of Providence to bear the hard burden of poverty were the objects of
real and genuine commiseration, and every effort was made to alleviate
their sad condition. And if some of them did occasionally resort to
deception or petty misrepresentation in order to secure a larger
benefaction than would otherwise have fallen to his share, there was no
horror-stricken outcry, no show of virtuous indignation, such as our
high-salaried or amateur charity experts would indulge in; but people
merely shook their heads, rather pityingly than otherwise, and would
say: “Poor fellow! he has little enough in this world, God knows. No
wonder that he tried to get a little more.” Indeed, if the Schnorrer was
really a shrewd fellow and his trick a well-devised one, he was far more
apt to arouse amusement than resentment, and would actually profit by
his nimble wit. This I saw well illustrated shortly after my arrival in
Nordheim. One day a Schnorrer presented himself with an expression of
utter woe upon his countenance before Uncle Koppel, and in
heart-breaking accents informed him that he had just received news that
he had become an _Ovel_. “Alas, woe is me,” he wailed. “My poor, dear
wife in Poland is dead! What shall I do without her? Who will care for
my poor, unfortunate orphans? How shall I keep the _Shivah_ for her, as
is due to her memory, I who have no home and no means?” It need hardly
be stated that the sad case of the stricken widower aroused the most
profound sympathy among the Jews of Nordheim. Uncle Koppel at once
placed his house at the disposal of the unfortunate man in order that he
might properly observe the seven days of mourning, and most of the
members of the congregation offered to attend the mourning services
morning and evening. Aunt Caroline looked well after his comfort,
provided him with four or five square meals daily and a good bed at
night. At the conclusion of the seven days a substantial purse was made
up for his benefit and he departed, showering blessings upon the heads
of all the Nordheim _Kehillah_, and vowing that he would never forget
their kindness and their true spirit of brotherliness.
A few weeks later Uncle Koppel had occasion to make a trip on business
to Römhild, a somewhat distant town in the grand duchy of Meiningen. As
he never ate dinner when away on these trips, it was customary to keep
his dinner for him, and all the household would remain up until his
return. It was rather late before he returned, after nine in the
evening. As soon as he had strode through the door we all noticed that
something unusual had befallen him during the day, and that that
something had been of an amusing nature. His face was wreathed in smiles
and he was silently chuckling to himself. We all became, of course,
curious to know the cause of his amusement, but none, except Aunt
Caroline, ventured to ask. “For goodness’ sake, husband,” said she,
“what is the matter? Let us know.” “Give me my meal first, wife,” said
Uncle Koppel. “I need strength before I can tell you.” All during the
meal Uncle Koppel sat with sides shaking with ill-suppressed laughter,
while curiosity and impatience consumed us all. At last, his meal
concluded and grace recited, Uncle Koppel began his story. “I heard
something in Römhild to-day of our Schnorrer,” said he; “the one who
kept Shivah in our house.” “Indeed,” we all vociferated, “what was it?”
“I called first on Moses Rosenbaum,” he resumed, “in reference to some
cattle that I wished to buy of him; and after we had finished our
business, he said to me: ‘By the way, Koppel, there is a very sad case
in town at present, and it would be a real _Mitzvah_ for you to help us
a little in relieving it.’ ‘What is it,’ said I. ‘A poor man,’ said he,
‘has suddenly received news that his wife died, and he is so destitute
that he cannot support his orphans without help, or even keep Shivah. We
have helped him some and he has been keeping Shivah in my house during
the week.’ ‘Aha,’ said I, beginning to smell a rat, ‘this is strange. We
had just such a case in Nordheim a few weeks ago. I think I shall go
over and see your man.’ We went over to Rosenbaum’s house, and, sure
enough, it was the same fellow. The Shivah-keeping business in Nordheim
had suited him so well that he was trying it again in another place.
