the Jews' quarter. Then she had been as
smart as white muslin and bright ribbons and velvet could make her. Now
she was clad almost entirely in black, and over her shoulders she wore
a dark shawl, drawn closely round her neck. But she had on her head,
now as then, that peculiar Hungarian hat which looks almost like a
coronet in front, and gives an aspect to the girl who wears it half
defiant and half attractive; and there were there, of course, the long,
glossy, black curls, and the dark-blue eyes, and the turn of the face,
which was so completely Jewish in its hard, bold, almost repellant
beauty. Nina had said that she liked the Jews, but when the words were
spoken she remembered that they might be open to misconstruction, and
she blushed. The same idea occurred to Rebecca, but she scorned to take
advantage of even a successful rival on such a point as that. She would
not twit Nina by any hint that this assumed liking for the Jews was
simply a special predilection for one Jew in particular. "We are not
ungrateful to you for coming among us and knowing us," said Rebecca.
Then there was a slight pause, for Nina hardly knew what to say to
her visitor. But Rebecca continued to speak. "We hear that in other
countries the prejudice against us is dying away, and that Christians
stay with Jews in their houses, and Jews with Christians, eating with
them, and drinking with them. I fear it will never be so in Prague."
"And why not in Prague? I hope it may. Why should we not do in Prague
as they do elsewhere?"
"Ah, the feeling is so firmly settled here. We have our own quarter,
and live altogether apart. A Christian here will hardly walk with a
Jew, unless it be from counter to counter, or from bank to bank. As for
their living together--or even eating in the same room--do you ever see
it?"
Nina of course understood the meaning of this. That which the girl said
to her was intended to prove to her how impossible it was that she
should marry a Jew, and live in Prague with a Jew as his wife; but she,
who stood her ground before aunt Sophie, who had never flinched for a
moment before all the threats which could be showered upon her from
the Christian side, was not going to quail before the opposition of a
Jewess, and that Jewess a rival!
"I do not know why we should not live to see it," said Nina.
"It must take long first--very long," said Rebecca. "Even now,
Fraeulein, I fear you will think that I am very intrusive in coming to
you. I know that a Jewess has no right to push her acquaintance upon a
Christian girl." The Jewess spoke very humbly of herself and of her
people; but in every word she uttered there was a slight touch of irony
which was not lost upon Nina. Nina could not but bethink herself that
she was poor--so poor that everything around her, on her, and about
her, told of poverty; while Rebecca was very rich, and showed her
wealth even in the sombre garments which she had chosen for her morning
visit. No idea of Nina's poverty had crossed Rebecca's mind, but Nina
herself could not but remember it when she felt the sarcasm implied in
her visitor's self-humiliation.
"I am glad that you have come to me--very glad indeed, if you have come
in friendship." Then she blushed as she continued, "To me, situated as
I am, the friendship of a Jewish maiden would be a treasure indeed."
"You intend to speak of--"
"I speak of my engagement with Anton Trendellsohn. I do so with you
because I know that you have heard of it. You tell me that Jews and
Christians cannot come together in Prague, but I mean to marry a Jew. A
Jew is my lover. If you will say that you will be my friend, I will
love you indeed. Ruth Jacobi is my friend; but then Ruth is so young."
"Yes, Ruth is very young. She is a child. She knows nothing."
"A child's friendship is better than none."
"Ruth is very young. She cannot understand. I too love Ruth Jacobi. I
have known her since she was born. I knew and loved her mother. You do
not remember Ruth Trendellsohn. No; your acquaintance with them is only
of the other day."
"Ruth's mother has been dead seven years," said Nina.
"And what are seven years? I have known them for four-and-twenty."
"Nay; that cannot be."
"But I have. That is my age, and I was born, so to say, in their arms.
Ruth Trendellsohn was ten years older than I--only ten."
"And Anton?"
"Anton was a year older than his sister; but you know Anton's age. Has
he never told you his age?"
