Produced by Andrew Leader of www.polishwriting.net
An Obscure Apostle
A Dramatic Story
TRANSLATED BY C.S. DE SOISSONS FROM THE ORIGINAL POLISH OF
MME. ORZESZKO
LONDON
GREENING & CO., LTD.
20 CECIL COURT, CHARING CROSS ROAD
1899
Printed by Cowan & Co., Limited Perth.
PREFACE
ELIZA ORZESZKO
In Lord Palmerston's days, the English public naturally heard a great
deal about Poland, for there were a goodly number of Poles, noblemen
and others, residing in London, exiles after the unsuccessful
revolution, who, believing that England would help them to recover
their lost liberty, made every possible effort to that end through
Count Vladislas Zamoyski, the prime minister's personal friend. But
even in those times, when the English press was writing much about the
political situation in Poland, little was said about that which
constitutes the greatest glory of a nation, namely, its literature and
art, which alone can be secure of immortality. Only lately, in fact,
has any public attention been paid by English people to Polish
literature. However, among the authors who have attracted considerable
attention of late, is the writer of "By Fire and Sword," whose "Quo
Vadis," has met with a phenomenal reception. Henryk Sienkiewicz has by
his popularity proved that in unfortunate, almost forgotten, Poland,
there is an abundance of literary talent and an important output of
works of which few English readers have any conception. For instance,
who has ever heard, in Great Britain, of Adam Michiewicz the great
Polish poet, who, critics declare, can be placed in the same category
with Homer, Virgil, Dante, Tasso, Klopstock, Camoens, and Milton?
Joseph Kraszewski as a novel writer occupies in Poland as high a
position as Maurice Jokai does in Hungarian literature, while Mme.
Eliza Orzeszko is considered to be the Polish Georges Sand, even by the
Germans, who are in many respects the rivals of Slavs in politics and
literature.
Henryk Sienkiewicz, asked by an interviewer what he thought about the
contemporary Polish literary talents, replied: "At the head of all
stand Waclaw Sieroszewski and Stefan Zeromski; they are young, and very
promising writers. But Eliza Orzeszko still holds the sceptre as a
novelist."
When the "Revue des Deux Mondes" asked the authors of different
nationalities to furnish an essay on women of their respective
countries, Mme. Orzeszko was chosen among the Polish writers to write
about the Polish women. It may be stated that translations of her
novels appeared in the same magazine more than twenty years ago. She is
not only a talented but also a prolific writer. She has suffered much
in her life, and her sufferings have brought out those sterling
qualities of soul and heart, which make her books so intensely human,
and characterise all her works, and place her high above contemporary
Polish writers. The present volume may stand as a proof of her
all-embracing talent.
C.S. DE SOISSONS.
AN OBSCURE APOSTLE
INTRODUCTION
On the summits of civilisation the various branches of the great tree
of humanity are united and harmonised. Education is the best apostle
of universal brotherhood. It polishes the roughness without and cuts
the overgrowth within; it permits of the development, side by side
and with mutual respect, of the natural characteristics of different
individuals; it prunes even religious beliefs produced by the needs
of the time, and reduces them to their simplest expression, the
result being that people can live without antipathies.
Quite a different state of affairs exists in the social valley
unlighted by the sun of knowledge. There people are the same to-day
as they were in the remote centuries. Time, while making tombs for
the dead people, has not buried with them the forms which, being
continually regenerated, create among amazed societies unintelligible
anachronisms. Here exist distinctions which, with sharp edges, push
back everything which belongs not to them; here are crawling moral
and physical miseries which are unknown, even by name, to those who
have reached the summits; here is a gathering of dark figures,
standing out against the background of the world, resembling vague
outlines of sphinxes keeping guard over the graveyards; here are
widely-spread petrifications of faiths, sentiment and customs,
testifying by their presence that geniuses of many centuries can
simultaneously rule the world. Patricians and plebeians changed their
formal parts. The first became defenders and propagators of equality;
the second stubbornly hold to distinctions. And if in times of yore
oppression was directed by those who stood high against those who, in
dust and humility, swarmed in the depths, in our times, from the
depths arise unhealthy exhalations, which poison life and make the
roads of civilisation difficult to the chosen ones.