When I saw him I said: ‘My friend, I believe I have met you before.’ He
looked at me, not in the least abashed, and said: ‘Oh, yes, in Nordheim,
a few weeks ago.’ ‘What do you mean by this brazen-faced fraud,’ I
asked, ‘pretending to have lost your wife and swindling people into
charitable gifts by pretending to keep Shivah?’ ‘Oh, my good sir,’ said
he, with great pretence of earnestness, ‘it is no deceit at all. The
first time it was a false report. My wife had not died. But this time
she is really dead, really indeed; and if you don’t believe me you can
go yourself to Pitchichow in Poland, my native town, and convince
yourself. You can, indeed.’ We all laughed heartily at the fellow’s
impudence, and warning him to be sure that his wife was dead before he
sat Shivah for her next time, we bade him begone. He went off with great
alacrity, evidently glad that he had fared no worse.”
GENDARMES.
The gendarmes or rural policemen were the second bane of village life;
but while the Schnorrer was looked on with charitable eye, for these
latter gentry no one had a good word. They were detested, thoroughly and
intensely. As a rule they well deserved the detestation in which they
were held, for they were pompous, insufferable individuals, egregiously
proud and conceited because of the little authority they possessed, and
over-eager to display their power; in a word, petty tyrants of the worst
kind. They were equally hated by Jew and Gentile, and were not popular
even with the judges and magistrates, who were often liberal-minded
gentlemen, and who knew well the tyrannical disposition of their rustic
retainers. The multiplicity of laws and regulations in the German
statute book, particularly those referring to trade and commerce, gave
the gendarmes the much-desired opportunity for the display of their
power; and as the Jews were the chief element engaged in commercial
pursuits, they were also the chief victims of these rustic arbiters of
weal and woe. To defeat or discomfit a gendarme was a highly meritorious
deed, and all the community rejoiced in concert when one of these
potentates had been made the victim of some particularly ingenious
trick.
An incident which had happened some time previous to my arrival in
Nordheim, and which all the community were highly enjoying at the time
of my arrival, will illustrate this disposition. There lived in Nordheim
a poor, half-witted Jew named Meyer, an unfortunate fellow without
relatives or home or means of subsistence, who depended for his support
on the charitable gifts of the kind-hearted villagers. Despite his
mental infirmity, Meyer possessed, as is not seldom the case with the
weak-minded, quite a stock of humor; and as he was always cheerful and
pleasant, and was continually doing odd and amusing things, “Shoteh
Meyerle,” or “Little Meyer the fool,” as he was called, enjoyed
considerable popularity. Everybody, rich and poor, high and low, Jew and
Gentile, knew him well. Everybody had a friendly greeting for him when
met on the road; nobody, not even the most unruly boys, would harm him
in any way or permit him to be harmed by others. He had free access to
every house, and enjoyed altogether liberties and privileges not
possessed by any other member of the community. One day it chanced that
Shoteh Meyerle determined, in accordance with his wont, to visit the
adjoining village of Willmars to obtain some gifts. The day was hot, the
road was long and dusty, and Meyer soon felt that rest and recuperation
would be agreeable. These could not be had on the dusty road, and he,
therefore, stepped aside into a field where there was a fine tree, in
whose cool shade he sat him down and reposed. This act, it is true, was
illegal, for the agrarian regulations of the Bavarian state strictly
prohibit the stepping upon cultivated fields on the part of others than
the proprietors, or those to whom they give permission. But what recked
Meyer for that; he was, in a measure, above the law. He could violate
the solemn enactments of the code with impunity, for the light in which
he was viewed by the community enabled him to say, like a celebrated
American politician of later date, “What’s the Constitution between
friends?” Meyer, therefore, sat him down on the cultivated field of
Farmer Dietrich without having obtained his formal permission, but
without the least fear of consequences. This time, however, he was in
error. A new gendarme had recently come to Nordheim, a stranger from a
different region, unacquainted with the people and their ways, but with
a soul longing to acquire distinction by making some brilliant arrests.
His reputation as a surly and churlish fellow had preceded him, and
every one had scrupulously avoided him and taken particular care not to
come into conflict with any of the numerous statutes and police
regulations; so that hitherto no one had fallen into his clutches, and
his ambition for distinction had as yet had no opportunity to be
gratified. This particular morning he was walking along the road,
meditating upon his ill luck (as he considered it), and cursing the
people of Nordheim and vicinity for an absurdly law-abiding crowd. What
especially grieved him was that no Jew had yet fallen into his hands,
for he was a true anti-Semite; and to haul up one of the accursed
Semites on some good and heavy charge was incense to his soul. While
thus marching along the highway and meditating, he beheld a man sitting
upon a stone in a field, whose appearance clearly indicated that he was
not a peasant nor a field laborer, and who, therefore, had probably no
right to be there. It was, of course, our friend Meyer; but our doughty
gendarme knew him not, and was not aware of the peculiar status of
immunity which he possessed. “Aha!” thought the gendarme, his soul
filled with joy at the idea of at last making an arrest. “A law-breaker!