"I never asked him; but I know it. There are things one knows as a
matter of course. I remember his birthday always."
"It has been a short always."
"No, not so short. Two years is not a short time to know a friend."
"But he has not been betrothed to you for two years?"
"No; not betrothed to me."
"Nor has he loved you so long; nor you him?"
"For him, I can only speak of the time when he first told me so."
"And that was but the other day--but the other day, as I count the
time." To this Nina made no answer. She could not claim to have known
her lover from so early a date as Rebecca Loth had done, who had been,
as she said, born in the arms of his family. But what of that? Men
do not always love best those women whom they have known the longest.
Anton Trendellsohn had known her long enough to find that he loved her
best. Why then should this Jewish girl come to her and throw in her
teeth the shortness of her intimacy with the man who was to be her
husband? If she, Nina, had also been a Jewess, Rebecca Loth would not
then have spoken in such a way. As she thought of this she turned her
face away from the stranger, and looked out among the sparrows who were
still pecking among the dust in the court. She had told Rebecca at the
beginning of their interview that she would be delighted to find a
friend in a Jewess, but now she felt sorry that the girl had come to
her. For Anton's sake she would bear with much from one whom he had
known so long. But for that thought she would have answered her visitor
with short courtesy. As it was, she sat silent and looked out upon the
birds.
"I have come to you now," said Rebecca Loth, "to say a few words to you
about Anton Trendellsohn. I hope you will not refuse to listen."
"That will depend on what you say."
"Do you think it will be for his good to marry a Christian?"
"I shall leave him to judge of that," replied Nina, sharply.
"It cannot be that you do not think of it. I am sure you would not
willingly do an injury to the man you love."
"I would die for him, if that would serve him."
"You can serve him without dying. If he takes you for his wife, all his
people will turn against him. His own father will become his enemy."
"How can that be? His father knows of it, and yet he is not my enemy."
"It is as I tell you. His father will disinherit him. Every Jew in
Prague will turn his back upon him. He knows it now. Anton knows it
himself, but he cannot be the first to say the word that shall put an
end to your engagement."
"Jews have married Christians in Prague before now," said Nina,
pleading her own cause with all the strength she had.
"But not such a one as Anton Trendellsohn. An unconsidered man may do
that which is not permitted to those who are more in note."
"There is no law against it now."
"That is true. There is no law. But there are habits stronger than law.
In your own case, do you not know that all the friends you have in the
world will turn their backs upon you? And so it would be with him. You
two would be alone--neither as Jews nor as Christians--with none to aid
you, with no friend to love you."
"For myself I care nothing," said Nina. "They may say, if they like,
that I am no Christian."
"But how will it be with him? Can you ever be happy if you have been
the cause of ruin to your husband?"
Nina was again silent for a while, sitting with her face turned
altogether away from the Jewess. Then she rose suddenly from her
chair, and, facing round almost fiercely upon the other girl, asked
a question, which came from the fulness of her heart, "And you--you
yourself, what is it that you intend to do? Do you wish to marry him?"
"I do," said Rebecca, bearing Nina's gaze without dropping her own eyes
for a moment. "I do. I do wish to be the wife of Anton Trendellsohn."
"Then you shall never have your wish--never. He loves me, and me only.
Ask him, and he will tell you so."
"I have asked him, and he has told me so." There was something so
serious, so sad, and so determined in the manner of the young Jewess,
that it almost cowed Nina--almost drove her to yield before her
visitor. "If he has told you so," she said--then she stopped, not
wishing to triumph over her rival.
"He has told me so; but I knew it without his telling. We all know it.
I have not come here to deceive you, or to create false suspicions. He
does love you. He cares nothing for me, and he does love you. But is he
therefore to be ruined? Which had he better lose? All that he has in
the world, or the girl that has taken his fancy?"
"I would sooner lose the world twice over than lose him."