Such unfortunate valleys, rendering many people unhappy, separating
the rest of the world by a chain of high mountains, exist in
Israelitic society, as well as in the society of other nations, and
there they are even more numerous than elsewhere. Their too long
existence is the result of many historical causes and characteristics
of the race. To-day they constitute a phenomenon; attracting the
thinker and the artist by their great influence and the originality
of their colouring, composed of mysterious shadows and bright lights.
But who is familiar with them and who studies them? Even those who,
on account of the same blood and traditions, should be attracted
toward these localities, plunged in darkness, send there neither
painters nor apostles--sometimes they do not even believe in their
existence. For instance, what a surprise it would be to Israelitic
society, gathered in the largest city in the country, composed of
cultivated men and of women, who by their beauty, refinement and wit
are in no way inferior to the women of other nations: what a surprise
it would be to this society, gowned in purple and fine linen, if
somebody would all at once describe Szybow and what is transpiring
there!
Szybow? On what planet is it, and if on ours, what population has it?
The people there, are they white, black or brown?
Well then, readers, I am going to make you acquainted with that
deep--very deep--social valley. Not long ago there was enacted there
an interesting drama worthy of your kind glance--of your heart's
strong throb and a moment of long, sad thought. But in order to bring
out facts and figures they must be thrown against the background on
which they have risen and developed, and in the deep perspectives of
which there are elements which are the causes of their existence.
Therefore you must permit me, before raising the curtain which hides
the first scenes of the drama, to tell you in brief the history of
the small town.
CHAPTER I
Far, far from the line of the railroads which run through the
Bialorus (a part of Poland around the city of Mohileff which now
belongs to Russia), far from even the navigable River Dzwina, in one
of the most remote corners of the country, amidst quiet, large, level
fields--still existing in some parts of Europe--between two sandy
roads which disappear into the depths of a great forest, there is a
group of gray houses of different sizes standing so closely together
that anyone looking at them would say that they had been seized by
some great fright and had crowded together in order to be able to
exchange whispers and tears.
This is Szybow, a town inhabited by Israelites, almost exclusively,
with the exception of a small street at the end of the place in
which, in a few houses, live a few very poor burghers and very quiet
old retired officials.
It is the only street that is quiet, and the only street in which
flowers bloom in summer. In the other streets no flowers bloom, and
they are dreadfully noisy. There the people talk and move about
continually, industriously, passionately, within the houses and in
the narrow dark alleys called streets, and in the round,
comparatively large market-place in the centre of the town, around
which there are numerous doors of stinking small shops. In this
market-place after a week of transactions by the people of the
vicinity, there remains an inconceivable quantity of dirt and
sweepings, and here is also the high, dusky, strangely-shaped meeting
house.
This building is one of the specimens, rare to-day, of Hebrew
architecture. A painter and an archeologist would look upon it with
an equal amount of interest. At first glance it can be easily seen
that it is a synagogue, although it does not look like other
churches. Its four thick walls form a monotonous quadrangle, and its
brown colour gives it a touch of dignity, sadness, and antiquity.
These walls must be very old indeed, for they are covered with green
strips of moss. The higher parts of the walls are cut with a row of
long, narrow, deeply-set windows, recalling, by their shape, the
loop-holes of a fortress. The whole building is covered by a roof
whose three large heavy turrets, built one upon the other, look like
three moss-covered gigantic mushrooms.
Every gathering, whether of greater importance or of common
occurrence, was held here, sheltered beneath the brown walls and
mushroom-like roof of the temple. Here in the large round courtyard
are the heders (Hebrew schools), where the kahals (church committees)
gather. Here stands a low black house with two windows, a real mud
hovel, inhabited for several centuries and for many generations by
Rabbis of the family of Todros, famous in the community and even far
beyond it. Here at least everything is clean, and while in other
parts of the place, in the spring especially, the people nearly sink
into the mud, the school courtyard is always clean. It would be
difficult to find on it even a wisp of straw, for as soon as anything
is noticed, it is at once picked up by a passer-by, anxious to keep
clean the place around the temple.