Probably a wandering apprentice (_Wandersbursch_) or itinerant merchant
(_Handelsman_) who does not know that I, the zealous and faithful
watchman of the law, am in the neighborhood, and who has therefore dared
to invade the sacred precincts of the fields! I must approach cautiously
lest he see me while still afar, and escape.” Thus thinking, he began
cautiously to draw near to the neighborhood of the suspected violator of
the law, slinking behind bushes and walls so as not to reveal his
presence until he should be in the immediate vicinity of his intended
victim, when he would pounce upon him as the tiger springs upon his
prey.
But, cunning as the gendarme was, Shoteh Meyerle was still more cunning.
He had seen the bright uniform and shining musket of the pompous
champion of the law when they first appeared at the distant turning of
the Ostheim _chaussée_. He at once understood his intention when he saw
him first pause and afterward slowly advance, seeking cover behind
bushes and walls and, with the instinctive cunning of the half-witted,
he at once resolved to baffle his elaborate plan and to have some sport
with his would-be captor. He remained quietly sitting upon his stone,
apparently in entire ignorance of the gendarme’s approach until just
before the latter came into too uncomfortable proximity, when he arose
and began to move leisurely across the fields in the direction of the
Sommerberg, a forest-crowned hill situated somewhat to the northeast of
the village. At this the gendarme was compelled to show himself. He
burst forth from his covering of bushes, leaped upon the field and
called upon the intruder, as he considered him to be, to stand and
submit to arrest. Instead of doing so, Meyer continued to move on at a
somewhat more rapid pace. To realize the meaning of this action, one
must remember that in Germany a person when called upon by the police is
expected at once to stand and give an account of himself, and invariably
does so. Only one who has the gravest of reasons for not desiring police
attention would dare to attempt to evade them when their attention had
once been called to him.
Our worthy gendarme was now convinced that he had a dangerous criminal
to deal with, and his soul thrilled with the hope of making a brilliant
arrest; one that would secure him favorable notice from above, rapid
promotion, and perhaps immortality in the annals of criminalistic
achievement. He shouted to Meyer at the top of his voice to halt,
breaking at the same time into a run and dashing toward him. But Meyer
did not halt. On the contrary, he too began to run, and was soon
speeding over hill and dale, hotly pursued by the now thoroughly enraged
officer.
Who can fitly describe the terrors and the glories of that extraordinary
race? Meyer was thin and light and active, possessed of splendid wind
and as fleet as a deer. He led the gendarme a merry chase, indeed, over
hills and down into valleys, through forests and over brooks, through
corn-fields, meadows, and gardens. But the gendarme was a strong man and
game, though rather heavy from overmuch eating and beer-drinking;
weighed down with his heavy musket, and sadly out of condition through
lack of exercise. Filled with rage and determined to make a prisoner of
this extraordinary criminal, he panted and toiled on in pursuit, despite
weariness and perspiration. Meyer could easily have distanced him, but
had no intention of doing so; and therefore so controlled his pace as to
remain always in sight of his pursuer, and not permit the latter to lose
hope and give up.
Thus the chase continued until hunter and hunted, having covered more
than four miles of country, found themselves at the gates of
Mellrichstadt, the chief town of the district and the seat of the
district court, which at that time, as Meyer well knew, was in
session. Here, Meyer pretending to have grown weary, gradually
slackened his pace and permitted himself to be seized by his panting
and perspiration-bathed pursuer. “Aha, accursed Jew! Aha, thou
rascal!” hoarsely exclaimed the latter, as he seized Meyer roughly by
the collar, “at last I have thee! Now thou shalt pay bitterly for thy
villainy and thy audacity. I shall drag thee straight to court, and
the honorable judges will know well how to deal with an audacious
wretch, such as thou art, and who undoubtedly must have committed some
great crime or else he would not have thus fled from me.” Meyer
vouchsafed no answer and offered no resistance, but meekly followed
the gendarme to the courthouse, which was but a short distance away;
although the triumphant officer in his wrath at the unprecedented
chase he had been forced to make, literally dragged him thither in
most ungentle manner.
