horseradish woman, except to be her customer and patronize her
liberally. She wants no charity, and will take no gifts for ‘her poor,’
whom she wishes to assist with her own earnings.”
So that was the explanation of the riddle. The little horseradish woman
was emulating the work of the Master of the universe, was toiling early
and late to feed His hungry ones, to dry the tears of His afflicted, to
care for His poor. I was lost in admiration, both of the noble soul of
this humble daughter of Israel and the sublime glory of Israel’s law,
which put such thoughts into her soul.
I have made up my mind that the next time I see the little horseradish
woman I shall pronounce over her the benediction which the rabbis ordain
to be spoken at the sight of kings and queens, for she is a real queen,
an uncrowned queen of mercy and love. “Blessed art Thou, O Lord, who
hast given of Thy glory to flesh and blood.”
THE GENERAL.
I have distinguished company in my study this morning. No less a
personage than Gen. Sergei Pavlowitz, late commander of the —th division
of the regular Russian army, has paid your humble servant the honor of a
visit, and is now seated in the rocking-chair opposite my desk. I must,
however, ask my readers not to strain their imaginations unduly in
summoning up before their mental vision a suitable picture of military
pomp and splendor. The general is not in full uniform heavily braided
and trimmed with gold lace, nor radiant with glittering epaulets and
buttons. No plumed helmet surmounts his head; no clanking sabre swings
at his side; he is neither gloved, booted, nor spurred. His appearance
would not dazzle the onlooker, nor overawe the most timid; in fact, no
one would, at first sight, think of connecting him in any way with
marching hosts or warlike scenes. As he sits there in my rocking-chair,
gazing at me with his mild blue eyes, upon his head a little black
skull-cap, his long, snow-white beard flowing down upon the front of his
shirt and his black broadcloth coat; in his hand a stout cane to assist
the steps which age has made somewhat uncertain, while he descants upon
a matter of purely synagogical interest, there is no suggestion about
him of martial glory, no hint of the groan and agony and heroism of
battle. He seems just a plain, every-day, elderly Russian Jew, diffident
and retiring in worldly affairs, but bright enough in matters of Jewish
concern, of Hebrew learning, and religious practice, such a man, in a
word, as may be found in any of the orthodox synagogues throughout New
York but particularly on the lower East Side, where the places of
worship and solemn assembly of his brethren and countrymen most abound.
[Illustration:
THERE IS SOMETHING COMMANDING, SOMETHING INDEFINITELY MILITARY AND
AUTHORITATIVE ABOUT HIM
_Page 96_]
But now my visitor has concluded the business which brought him hither
and rises to depart. Immediately one can notice a vast change in the
impression he makes. He does seem different now from the ordinary
so-called Ghetto type he appeared identical with a moment ago. There is
something commanding, something indefinitely military and authoritative
about him. Though feeble, he stands perfectly erect, and his figure and
bearing are thoroughly military. Military, too, is the almost painful
neatness which characterizes his attire, from his well-brushed hat and
coat down to his brightly polished shoes, a far-off reminder, as it
were, of the days when a dull button or a frayed coat sleeve meant
disgrace and the guard-house; but most military of all is his right
sleeve, for it hangs empty, with only a short stump filling the upper
part near the shoulder, a mute reminder of bloody Sebastopol, where a
British sabre cleft the arm to which it belonged in twain, and its owner
hovered for many a day ’twixt life and death.
This is the General. Perhaps, strictly speaking, he does not deserve the
title, for he long since was stricken from the Russian army list, and
might even meet with condign punishment were he to return to his native
land; but once he bore it with full right and authority, and no military
shortcoming, no lack of loyalty or courage upon the battlefield was
responsible for its forfeiture. It is, therefore, only natural that his
friends and neighbors who know his history give him the title. So “the
General” he is, and “the General” he will remain, until death calls him
to his last long bivouac. What a tremendous change in state and fortune!
