whom he had assisted in welcoming at the railroad station a few hours
previously, entered the inn and gloomily inquired whether he could be
accommodated with food and lodging for the night. He wondered greatly
why Yerachmiel was not staying in his own home on the first night after
his arrival from a distant land; but the latter volunteered no
explanation, and Reb Yankele did not venture to ask for any. However, he
did not need to remain long in ignorance. No sooner had Yerachmiel left
his wife’s house than Shprinze rushed to the nearest female neighbor and
told her the news, adding many dreadful details about the repulsiveness
of Yerachmiel’s appearance, his poverty, and his hopeless
_Shlemihligkeit_; adding, however, that in spite of all she must be
grateful to him for his willingness to grant her the divorce she craved,
and assuring her (the neighbor) of her unutterable joy at the prospect
of being at last free from an incurable _Shlemihl_ and _Shlamazzalnik_.
The neighbor, of course, had no more imperative duty to perform than to
put her shawl over her head and rush to communicate to her nearest
neighbor the news, still fresh and hot, of the impending divorce of
Yerachmiel and Shprinze Sendorowitz. In this way not two hours had
passed before the whole _Kehillah_ of Novo-Kaidansk had learned the
news. Reb Yankele had learned why Yerachmiel was his guest; and even
Rabbi Israel had been informed, at evening service in the synagogue, of
the function which he was to be asked to perform on the morrow.
At nine the next morning Yerachmiel and Shprinze were in the large front
room in the rabbi’s dwelling, which served as his office, and whither
repaired whosoever in Novo-Kaidansk had a religious question to ask or a
ceremony to be performed, or that was in need of spiritual counsel or
guidance of any kind. Shprinze was gayly attired, and chattered
constantly with a group of female acquaintances by whom she was
surrounded. She was in high spirits, and cast occasional contemptuous
glances at Yerachmiel, who sat, moody and abstracted, in a corner and
spoke to no one. Besides these the room was crowded with the most
notable members of the congregation, drawn hither by the exceptional
interest which this extraordinary case had aroused. The side door
opened, and a hush fell upon the assembly as the venerable Rabbi Israel,
accompanied by two coadjutor rabbis and several other persons who were
to take part in the solemn function of pronouncing the divorce, entered
and took their places in seats which had been reserved for their
occupancy, behind long tables at the head of the room. The _Shammas_
then asked in a loud voice whether there was any one present who desired
to consult the Beth Din on any matter. At this Yerachmiel arose, and,
addressing Rabbi Israel, said: “Venerable rabbi, I desire to divorce my
wife, Shprinze, daughter of Moses; and I request of you to ordain the
issuing of such a divorce, according to the law of Moses and Israel.”
“I hear your request with sorrow,” said the rabbi, while an expression
of pain passed over his venerable features. “Is it the desire of your
wife also that your marriage be dissolved?”
Yerachmiel bent his head in assent; and the _Shammas_, in response to a
motion of the rabbi’s hand, called in a loud voice: “Shprinze, daughter
of Moses, step forward.” Shprinze did so, and the rabbi put to her the
question whether she consented to the dissolution of her marriage to
Yerachmiel, son of Isaac, to which she responded with a loud and
distinct “Yes.” Summoning them both before him, the rabbi now addressed
to them a long and earnest plea to give up their intention of divorce.
He pointed out to them that, although the holy Torah permitted the
dissolution of a marriage which had been polluted and desecrated by
gross and abominable sin, or which had grown utterly intolerable to
either or both parties, and left it to their decision whether it should
be dissolved; yet it did not approve, but, on the contrary, severely
condemned, the tearing asunder of the holy bonds of wedlock, and that in
the words of the sages the altar shed tears over husband and wife who
became recreant to the covenant of their youth. He therefore entreated
them most earnestly to become reconciled to each other, and to remain
faithful to the pledges which they had once taken upon each other. To
this touching plea they returned no answer. Yerachmiel gazed at the
floor, his face alternately flushed and ashy pale. Shprinze gazed at the
rabbi with firm eyes and shook her head in the negative. Seeing that his
efforts at reconciliation were useless, the rabbi then announced “the
giving of the _Get_ must, therefore, take place.”