The district judge, clad in his silken robes of office, and with his
velvet cap upon his head, was seated at his elevated desk at the upper
end of the court-room, at either side an assessor, when this remarkable
pair, the stout, hot, perspiring gendarme, with face red as fire, and
the comical, well-known figure of the half-witted Jewish beggar entered
the room, the former holding the latter with an iron grasp and with an
expression of intense excitement upon his countenance; while the latter
was perfectly cool and self-possessed, and was smiling all over with an
expression of perfect content, as though a run of four miles and
apprehension by the constabulary were every-day and quite pleasant
experiences in his life. An interesting case was going on at the time,
and the court-room was crowded with a mixed multitude of peasants,
working-men, Jewish merchants, and landed proprietors, among whom the
arrival of this singular pair created a lively sensation, especially as
the mischievous propensities of Shoteh Meyerle were well known and
curiosity was rife as to what he was up to now.
When the gendarme entered the court-room, he at first hesitated for a
moment, being undecided as to whether he had the right to appear at once
before the judges or not; but the supreme judge, who knew Shoteh Meyer
perfectly well (as did also the assessors), and was himself consumed by
curiosity concerning the meaning of this extraordinary arrest, at once
signalled him to advance, which he immediately did. No sooner had the
gendarme brought his prisoner before the bar than the latter made a deep
bow to the court; and, smiling affably at the judges, said in a voice
audible all over the room: “Good morning, _Herr Gerichtshof_! Good
morning, my _Herren Assessoren_! How are you all feeling to-day? I trust
you all slept well last night!” This, in a court-room, extremely unusual
salutation was accompanied by an extraordinary smirk and a comical
flourish of the arms, and was greeted by an outburst of hearty laughter
on the part of the audience; in which the judges joined, a proceeding
extremely disconcerting to the gendarme, who detected in it a note of
friendliness to the prisoner, which he could not understand, but which
boded ill for the success of his charge.
The gendarme was then ordered to tell his story, and gave the facts with
which we are already familiar, laying particular stress on his suspicion
that the prisoner was guilty of other grave crimes, based on the
desperate manner in which he had endeavored to avoid arrest. This story
was listened to with evident amusement, which added greatly to the
embarrassment of the valiant captor, who began to feel very cheap,
though he knew not why.
Meyer was then called upon for his side of the case. “Why, most honored
judge and assessors,” said Meyer, with a most engaging smile and
ingenuous air, “I do not know why I have been arrested, or why the Herr
Gendarme is so angry with me. I am only a poor, humble man, and I have
never done any one any harm in all my life. I was resting a little in
Farmer Dietrich’s field this morning, and afterward I took a little
lively run to Mellrichstadt and I saw the Herr Gendarme a few times on
the way. Hardly had I reached Mellrichstadt when he fell roughly upon me
and dragged me here, and that is all I know.”
“But why were you in Farmer Dietrich’s field?” asked the supreme judge,
trying to assume a severe air. “Do you not know that is against the law,
and that you make yourself thereby liable to severe punishment?” “That
may be, your honor,” answered Meyer; “but I did not think I was doing
any wrong. All the people hereabouts are very kind to me, and willingly
permit me in their fields; and I thought it would be the same this time
as always.”
“But why did you run all the long way from Nordheim to Mellrichstadt,
and in this hot weather, too?” asked the judge, suppressing by a great
effort his amusement.
“The reason I did that,” said Meyer, with a most innocent expression of
face, “was for the benefit of my health. I have been suffering a great
deal lately from constipation, and the doctor recommended me exercise in
the open air.” This answer was greeted with a shout of laughter from all
sides.