Once a distinguished military commander, whose slightest behest
thousands hastened to obey because of his heroism; beloved by his
countrymen and honored by his emperor; the husband of a renowned
general’s daughter, and with every prospect promising rapid advancement
and eventually loftiest rank; now the humble denizen of an obscure
street in the Jewish quarter of New York, his life in nowise different
from that of the other long-bearded habitués of the synagogue and the
Beth Hammidrash.
How came this Jew, son of a proscribed and pariah race, to attain to
such distinguished rank in the service of the persecutors of his people?
How came he to lose it, and to sink back again into the lowliness from
which he sprang? It is a strange tale, showing what sombre romances,
what heartrending tragedies Jewish life is still capable of producing in
the empire of the Czars. I shall tell it you.
Some seventy years ago there lived in one of the western provinces of
Russia a young couple. Israel Rabbinowitz was the husband’s name, and
Malka Feige that of the spouse. They were a pious and worthy pair. The
husband was a respected merchant, whose scrupulous honesty and
commercial rectitude were no less esteemed than his unswerving religious
fidelity, and the accuracy and extent of the Hebrew scholarship which he
displayed in the Talmudic debates of the circle of “learners” in the
Beth Hammidrash. Malka Feige was a worthy mate of such a husband.
Kindhearted, unwearyingly industrious, and devout, she was a typical
Jewish housewife.
They had but one child, a blue-eyed, fair-haired boy of eight, whom they
loved with the passionate devotion of which parental hearts are capable
when they have but one object upon which to concentrate their affection.
He was literally the apple of their eyes. His father cared for his
intellectual welfare, and provided the best and most highly esteemed
_Melammedim_ to introduce him into the intricacies of the Jewish
education of that time; and the lad, who had a bright and acute
intellect, responded well to these efforts, and at eight was quite a
little prodigy of Biblical and Talmudical learning. His mother, on the
other hand, looked after his physical well-being, fed him on delicate
food, clothed him in a _jubitza_ of extra fine material, brushed and
combed his little _peoth_ until they shone, and set her pride upon
making him finer and brighter in appearance than his comrades. Like
Hannah of old, she had determined to dedicate her offspring to the Lord.
Already in imagination she saw him seated upon the rabbi’s seat, greeted
by the plaudits of admiring thousands; and so strong was her faith in
that future for her son that she rarely called him by his given name,
which was Saul Isaac, but always referred to him as “my little rabbi.”
Thus the love, the hopes, the ambition of these parents were all wrapped
up in this, their only son.
Troublous times were just beginning then for the descendants of Jacob
living on Muscovite soil. Nicholas the First sat on the throne of the
Czars; and, like so many of the Russian potentates before and after him,
could find no more pressing task to perform than to convert his Hebrew
subjects to Christianity. He had no respect for the conscientious
scruples which kept the Jews faithful to their ancestral religion; he
could not appreciate the heroism with which they endured every
conceivable suffering and martyrdom rather than grow recreant to the
allegiance plighted to their God. In his eyes they were only a mass of
obdurate, stubborn, and pestiferous heretics, who refused to see the
beauties and accept the salvation of Christianity. He thought and
thought and cudgelled his brains to devise some scheme by which to
overcome the endless resistance of Judaism to its own dissolution, and
finally evolved a plan which for sheer deviltry and refinement of
heartless brutality would have done credit to the blackest fiend in the
legions of Satan; and this, too, in the name of the religion which
claims love and tenderness as its own special prerogative, and calmly
assumes all the progress of humanity and civilization as its doing.
His plan, in brief, was to separate the parents and the children. With
the old Jews, he knew nothing could be done. They would go to the stake
or the dungeon, and would not recant; but if, he reasoned, the young
Jews could be removed from parental influence, could be caught, so to
speak, before their characters were formed, and be placed in charge of
priests or other Christian officials, they would be unable to resist,
but would succumb to the powerful pressure brought to bear upon them and
would become genuine Christians.