How important Szybow is to the Israelites living in Bialorus, and
even in Lithuania, can be judged by an embarrassing incident which
occurred to a merry but unwise nobleman while in conversation with a
certain Jewish agent, more spiritual than humble.
The agent was standing at the door of the office of the noble, bent a
little forward, smiling, always ready to please and serve the noble,
and say a witty word to put him in good humour. The noble was feeling
pretty good, and joked with the Jew.
"Chaimek," spoke he, "wert thou in Cracow?"
"I was not, serene lord."
"Then thou art stupid."
Chaimek bowed.
"Chaimek, wert thou in Rome?"
"I was not, serene lord."
"Then thou art very stupid."
Chaimek bowed again, but in the meanwhile he had made two steps
forward. On his lips wandered one of those smiles common to the
people of his race--clever, cunning, in which it is impossible to say
whether there is humility or triumph, flattery or irony.
"Excuse me, your lordship," he said softly, "has your lordship been
in Szybow?"
Szybow was situated about twenty miles from the place at which this
conversation was held.
The nobleman answered, "I was not."
"And what now?" answered Chaimek still more softly.
The answer of the jolly nobleman to that embarrassing question is not
recorded, but the use of Szybow as an argument against the insult
shows that to the Jew Szybow was of the same relative importance as
were Rome and Cracow to the nobleman, i.e., as the place which was
the concentration of civil and religious authorities.
If someone were to have asked the Jew why he attributed such
importance to a small, poor town, he would probably mention two
families who had lived in Szybow for centuries--Ezofowichs and
Todros. Between these two families there existed the difference that
the Ezofowichs represented the concentration in the highest degree of
the element of secular importance, i.e., large family, numerous
relatives, riches, and keenness in the transaction of large business
interests, and in increasing their wealth. On the other hand, the
Todros family represented the spiritual element--piety, religious
culture, and severe, almost ascetic, purity of life.
It is probable that if Chaimek were asked the reason for the
importance given to the little town, he would forget to name the
Ezofowichs because, although the Israelites were proud of the riches
and influence of that family as one of their national glories, this
lustre, purely worldly, paled in comparison with the rays of holiness
which surrounded the name of Todros.
The Todros were for generations considered by the whole Hebrew
population of Bialorus and Lithuania as the most accomplished example
and enduring pillar of orthodoxy. Was it really so? Here and there
could be found scholarly Talmudists, who smiled when a question arose
in regard to the Talmudistic orthodoxy of the Todros, and when they
gathered together the name of Todros was sadly whispered about. But
although the celebrated orthodoxy of the Todros was much discussed by
these scholars, they were greatly in the minority--only a score among
the masses of believers. The crowd believed, worshipped, and went to
Szybow as to a holy place, to make obeisance and ask for advice,
consolation, and medicines.
Szybow had not always possessed such an attractive power of
orthodoxy; on the contrary, its founders were schismatics,
representing in Israel the spirit of opposition and division,
Karaites. In the times of yore they had converted to their belief the
powerful inhabitants of the rich land on the shores of Chersoneses,
and they became their kings. Afterwards, in accordance with the
traditions of that reign, they wandered into the world with their
legislative book, the Bible, double exiles, from Palestine and
Crimea, and a small part of them, brought to Lithuania by the Grand
Duke Witold, went as far as Bialorus and settled there in a group of
houses and mud-hovels called Szybow.
In those times, on Friday and Saturday evenings, great tranquillity
and darkness was spread through the town, because Karaites, contrary
to the Talmudists, did not celebrate the holy day of Sabbath with an
abundance of light and noisy joy and copious feasts, but they greeted
it with darkness, silence, sadness, and meditation upon the downfall
of the national temple, and the glory and might of the people of
Israel. Then, from the blackest houses, from behind the small dark
windows, there flowed into the quiet without the sound of singing;
the parents were sadly telling their children of the prophets who, on
the shores of the rivers in Babylon, broke their harps and cut their
fingers so that none could force them to sing in captivity, of the
blessed country of Havili, situated somewhere in the south of Arabia,
where the ten tribes of Israel lived in liberty, happiness, and
peace, not knowing quarrels or the use of the sword. They talked of
the holy river, Sabbation, hiding the Israelitic wanderers from the
eyes of their toes. In time, however, lights began to shine in the
windows on Fridays, and then, little by little, they began to talk
and pray aloud. Rabbinits arrived. The worshippers of Talmudistic
authorities, representative of blind faith in oral traditions
gathered and transmitted by Kohens, Tanaits, and Gaons, came and
pushed aside the handful of heretics and wrecks. Under the influence
of the newcomers the community of Karaites began to melt away. The
last blow was struck at it by a man well-known in the history of
Polish Hebrews--Michael Ezofowich, Senior.