“But,” continued the judge, still endeavoring to conduct the inquiry in
a judicial manner, “when you saw the gendarme running after you, you
should not have kept on without noticing him. You should have stopped to
see what he wanted of you. Why did you not do so?” “I should gladly have
done so, your honor,” said Meyer in a tone of perfect frankness, “but I
did not have the least idea that he wanted anything of me. I thought
that he, too, was probably suffering from constipation, and that the
doctor had also recommended him exercise for his health.” This answer
literally “brought down the house.” Amidst a storm of merriment, which
utterly defied the usual restraints of court discipline, the case was
dismissed and the crestfallen gendarme was overwhelmed with a flood of
ironical compliments on his zeal as an official and his ability as a
runner. Shoteh Meyerle was more popular than ever after this incident,
but it was many a day before the gendarme could muster up courage to
look any one in the face.
[Illustration: Reb. Shemayah]
[Illustration: _Page 49_]
REB SHEMAYAH AND OTHER NORDHEIM WORTHIES.
O sweet Nordheim! Though thy inhabitants, particularly those who
professed the ancient faith of Israel, were but few, how numerous,
comparatively, were those whose characters for one reason or other were
interesting and noteworthy. Let me pass a few of these in review before
the eye of the reader before I close this insufficient though veracious
chronicle. Without a doubt the most important and significant of these
persons was Reb Shemayah. He was my grandfather, although it was not my
privilege to behold him in the flesh, for he had passed to the better
world some years before my visit to the village. He was a perfect type
of the old-time, sincere, loyal, and devout German Jew. He was the son
of an old family of high repute and standing, which had been settled in
Nordheim for several centuries; and one of his ancestors, whose picture
appears in an old village chronicle, had enjoyed the unique distinction
of being the only inhabitant who owned a saddle horse. Like all the sons
of the better class of Jewish families in former generations he received
a thorough training in Hebrew and Talmudic studies. At the _Yeshibah_ in
Fulda, to which he had been sent to study rabbinic lore, he attained
such distinction by the keenness of his intellect and the rapidity of
his progress that the venerable rabbi became warmly attached to him, and
declared that he alone should be his successor and his son-in-law, the
husband of his youngest daughter.
Just as Reb Shemayah was about to attain the loftiest pinnacle of Jewish
ambition in those days, to become a rabbi and to take as his wife the
beautiful, dark-eyed daughter of the Fulda Rav, an event occurred which
destroyed his hopes in both these regards, but gave occasion for the
display of his noble idealism. The Bavarian Government issued a rescript
to the effect that in order to wean Jews from the petty forms of trading
to which they had hitherto been addicted, and to induce them to take up
agriculture, the law prohibiting Jews from owning land, which had been
in force for centuries, was repealed, and it would henceforth be
permitted them to own and cultivate land, the same as all other
citizens.
The beneficent intentions of the new law were evident, but the Jews
hesitated to take advantage of it; indeed, they were loath to do so. The
centuries of unfamiliarity with agriculture were partly to blame for
this reluctance; but then, again, there was also a strong prejudice
against the farmer’s vocation, which was considered low and rude and far
inferior in social value to that of the merchant or scholar. Reb
Shemayah did not share these views. His soul was all aflame with
enthusiasm when he heard of the new law which, in his opinion, first put
the stamp of real citizenship upon the Jew. Not only did he consider
agriculture intrinsically ennobling and the only vocation in consonance
with true Jewish, Biblical precepts, but he also held that the landed
class are the real foundation of the state, while all others are but
floating parasites. When he saw that his brethren were hesitating, and
that none appeared willing to purchase land, he determined to give them
a good example and himself became a tiller of the soil. He invested his
whole fortune in the purchase of a farm near Nordheim, which he himself
began actively to cultivate. Thus did Reb Shemayah renounce the
rabbinical vocation and become a peasant. It was a tremendous sacrifice
to make; but what was worse was that he had to renounce his sweet bride
too, for the old Fulda rabbi was obstinate and had no liking for these
new things. “A peasant shall not have my daughter,” he said; and though
Reb Shemayah loved sweet Miriam well, he loved Israel better, and for
the sake of his ideal he sacrificed a piece of his own heart. Encouraged
by Reb Shemayah’s example, many other Jews invested in land and
endeavored to learn the art of agriculture; and at present Jewish
tillers of the soil are no longer rarities.