These words were the signal for the commencement of the divorce
ceremonial, which was now performed with all the solemn and impressive
formalities with which it has been carried out since time immemorial in
Israel. The rabbi appointed an expert and skilful scribe to write the
bill of divorce, which must be written in strict accordance with many
minute and detailed rules, the neglect or violation of any of which
would render it invalid. He also designated two pious and trustworthy
men, both proficient in the art of writing the square Hebrew script, to
act as the official witnesses to the document. The scribe seated himself
at his desk and produced his paper, quill pen, and ink, all of them
specially prepared, in accordance with fixed rules, for this purpose. To
him Yerachmiel, acting under the instruction of the rabbi, now spoke and
directed him to write a bill of divorce for his wife, Shprinze, daughter
of Moses. Amidst breathless silence the scribe now began to write the
document which was to sunder two lives hitherto joined. The writing
lasted a considerable time; and during all its continuance not a sound,
save the steady scratching of the scribe’s pen, was heard, for it is
strictly forbidden to make a noise of any kind while a _Get_ is being
written, lest the sound disturb the _Sopher_ and cause him to err in
some particular, thus necessitating the rewriting of the document. At
last the bill of divorce was finished and the two witnesses appended
their signatures, written in the square Hebrew script, and without title
of any kind. The rabbi then designated two other men of religious
standing and good repute to be the official witnesses of the delivery of
the _Get_. Summoning Shprinze, the rabbi bade her uncover her face,
which hitherto during the proceedings had been covered with a heavy
veil, and said to her in solemn tones: “Shprinze, daughter of Moses, art
thou willing to accept a bill of divorce from thy husband, Yerachmiel,
son of Isaac?” Shprinze responded with a firm “Yes.” Turning to
Yerachmiel, the rabbi asked him whether he still desired to divorce his
wife, to which Yerachmiel answered in the affirmative. Turning again to
the woman, the rabbi said in a stern voice: “Give me thy _Ketubah_. Thou
no longer hast any use for it.” At this, the most feared part in the
divorce ceremony, Shprinze’s face grew slightly pale; but she drew forth
her marriage certificate, which she had brought along for this purpose,
and gave it to the rabbi, who laid it aside, to be destroyed immediately
after the completion of the divorce proceedings. The rabbi then bade her
remove her marriage ring and extend her hands to receive her bill of
divorce. Yerachmiel then took the bill of divorce, placed it in the
outstretched hands of Shprinze, and said: “Behold, this is thy bill of
divorce. Accept thy bill of divorce, and by it thou art released and
divorced from me, and free to contract lawful marriage with any other
man.” With a few earnest words from the rabbi pointing out the duty of
living their separate lives in peace and righteousness, and of avoiding
in the future the sins which had led to this sorrow, the ceremony was
concluded.
Yerachmiel and Shprinze were no longer man and wife. At once a clamorous
buzz of conversation arose all over the room. The excitement which had
been suppressed so long now burst the bonds of enforced silence and
found relief in vociferous exclamations of wonderment and emphatic
expressions of approval and disapproval. Some of the women congratulated
Shprinze; others held aloof. The men were unanimous in their
condemnation of the hard-hearted woman who had taken her husband’s money
for years and then induced him, when grown poor, to give her a divorce.
The excitement was at its height, when suddenly a tremendous rap on the
table drew the startled gaze of all toward the spot whence the sound had
proceeded. What they saw caused a hush to fall over the assemblage.
Yerachmiel stood at the side of one of the tables, his cheeks ashy pale,
his eyes blazing with a furious light that no one had ever seen in them
before, fiercely rapping with his cane in an effort to procure silence.
As soon as his voice could be heard he began to speak.