He was the first of his name to emerge from obscurity. His family,
settled in Poland for a long time, was one of these which, during the
reign of Jagiellons, under the influence of privileges and laws in
Poland promulgated by a (for that time) high civilisation, was united
by sympathetic ties to the aboriginal population, and Ezofowich was
appointed Senior over all the Hebrew population of Lithuania and
Bialorus, by King Zygmunt the First, by a document which read thus:
"We, Zygmunt, by God's grace, etc., make known to all Jews living on
the estate, our Fatherland, having taken into consideration the
faithful services of the Jew, Michael Ezofowich, and wishing you in
your affairs not to meet with any obstacles and delays, according to
the laws of justice, we constitute, that Michael Ezofowich shall
settle all your affairs for US, and be your superior, and you must
come to US through him, and be obedient to him in everything. He will
judge you and rule over you according to the custom of our law, and
punish the guilty ones by OUR permission, everyone according to his
merit."
From the few historical notes about him, it can be seen that the
Senior was a man of strong and energetic will. With a firm hand he
seized the authority given him over his co-religionists, and he threw
an anathema over those who would not obey him, especially on the
Karaites, excluding them from the Hebrew community, and refusing them
the friendship and help of their tribe. Under such a blow the
existence of the inhabitants of Szybow, already poor, sad, and
inactive, was made altogether unbearable. The descendants of Hazairan
rulers, heretics, constituting, as always, a great minority of the
population, exposed to aversion and hatred, oppressed and poor, left
the place which had given them shelter for a certain time, carrying
with them in their hearts their stubborn attachment to the Bible, and
on their lips their poetical legends. They scattered in the broad and
hostile world, leaving behind them in that little town where they had
lived two hundred years only a few families, cherishing still more
passionately their old graveyards, the hill now covered with the
ruins of their temple, which the conquering Rabbinits had destroyed.
The Rabbinits took possession of Szybow, and, if the truth be told,
they changed, by their energy, industry, perfect harmony of action,
the result of unusual mutual help, the quiet, gray, poor, sad little
village into a town full of activity, noise, care, and riches.
In those times, under the Senior's rule, the Jews in general were
prosperous. Besides material prosperity, there began to live in them
the hope of a possibility of rising from their mental ignorance and
social humiliation. The Senior must surely have had a superior and
keen mind, for he was able to thoroughly understand the spirit of the
time and the needs of his people, notwithstanding the ancient
barriers and prejudices. He rejected the Karaites from the bosom of
Israel, not because of religious fanaticism but for broader social
reasons. Although he was a Rabbinit, and obliged to give to the
religious authorities absolute faith and worship, his mind was
sometimes visited by fits of scepticism--perhaps the best road to
wisdom. In one of his reports to the King, refuting some objections
which had been made to his sentences, he wrote, sadly and ironically:
"Our different books give us different laws. Very often we know not
what to do when Gamaliel differs from Eliezer. In Babylon is one
truth--in Jerusalem another (two editions of the Talmud). We obey the
second Moses (Majmonides) and the new ones call him heretic. I
encourage the savants to write such wise books that the clever and
stupid can understand them." It was at the time when the Occidental
Israelites, settled in France and Spain, raised the question as to
whether the professors of the Talmud and Bible should be permitted to
acquire a knowledge of the lay sciences. Many opinions were
considered, but none was strong enough to prevail, because the
partisans of absolute separation from mental work and human
tendencies constituted a great majority among the Israelites. Every
society has such moments of darkness. It happens especially when a
nation is exhausted by a series of successful efforts, after having
undergone tortures, and enfeebled by the streams of blood poured out.