This fiendish plan he proceeded, with icy deliberation, to put into
execution. What cared he for the cruelty or violent dissolution of
natural relations, for the tears of terrified children, for the
immeasurable woes and heart-breakings of bereaved parents. His tyrant’s
view of statecraft approved the plan and other considerations had no
weight. Then were legions of brutal emissaries sent into the provinces
reserved for the habitation of the children of Jacob. Their conduct
resembled that of brigands rather than of officers of the law. In
numbers so great as to defy resistance, they would fall upon some
unsuspecting Hebrew settlement, generally at dead of night; would burst
into the houses, and with utter disregard of all considerations of
justice or frenzied appeals for mercy, would tear the weeping and
terror-stricken children from the arms of their screaming and
frantically resisting parents, would throw them into the ready standing
wagons and would carry them off, never more to return.
It would take the pen of a Dante and the brush of their own Verestchagin
fitly to depict the awful scenes which occurred on the occasions of
these visitations, the demoniacal brutality of the despot’s henchmen,
the helpless terror of the childish victims, and the unutterable,
paralyzed agony of the wretched fathers and mothers who saw their
beloved ones dragged away to that which for them was worse than death,
and could do nothing to save them from their fate.
The same fate befell our Saul Isaac. It was a cold midwinter night. The
Rabbinowitz family were sleeping peacefully, all unsuspecting of evil.
Suddenly the sound of powerful blows upon the door caused them to awake
in terror. Too well they knew what those sounds meant, although there
had been no report that the “_chappers_,” as they were called, were
coming to their province. Hastily the agonized parents sought to find
some place of concealment for their son. A second later the door fell
beneath the shower of blows rained upon it, and several ruffianly
looking men, dressed in uniform, burst into the room. Without showing
any warrant or offering a word of explanation, they seized the shrinking
lad. Roughly they thrust aside Israel, who would have protested, and
flung off Malka Feige, who clung to them in a half-insane effort to
rescue her boy. The lad himself they tossed into the wagon, into the
midst of twenty or more other lads, who already cowered there, and drove
off.
Let us draw a veil over the unutterable sorrows of that parent pair,
thus foully deprived of the beloved of their souls. Heaven alone has
power to right wrongs such as these, and to the mercy and justice of
heaven we must commend them.
Let us follow Saul Isaac on the course which he was obliged to pursue.
His experience was not at first different from that of thousands of
others. He was taken to the convent of St. Sophia in the neighborhood of
Moscow. There a thorough Russian and Christian education was given him,
and every effort was made, by means of mingled kindness and severity, to
induce him voluntarily to accept baptism, for even the perverted and
tyrannical minds of his captors perceived that a compulsory
administration of the rite could have no binding obligation upon the
conscience. To be sure, their notions of voluntary action were rather
remarkably casuistical. Severe beatings, periodical starvation, and
longer or shorter terms of imprisonment were all considered legitimate
forms of missionary effort with which to persuade the cantonists, as the
abducted Hebrew children were called, of the superiority of Christianity
to Judaism, and to induce them _voluntarily_ to accept it.
It is a glorious tribute to the power of Jewish teachings that most of
these helpless victims, despite their tender years and pitiful
condition, were by no means quick to yield to the maltreatment or
blandishments of their masters. Most of them resisted for years; some
never yielded.
Four years were required to bring our Saul Isaac into the frame of mind
requisite for the acceptance of Christianity. At first he wept and
wailed constantly and would touch no food except dry bread and water;
and, young as he was, he refused to listen to the instruction of the
Russian monks. But as the weeks rolled into months and the months into
years, without seeing other than Gentile faces and without any word from
his parents or any other Jews, gradually his recollections grew dimmer
and his resolution weaker. Finally he no longer objected to the
Christian instructions, and in his twelfth year he was baptized with
great pomp and parade in the chapel of the monastery, receiving the name
of Sergei Pavlowitz. From this time on his advancement was rapid. After
three years of general education he decided to enter upon the military
career, and in his fifteenth year he entered the Imperial Cadet School
at St. Petersburg.