“Jewish brethren and sisters of Novo-Kaidansk,” he said, with painfully
labored yet distinct utterance. “You have come here to see Yerachmiel
the _Shlemihl_ give divorce to his wife, Shprinze. I know most of you
are good people and have pitied me for being such a _Shlemihl_ that I
could not keep either my money or my wife. But, perhaps, I am not such a
_Shlemihl_ after all. I have not desired nor sought this divorce, but I
have tried to find out the truth about an old wrong and to right it; and
I believe I have succeeded as well as some who are considered wiser and
cleverer than I. _Shlemihl_ though I may be, I have always tried to do
my duty toward my wife. Even before I went to America, when poverty and
wretchedness were my lot in this town, I gave Shprinze every kopeck that
I earned. From America, where God blessed me and made me prosperous, I
sent her regularly all that she could properly require. But in return
for this I asked wifely love. I knew that a husband must honor, cherish,
and maintain his wife; and that a wife must, in true marriage, return
love for love, affection for affection. Shprinze never showed the least
trace of love for me. My soul hungered and thirsted for love. Shprinze
gave me, at worst, bitter revilings and beratings, tongue-stabbings that
pierced my soul like the thrusts of a sword; at best, cold indifference.
In the beginning, when I could not, because of poverty, properly support
her, I excused her. I said to myself that I deserved nothing better. But
when from America I sent abundance of gold and loving words, and showed
in every way I could that I was a true and loving husband, and when, in
return for all this, I could not get an affectionate word, a loving
sentence, I resolved that I would find out whether in Shprinze’s heart
dwelt a spark of love for me, or whether it was only my gold she loved.
The rest you know. I came here, dressed in shabby clothing, looking the
olden _Shlemihl_. Her evil heart made her quickly conclude that I had
lost my all, and without questioning me or offering, like a true wife,
to share my lot, she demanded a divorce. I saw that she loved me not,
that she had never been to me more than a wife in name, and to-day I
have granted her wish. But let me assure her and you, friends, that she
is mistaken in thinking that she has now got rid of a _Shlemihl_, of a
poor, never succeeding unfortunate. She has freed herself of a
successful, of a wealthy man; she has deprived herself of a splendid
home in the greatest city of free America; she has deprived herself of
luxury and riches, and, what is more, of the love of a man who was
deeply attached to her, and who would have given his all for a kind word
or a loving kiss from her lips. See, here are the presents I had brought
here for her, and would have given her had she treated me rightly.” So
speaking, he drew forth a magnificent diamond necklace and a beautiful,
richly ornamented gold watch and chain. “And here is the proof that I am
a man of means and no deceiver—a letter of credit on a Berlin
banking-house for ten thousand marks”—and here he drew from his wallet
the precious document and flourished it triumphantly yet sorrowfully
before the eyes of his hearers. “As for me,” he continued, “I thank the
All-Merciful that He has opened my eyes to the truth, and that He has
freed me from a serpent that would only have devoured my substance, and
with its icy touch have frozen my heart. Now farewell, friends, and
farewell, false and heartless woman. I go to my home beyond the sea,
where I shall try to forget this long, sad dream of misplaced love and
cruel ingratitude and heartlessness.”
Having thus spoken, he turned and left the room. None ventured to detain
him or to restrain his departure. As he went out of the door, Shprinze,
who had been listening with strained attention to his words, and whose
countenance had alternately flushed and paled as he spoke, rushed
forward as if she would have held him back, then paused, uttered a
piercing, heartrending shriek, and fell in a deathly swoon to the floor.
The cry reached the ears of Yerachmiel as he strode down the dusty
street. An expression of pain crossed his features as he heard it, but
he did not turn and he came not back.
A VICTIM OF PREJUDICE.
Franz Friedrich Levy sat on his high stool before his desk in the office
of the Second Secretariat of the Anhalt-Diesterburg-Rickershofen State
Railroad and reflected discontentedly on his lot. He had rather an
important position, it is true, that of chief bookkeeper of the Second
Secretariat, an important subdivision in the management of the railway,
which was a prosperous governmental institution, binding together a rich
and beautiful stretch of country in middle Germany. He was in receipt of
a very fair salary, occupied a comfortable house in the suburbs of the
town, and was wedded to a rather good-looking wife, with quite a store
of fashionable though useless accomplishments, but still he was not
happy. The cause of his unhappiness was a grievance which he had against
the Ober-Direction or supreme management of the railway, a grievance for
which he thought—and his wife agreed with him in this opinion—there
could be only one explanation. He believed that his promotion was unduly
slow. He had entered the service of the railroad in his twentieth year
as clerk, and now in his forty-fifth, when his once raven black locks
were already heavily streaked with gray and more than a suspicion of
baldness was showing itself on the top of his poll, he was only chief
bookkeeper of one of the numerous subdivisions of the great concern. He
thought that by length of service and capacity he was fitted to be
general manager of the road; but while admitting that he had no right to
aspire to that exalted position, he considered that by this time he
should have attained at the very least to the post of division chief or
superintendent.