The Occidental Jews, after centuries of existence in abject fear,
wandering through fire and blood, passed such a moment in the
sixteenth century. The time was still far distant which gave birth to
famous doctors of secular sciences beloved of the people, esteemed by
Kings. The high ideas of Majmonides who, giving deserved credit to
the legislation of Israel, admired also the Greek scholars, were also
far from the--they were even forgotten. Majmonides, who wished to
base the knowledge of the Bible and Talmud on a foundation of
mathematical and astronomical truths, and make it durable; who openly
expressed the desire to shorten the twenty-five hundred sheets of the
Talmud into one chapter, clear as the day; who did not justify
religious beliefs which were contrary to commonsense, and claimed
that "the eyes are placed in the front, and not in the rear of man's
head, in order that he may look before him," and prophesied that the
whole world would one day be filled with knowledge, as the sea is
filled with water--such a man was despised. Four centuries had passed
since the dignified, sweet, highly sympathetic figure of the
Israelitic thinker had disappeared from the face of the earth. He was
one of the greatest thinkers of the middle ages. The giant with the
eagle eye and fiery heart had been succeeded by dwarfs, whose weak
breasts were saturated with bitterness, and whose eyes looked on the
world sadly, suspiciously, narrow-mindedly. "Keep away from Greek
knowledge," Joseph Ezobi cried to his son, "because it is like the
wine-garden of Sodom, pouring into man's head drunkenness and sin."
"The strangers are pushing into the Gates of Zion!" lamented
Abba-Mari, when he learned that the Hebrew youths had begun to study
with masters of other religions. And all the Rabbis and the
Presidents of the Jewish communities in the West, ordered that no man
under thirty years of age should study the lay sciences. "Because,"
said they, "he who has filled his mind with the Bible, and Talmud has
the right to warm himself at the stranger's flame."
The bolder ones, while submitting to the decision of their superiors,
cried, "Rabbi, how can we study lay sciences after our thirtieth
year, when our minds will have become dulled and our memory tired,
and we shall possess enthusiasm no longer and strength of youth."
The orders were obeyed. Their minds grew dull, tired memory fainted,
and the strength and enthusiasm of youth left them. Majmonides,
grave, silent, motionless, stood in the midst of the sea of darkness
which covered the people who had been conducted by him toward the
light. They cursed his memory, and a devastating hand rubbed off his
tomb its grateful and glorious inscription, replacing it with stiff
and cruel words, as fanatical as ignorant:
"Here lies Moses Majmonides, excommunicated heretic."
At the same time the same quarrels raged among the Hebrews settled in
Poland, but being less tired by persecution, and because they were
less tormented than their brothers in the West, and were freer and
more sure of their privileges than their brothers in the West, their
aversion to the 'stranger's flames' was less passionate. Nay, there
was among them quite a numerous party which cried for secular
sciences--for brotherhood with the rest of humanity in intellectual
efforts and tendencies. One of these men who stood at the head of
this party was the Lithuanian Senior, Ezofowich. Under his influence
the Jewish Synod convocated in those times, issued a proclamation to
all the Polish Jews. The principal paragraph of this was:
"Jehovah has numerous Sefirots, Adam has had numerous emanations of
perfection. Therefore an Israelite must not be satisfied with one
religious science only. Although it is a holy science the others must
not on this account be neglected. The best fruit is a paradise apple,
but shall we not eat less good apples? There were Jews in the courts
of kings; Mordoheus was a savant, Esther was clever, Nehemias was a
Persian counsellor, and they liberated the people from captivity.
Study; be useful to the King and the nobles will respect you. The
Jews are as numerous as the sands of the sea and the stars in the
sky; they do not shine like the stars, but everyone tramples on them
as on the sand. The wind scatters the seeds of different trees, and
none asks from where the most beautiful tree has its origin. Why,
then, should there not rise among us a Cedar of Lebanon, instead of
thorn-bushes?"