"Yes; but you are only a woman. Think of his position. There is not a
Jew in all Prague respected among us as he is respected. He knows more,
can do more, has more of wit and cleverness, than any of us. We look to
him to win for the Jews in Prague something of the freedom which Jews
have elsewhere--in Paris and in London. If he takes a Christian for his
wife, all this will be destroyed."
"But all will be well if he were to marry you!"
Now it was Rebecca's turn to pause; but it was not for long. "I love
him dearly," she said; "with a love as warm as yours."
"And therefore I am to be untrue to him," said Nina, again seating
herself.
"And were I to become his wife," continued Rebecca, not regarding the
interruption, "it would be well with him in a worldly point of view.
All our people would be glad, because there has been friendship between
the families from of old. His father would be pleased, and he would
become rich; and I also am not without some wealth of my own."
"While I am poor," said Nina; "so poor that--look here, I can only mend
my rags. There, look at my shoes. I have not another pair to my feet.
But if he likes me, poor and ragged, better than he likes you, rich--"
She got so far, raising her voice as she spoke; but she could get no
farther, for her sobs stopped her voice.
But while she was struggling to speak, the other girl rose and knelt at
Nina's feet, putting her long tapering fingers upon Nina's thread-bare
arms, so that her forehead was almost close to Nina's lips. "He does,"
said Rebecca. "It is true--quite true. He loves you, poor as you are,
ten times--a hundred times--better than he loves me, who am not poor.
You have won it altogether by yourself, with nothing of outside art to
back you. You have your triumph. Will not that be enough for a life's
contentment?"
"No--no, no," said Nina. "No, it will not be enough." But her voice
now was not altogether sorrowful. There was in it something of a wild
joy which had come to her heart from the generous admission which the
Jewess made. She did triumph as she remembered that she had conquered
with no other weapons than those which nature had given her.
"It is more of contentment than I shall ever have," said Rebecca.
"Listen to me. If you will say to me that you will release him from
his promise, I will swear to you by the God whom we both worship, that
I will never become his wife--that he shall never touch me or speak to
me in love." She had risen before she made this proposal, and now stood
before Nina with one hand raised, with her blue eyes fixed upon Nina's
face, and a solemnity in her manner which for a while startled Nina
into silence. "You will believe my word, I am sure," said Rebecca.
"Yes, I would believe you," said Nina.
"Shall it be a bargain between us? Say so, and whatever is mine shall
be mine and yours too. Though a Jew may not make a Christian his wife,
a Jewish girl may love a Christian maiden; and then, Nina, we shall
both know that we have done our very best for him whom we both love
better than all the world beside."
Nina was again silent, considering the proposition that had been made
to her. There was one thing that she did not see; one point of view
in which the matter had not been presented to her. The cause for her
sacrifice had been made plain to her, but why was the sacrifice of the
other also to become necessary? By not yielding she might be able to
keep her lover to herself; but if she were to be induced to abandon him
--for his sake, so that he might not be ruined by his love for her--
why, in that case, should he not take the other girl for his wife? In
such a case Nina told herself that there would be no world left for
her. There would be nothing left for her beyond the accomplishment of
Lotta Luxa's prophecy. But yet, though she thought of this, though in
her misery she half resolved that she would give up Anton, and not
exact from Rebecca the oath which the Jewess had tendered, still, in
spite of that feeling, the dread of a rival's success helped to make
her feel that she could never bring herself to yield.
"Shall it be as I say?" said Rebecca; "and shall we, dear, be friends
while we live?"
"No," said Nina, suddenly.
"You cannot bring yourself to do so much for the man you love?"
"No, I cannot. Could you throw yourself from the bridge into the
Moldau, and drown yourself?"
"Yes," said Rebecca, "I could. If it would serve him, I think that I
could do so."
"What! in the dark, when it is so cold? The people would see you in the
daytime."
"But I would live, that I might hear of his doings, and see his
success."
"Ah! I could not live without feeling that he loved me."