“Why is it that I do not advance?” he asked himself as he sat gloomily
revolving on the high stool. “Am I incapable? Have I been idle,
negligent, or inattentive to my duties? Do I not know all the details of
the business from beginning to end? Do I not know by heart all the
statistics of the road, the number of passengers and the weight of
freight carried, the condition of every station, the receipts and the
expenditures to a pfennig? No, the fault is not mine. It is owing to
_rishus_, to anti-Semitic prejudice. My only fault, as far as I can
discover, is that I am a Jew. To that I owe all my misfortune. This
accursed accident of my birth prevents my talents being appreciated,
prevents my attaining the success which I should naturally reach; and, I
suppose, as long as I am marked with this badge of disgrace and social
inferiority I shall always remain an unimportant, insignificant
individual. That Ober-Director von Meinken, he is, I am sure, the chief
cause of keeping me down. He always looks at me with such a dark,
unfriendly glance whenever I have to enter his office. He is the very
picture of a _Rosho_, although he talks smoothly enough. I don’t doubt
but he would be glad enough to get rid of me altogether if he only knew
how to bring it about.”
“Aha, friend Levy, why are you plunged in such deep thought?” suddenly
said a deep, hearty voice at his side. “I have been standing here a
whole minute and you have never even noticed my presence, so absorbed
were you in your reflections. Did I not know that you were a married man
of virtuous principles I would say that you were in love. But then the
expression of your face shows that you have not been dreaming sweet
dreams of love delights. If I am any judge of physiognomy at all, your
thoughts have been disagreeable ones. May I ask what they were?”
Levy turned around with a startled jerk of the high stool. It was the
Herr Ober-Director, Baron Adalbert von Meinken himself with a
good-humored smile on his broad, handsome, Teutonic face, the lower part
of which was covered with a neatly trimmed brown full beard. Levy
blushed guiltily. He felt as though the keen blue eyes of his superior
were gazing into his very soul and reading the thoughts that had just
occupied him. He stammered forth a half apology.
“The Herr Ober-Director will pardon my preoccupation,” he said, “but I
can assure you that I was not thinking of any outside matter. I never
permit myself to think of outside matters in business hours. I was
thinking of a method of reducing the expenses of the station Weizenhofen
on the Blauberg-Schoenthal branch. That place costs a great deal more
than it ought to, considering the small amount of business done at that
point, and I hope soon to be able to lay a project before your
Excellency which will materially reduce the cost of maintenance of the
station.”
“Ah,” said the Ober-Director, with a pleased expression, “I might have
known that you, Levy, were not wasting your employer’s time in idle
ruminations. You have always been a faithful, industrious worker,
devoted heart and soul to the interests of the road. I shall be glad to
receive your proposal in the Weizenhofen matter and I shall give it full
consideration.”
And the Ober-Director passed on and entered his private office. Levy
bent over his books as soon as his chief had passed, and was careful not
to fall into another fit of reflection that afternoon. The words of the
Ober-Director had pleased him but he did not altogether trust them. He
feared that he was under close surveillance, and that all his actions
were being rigidly scrutinized, with a view to finding some flaw in his
conduct. He devoted himself, therefore, with redoubled assiduity to his
routine work until the welcome sound of the bell, announcing the closing
hour, relieved him from further labor for the day. He put on his hat,
exchanged his light office jacket for his street coat, and with a
pleasant word of farewell to his fellow-clerks sallied forth into the
street. As he sauntered down the beautiful Kaiser Strasse, the finest
thoroughfare of the town, through which he always walked both in his
daily journeyings to and from the office and on his Sunday and holiday
promenades, he was greeted by so many friends and acquaintances that his
hand was continually busy raising his hat in response to their
salutations. His social equals, both Christian and Jewish, saluted him
with easy and unaffected cordiality, his humbler acquaintances with
great deference. These manifestations of friendship and respect, instead
of pleasing him, added to his discontent and his resentment against the
authorities of the railroad. He said to himself that it was a crying
shame, indeed an outrage, that a man so generally esteemed and honored
by his fellow-townsmen should be kept in a subordinate position because
of the religious prejudices of his superiors; and should be prevented by
such a reason, so repugnant to the culture and civilization of the
century, from attaining to the rank and emoluments to which he was
clearly entitled. In this frame of mind he reached his handsome
dwelling, which was charmingly situated in the Schoenberger Allee, a new
and fashionable street in the suburbs of the town. To the effusive
greetings of the spouse of his bosom, Frau Ottilie, _née_ Kahn, he
returned a curt answer and threw himself, in an attitude of utter
disgust and weariness, upon the sofa.