The man under whose inspiration the proclamation was written, calling
the Polish Jews to turn their faces to where the light of the future
was dawning, met, eye to eye, the man with his face set toward the
past and darkness.
This man was a newcomer from Spain, and settled in Szybow. His name
was Nehemias Todros, the descendant of the famous Todros Abulaffi
Halevi who, famous for his Talmudistic learning and orthodoxy and
knowledge, was afterwards carried away by the gloomy secrets of
Kabalists, and helping it with his authority, was the cause of the
most dreadful error among the Jews from which any nation can suffer.
The tradition says that the same Nehemias Todros who had a princely
title, Nassi, was the first to bring to Poland the book, Zohar, in
which was explained the quintessence of the perilous doctrine, and
from that day there comes from Poland the mixture of the Talmud with
Kabalistic ideas which has influenced very badly the minds and the
lives of the Polish Jews. History is silent regarding the quarrels
and fights aroused by this innovation among the people who were in a
fair way of emerging from the darkness which surrounded them, but the
traditions, piously preserved in the families, tell, that in the
fight, which lasted a long time and was very obstinate, between
Michael Ezofowich, for a considerable period a Polish Jew, and
Nehemias Todros, a Spanish newcomer, the first was vanquished.
Consumed with grief caused by the sight of his people returning to
the old false roads, crushed by intrigues set afoot against him by
the gloomy adversary, he died in his prime. His name descended from
generation to generation of Ezofowichs. They were all proud of his
memory, although in time they understood less of its importance. From
that time dated the great authority of the Todros and the gradual
diminution of moral influence exerted by the Ezofowichs. The last
ones being driven out by those fresh from the field of waste, social
activity, they turned all their abilities in the direction of
business, with the aim of increasing their material welfare. The
navigable rivers were every year covered with vessels owned by them,
and carrying to remote parts enormous quantities of merchandise.
Their house, standing in the midst of the poor town, became more and
more the centre of national riches and industry. To them, as to the
modern Rothschilds, everyone went in need of gold to carry out their
enterprises. The Ezofowichs were proud of their material might, and
gave up entirely caring about the other--the might of spiritual
influence and the fate of the people possessed by their grandfather,
and of which they were robbed by Todros--by those Todros who, poor,
almost beggars, living in the wretched little house which stood near
the temple, disparaging everything which had the appearance of
comfort and beauty, but who were, nevertheless, famous all over the
country, and were enveloped in the pious dreams and hopes of their
people. And only once during two centuries did one of the Ezofowichs
attempt to lay hold of not only material--but also moral dignity. It
happened toward the end of the last century. The great Four-Year
Parliament was in session at Warsaw. The reports of its discussions
reached even the small town in Bialorus. The people living there
listened and waited. From lips to lips rushed the news of hope and
fear--the Jews were under discussion at this Parliament!
What do they say about us? What do they write about us? the
long--bearded passers-by asked each other, as they walked through the
narrow streets of Szybow, dressed in long halats and big fur caps
This curiosity increased each day to such an extent that it
finally-extraordinary event--stopped the business transactions
and money circulation. Some of them even undertook the long,
difficult journey to Warsaw, in order to be near the source
of news, and from there they sent their brethren who remained
in the little town of Bialorus, long letters, rumpled and spotted
newspapers, and leaves torn from different pamphlets, and books.
Of those who remained in the town, two men were most attentive and
most impatient--Nohim Todros, Rabbi, and Hersh Ezofowich, rich
merchant. There was a muffled, secret antipathy between them.
Apparently they were on good terms, but at every opportunity there
burst forth the antagonism which existed between the great-grandson
of Michael the Senior, the disciple of Majmonides, and the descendant
of Nehemias Todros, Kabalistic fanatic.
Finally there came from Warsaw to Szybow a crumpled sheet of paper,
which had turned yellow during the journey, and on it were the
following words:
"All differences in dress, language, and customs existing between the
Jews and early inhabitants must be abolished. Leave alone everything
concerning religion. Tolerate even the sects if they work no moral
injury. Do not baptise a Jew before he is twenty years old. Give to
the Jews the right to acquire land, and do not collect any taxes from
those who will take agriculture for five years. Supply them with farm
stock. Forbid marriages before the age of twenty for men and eighteen
for women."