"But what will you think of his love when it has ruined him? Will it be
pleasant then? Were I to do that, then--then I should bethink myself of
the cold river and the dark night, and the eyes of the passers-by whom
I should be afraid to meet in the daytime. I ask you to be as I am. Who
is there that pities me? Think again, Nina. I know you would wish that
he should be prosperous."
Nina did think again, and thought long. And she wept, and the Jewess
comforted her, and many words were said between them beyond those which
have been here set down; but, in the end, Nina could not bring herself
to say that she would give him up. For his sake had she not given up
her uncle and her aunt, and St John and St Nicholas--and the very
Virgin herself, whose picture she had now removed from the wall
beside her bed to a dark drawer? How could she give up that which was
everything she had in the world--the very life of her bosom? "I will
ask him--him himself," she said at last, hoarsely. "I will ask him, and
do as he bids me. I cannot do anything unless it is as he bids me."
"In this matter you must act on your own judgment, Nina."
"No, I will not. I have no judgment. He must judge for me in
everything. If he says it is better that we should part, then--then--
then I will let him go."
After this Rebecca left the room and the house. Before she went, she
kissed the Christian girl; but Nina did not remember that she had been
kissed. Her mind was so full, not of thought, but of the suggestion
that had been made to her, that it could now take no impression from
anything else. She had been recommended to do a thing as her duty--as
a paramount duty towards him who was everything to her--the doing of
which it would be impossible that she should survive. So she told
herself when she was once more alone, and had again seated herself in
the chair by the window. She did not for a moment accuse Rebecca of
dealing unfairly with her. It never occurred to her as possible that
the Jewess had come to her with false views of her own fabrication.
Had she so believed, her suspicions would have done great injustice to
her rival; but no such idea presented itself to Nina's mind. All that
Rebecca had said to her had come to her as though it were gospel. She
did believe that Trendellsohn, as a Jew, would injure himself greatly
by marrying a Christian. She did believe that the Jews of Prague would
treat him somewhat as the Christians would treat herself. For herself
such treatment would be nothing, if she were but once married; but she
could understand that to him it would be ruinous. And Nina believed
also that Rebecca had been entirely disinterested in her mission--that
she came thither, not to gain a lover for herself, but to save from
injury the man she loved, without reference to her own passion. Nina
knew that Rebecca was strong and good, and acknowledged also that she
herself was weak and selfish. She thought that she ought to have been
persuaded to make the sacrifice, and once or twice she almost resolved
that she would follow Rebecca to the Jews' quarter and tell her that it
should be made. But she could not do it. Were she to do so, what would
be left to her? With him she could bear anything, everything. To starve
would hardly be bitter to her, so that his arm could be round her
waist, and that her head could be on his shoulder. And, moreover, was
she not his to do with as he pleased? After all her promises to him,
how could she take upon herself to dispose of herself otherwise than as
he might direct?
But then some thought of the missing document came back upon her, and
she remembered in her grief that he suspected her--that even now he
had some frightful doubt as to her truth to him--her faith, which was,
alas, alas! more firm and bright towards him than towards that heavenly
Friend whose aid would certainly suffice to bring her through all her
troubles, if only she could bring herself to trust as she asked it. But
she could trust only in him, and he doubted her! Would it not be better
to do as Rebecca said, and make the most of such contentment as might
come to her from her triumph over herself? That would be better--ten
times better than to be abandoned by him--to be deserted by her Jew
lover, because the Jew would not trust her, a Christian! On either side
there could be nothing for her but death; but there is a choice even of
deaths. If she did the thing herself, she thought that there might be
something sweet even in the sadness of her last hour--something of the
flavour of sacrifice. But should it be done by him, in that way there
lay nothing but the madness of desolation! It was her last resolve, as
she still sat at the window counting the sparrows in the yard, that she
would tell him everything, and leave it to him to decide. If he would
say that it was better for them to part, then he might go; and Rebecca
Loth might become his wife, if he so wished it.