The memory of his parents had quite faded from his mind; or if the
thought of them ever came to him, they seemed like ghostly figures of an
unreal world, entirely devoid of actuality or connection with his
present existence.
Sergei Pavlowitz was one of the most popular students at the Cadet
School. His quick intellect, which had enabled him to comprehend the
abstruse debates of the Talmud, stood him in good stead in mastering the
details of military science, while his handsome figure in the neat
Russian uniform and his polite and obliging ways were universally
pleasing. In due course of time he graduated as a lieutenant of
artillery.
His career in the army justified the expectations of his student years.
He combined the two most requisite military qualities, high capacity and
rigid fidelity to duty. He became in rapid succession a captain and then
a colonel of artillery.
While holding the latter office he attracted the attention and then
aroused the love of Olga, the beautiful daughter of General Wladimir de
Mitkiewicz. Shortly afterward the General sent for him, and in due form
and in the most flattering terms offered to make him his son-in-law.
Such a distinguished honor could not be refused. To be sure, a momentary
pang went through the heart of the young colonel; and the shadowy faces
of his father and mother seemed to rise from the gloomy recesses of the
past and gaze at him reproachfully, but these sensations were too dim
and faint to have any effect. He accepted the offer of the venerable
General, which was, indeed, a most complimentary one, and because of
which he became the object of many congratulations and no little envy.
In the magnificent cathedral of Kurski-Kazan the nuptials of the dashing
Colonel Pavlowitz and the beautiful and accomplished Olga de Mitkiewicz
were consummated with all the gorgeous ceremonial of the Greek Church,
and amidst an unprecedented display of wealth and luxury. The vast
edifice was crowded with representatives of the noblest and finest
families of the province, while the streets surrounding the cathedral
were thronged with a vast multitude of the baser sort; and the personal
interest and gratification which all displayed were quite extraordinary.
It cannot be denied that the striking attentions and adulations of which
Colonel Pavlowitz became the recipient did almost turn his head. In no
other country are honors so much appreciated as in Russia; and those he
had received were quite exceptional, both in extent and in cordiality.
He was happy, very happy; happy in the possession of the radiant,
beauteous creature he could now call his own, and from whose sparkling
eyes love and devotion, ardent and sincere, shone forth; he was happy in
the evident sympathy and admiration of all his associates, and he was
happy in the consciousness that his future was secure and that he was
destined to a brilliant and distinguished career. Very faint and dim,
indeed, were now the images of the ghostly past, and they did not affect
his actions in the slightest; but somehow or other they would not
forsake him, and he often found himself wondering with a peevish sort of
dissatisfaction and impatience, why they did not leave him to enjoy
undisturbed the pleasures and honors of his present station.
Shortly after his marriage the Crimean war broke out. Russia was engaged
in a titanic struggle with the Western Powers, and Colonel Pavlowitz was
among those summoned to defend the fatherland. The parting from his
young wife was marked by tears and sobs; but still he heard the summons
to war with stern joy, for, like a true soldier, he longed to display in
actual combat the qualities he had gained in theoretic instruction; and
then he longed for action—intense, stirring action—to drive away the
shadowy, reproachful faces which tortured him by their constant
recurrence.
He was one of the commanders in charge of the defence of Sebastopol. He
was personally engaged, and displayed the greatest gallantry in many of
the desperate conflicts of that bloody campaign. At Balaklava he was in
command of a part of the artillery, which received the world-renowned
charge of the Light Brigade; and it was while fiercely beating off that
attack that an unexpected blow of a British sabre took off his right arm
near the shoulder.
For three months our hero lay in the hospital, the object of universal
sympathy and interest, for the good-will which had been previously
entertained toward him had been greatly heightened by the splendid
bravery and skill he had displayed in the war and the cruel wound he had
received.
The Emperor himself had sent several times to inquire concerning his
condition, and the visits and inquiries of lesser personages were
innumerable.