Frau Ottilie Levy was a worthy counterpart of her partner in life. If
harmony in marriage is secured by similarity in tastes and disposition,
theirs should have been an ideal union, for their characters and views
were almost exactly alike. Like her husband, Frau Levy was intensely
ambitious. Her sole aim in life was to secure the greatest possible
measure of wealth and social prestige. She shared her husband’s
grievance to the fullest extent; but, womanlike, she was inclined to put
the blame on him for his failure to advance, and continually nagged and
pestered him with her complaints, and the expression of her discontent
at not being able to shine as much as Frau Geheimräthin So-and-So or
Frau Commerzienräthin Somebody Else. Seeing the discomposure under which
her husband was evidently laboring, her woman’s instinct told her that
now was not the time to nag and scold, but to sympathize and console.
She therefore relinquished, or rather postponed to a more favorable
opportunity, the caustic lecture combined with a demand for a larger
allowance which she had been preparing all day for the special benefit
of her life partner, and began inquiring, with great solicitude,
concerning the cause of his disturbed condition.
“What is the matter, Franz dear?” she asked, in the same tone of winning
gentleness which she had lately so greatly admired in the celebrated
stage heroine, Adele de Pompadour, as played by Madame Graetzinger, the
renowned _Erste Dame_ of the Stadt Theater. “Why are you so upset? I
trust that nothing serious has happened.”
“Yes and no,” answered Franz dejectedly; “that old Von Meinken caught me
to-day, when I was thinking about the shameful slowness of my promotion,
or rather my lack of any promotion, and was neglecting my work. I was so
absorbed in thought that I never noticed him, although, as he told me,
he stood by my desk over a minute. Of course I gave him as good an
excuse as I could get up in a hurry to account for my absent-mindedness;
but how can I tell whether the old fox believed what I said or not?
Confound him, he’s always sure to be around when he isn’t wanted. You
can rely on it that I worked extra hard all the rest of the afternoon.”
“You don’t think that can hurt you any, do you?” asked Otillie, dropping
her theatrical manner, and with just a shade of anxiety in her voice.
“What harm is it if an old, trustworthy employee like you is idle for a
minute or two in the day?”
“It oughtn’t to be any harm,” answered Franz. “But then you know how
stiff and exacting these Prussian officials are. They think men are
nothing but machines, and they make no allowances for anything. A number
of men have been discharged of late, and then, you know, there is so
much anti-Semitism nowadays. I, as a Jew, have to be particularly
careful.”
“There’s the root of the whole matter,” said Frau Ottilie, pouncing with
avidity upon her favorite argument. “It’s only because you’re a Jew that
you have any trouble. Don’t tell me that an experienced, faithful
official like you, if he were a Christian, would be trembling with fear
of losing his place because he had been thinking of something for a
moment or two. No such trivial thing would have been of any consequence
in his case. It is only we Jews who must be continually alarmed,
continually alert lest we commit the slightest error; because, in our
case, any fault, sometimes even only imaginary, means ruin. Yes, Heine
was right when he said: ‘Judaism is not a religion; it is a misfortune.’
It certainly is your misfortune, and therefore mine. As long as you are
a Jew you will never advance. You might as well try to jump over the
moon as to overcome the deep-seated prejudices of Christians against
Jews. You simply cannot do it.”
[Illustration:
IT’S ONLY BECAUSE YOU’RE A JEW THAT YOU HAVE ANY TROUBLE
_Page 252_]