As soon as he was able to resume his active duties, the Emperor ordered
a review of the entire army. It was a glittering spectacle, a sea of
brilliant uniforms, shining bayonets, swords and cannons, interspersed
with magnificent bands of music, an ocean of deeply interested
onlookers. Our hero rode at the head of his regiment on a splendid black
charger, his empty sleeve hanging useless at his right side. As he
passed the grand stand where stood the Emperor and his brilliant retinue
of officers and aides, His Majesty ordered the parade to halt. Then in
the presence of the army and the serried throngs of spectators, the
Emperor addressed him as follows:
“Gen. Sergei Pavlowitz, my good and faithful servitor. I have noticed
the courage and devotion with which you have served in my army. It is
always my wish fitly to reward virtue and fidelity, and I therefore
appoint you to the command of the —th division of my regular army.”
Hardly had these words, which His Majesty pronounced in a loud and clear
voice, been spoken, than the entire army, breaking for a moment through
the restraints of discipline, and the vast throng of spectators, burst
into enthusiastic hurrahs and cheered again and again the name of Sergei
Pavlowitz. It was a glorious and inspiring moment.
Our hero flushed with pride and gratification; but, obedient to the
rules of military etiquette, said no word, but merely saluted with
profound reverence, and a second later the stern command rang forth and
the host marched on.
Words cannot describe the exultation which now filled the soul of
General Pavlowitz. He was fairly intoxicated with joy. Every ambition of
his life seemed gratified, and with rapture he thought of the delight
with which the news of his great advancement would fill the heart of his
beloved Olga, who had visited him during his stay in the hospital, and
had now returned to their home in Kursky Kazan.
[Illustration:
AS THE CAVALCADE PASSED A CORNER THE GENERAL HEARD A CRY
_Page 111_]
Little did he reck that a tremendous change was impending, that an event
was about to occur which would recall with irresistible force the events
of his early life and change the entire current of his military career.
But so it was, and the climax of his military ambition was also destined
to mark its sudden and complete end.
The parade had been dismissed. The spectators had dispersed, and the
various regiments were marching back to their several barracks.
Accompanied only by his staff and a small escort of cavalry, General
Pavlowitz was returning to his headquarters. Their road led through some
of the old streets of the town. As the cavalcade passed a corner the
General heard a cry. He alone of all the company noticed it, but there
was something in it that thrilled and chilled him and filled his frame
with violent agitation. It was a wailing, sobbing cry in a woman’s
voice, and its burden was made up of a few words, oft-repeated, in the
Russo-Jewish dialect: “Oh, woe is me, my little rabbi, my Saul Isaac!
oh, woe is me, my little rabbi, my little rabbi!” General Pavlowitz
heard the cry and understood the words. Though for more than twenty
years he had heard and spoken only Russian, yet those words came to him
as the far-off echoes of his own past, intelligible, familiar, sweet,
and unutterably sad. Like a flash there rolled away the many years of
Russian, Christian, and military training, and he saw himself again in
the happy days of his childhood, a little innocent Jewish boy, proudly
reciting his week’s lesson before a circle of admiring neighbors, while
father and mother beamed with satisfaction. Then, again, the memory of
the awful night when he was snatched from them, and he quivered again
with fresh horror and indignation. Turning his head as his horse trotted
on, he saw, standing at the corner an elderly Jewish couple, gazing
after him, with tears streaming from their eyes and an expression of
intensest anguish upon their faces, the woman wailing and sobbing as in
frenzy. He knew them at once. They were his father and mother. His
resolution was instantly formed. His parents and he should meet. Hastily
summoning a subaltern, who like himself was a baptized Jew, he bade him
leave the ranks unobserved, go back to the old couple and inform them
that the General would see them that evening at a certain quiet hotel of
the town.
Faithfully the subaltern fulfilled his chief’s commission, ignorant, of
course, of the reasons thereof, but with his soul filled with an
indefinable sympathy with its object, which instinctively he felt was
noble. Quietly he dropped behind the troop, and in a few hastily spoken
words communicated to the aged couple the wish of the General, whereupon
he put spurs to his horse and speedily rejoined his companions, none of
whom had observed his action.