This sheet was carried about and read hundreds of times in the
houses, streets and squares. It was waved as a flag of triumph or
mourning, until it went to pieces in those thousands of unhappy,
trembling hands. But the population of Szybow did not express its
opinion of that news. A smaller part of it turned their questioning
eyes toward Hersh; others, more numerous, looked inquiringly into the
face of Reb Nohim.
Reb Nohim appeared on the threshold of his hut, and raising his thin
hands above his gray head, as a sign of indignation and despair, he
cried several times:
"Assybe! assybe! dajde!"
"Misfortune! misfortune! woe!" repeated after him, the crowd gathered
in the courtyard of the temple.
But, in the same moment, Hersh Ezofowich standing at the door of the
meeting house, put his white hand into the pocket of his satin halat,
raised his head, covered with a costly beaver cap, and not less
loudly than the Rabbi, but in a different voice, he called:
"Hoffnung! Hoffnung! Frieden!"
"Hope! Hope! Happiness!" repeated after him, timidly, his not very
numerous followers, with a sidelong glance at the Rabbi. But the old
Rabbi's hearing was good, and he heard the cry. His white beard
shook, and his dark eyes flashed lightning in Hersh's direction.
"They will order us to shave our beards and wear short dresses!" he
exclaimed, painfully and angrily.
"They will make our minds longer and broaden our hearts!" answered
Hersh's sonorous voice.
"They will put us to the plough and order us to cultivate the country
of exile!" shouted Rabbi Nohim.
"They will open for us the treasures of the earth, and they will
order her to be our fatherland!" screamed Hersh.
"They will forbid us kosher," cried Rabbi.
"They will make of Israel a cedar tree instead of a hawthorn!"
answered Hersh.
"Our son's faces will be covered with beards before they may marry!"
"When they take their wives, their minds and strength will be already
developed."
"They will order us to warm ourselves at strange fireplaces, and
drink from the wine-garden of Sodom."
"They will bring near to us the Jobel-ha-Gabel--the festival of joy,
during which the lamb may eat beside the tiger."
"Hersh Ezofowich! Hersh Ezofowich! Through your mouth speaks the soul
of your great-grandfather, who wished to lead all Jews to foreign
fireplaces."
"Reb Nohim! Reb Nohim! Through your eyes looks the soul of your
great-grandfather, who plunged all Jews into great darkness."
Deep silence reigned in the crowd as the two men, standing far from
each other, spoke thus. Nohim's voice grew thinner and sharper;
Hersh's resounded with stronger and deeper tones. The Rabbi's yellow
cheeks became covered with brick-red spots--Ezofowich's face grew
pale. The Rabbi shook his thin hands, rocking his figure backward and
forward, scattering his silvery beard over both shoulders. The
merchant stood erect and motionless, and in his green eyes shone an
angry sneer.
A couple of thousand eyes gazed in turn on the two
adversaries--leaders of the people--and a couple of thousand mouths
quivered, but were silent.
Finally, the long, sharp piercing cry of Reb Nohim resounded in the
courtyard of the temple.
"Assybe! assybe! dajde!" moaned the old man, sobbing and crushing his
hands.
"Hoffnung! Hoffnung! Frieden!" joyfully exclaimed Hersh, raising his
white hand.
The crowd was still silent and motionless for a while. Then the heads
began to move like waves and lips to murmur like waters, and at once
a couple of thousands of hands were lifted with a gesture of pain and
distress, and from a couple of thousand throats came the powerful
shout.
"Assybe! assybe! dajde!"
Reb Nohim was victorious!
Hersh looked around. His friends surrounded him closely. They were
silent. They dropped their heads and cast timid looks on the ground.
Hersh smiled disdainfully, and when the crowd rushed to the temple,
led by Reb Nohim continually shaking his yellow hands above his gray
head, and while still before the threshold of the temple began the
prayer habitually recited when some peril was imminent--when finally
the brown walls of the temple resounded with the powerful sobbing
cry, "Lord help thy people! Save from annihilation the sons of
Israel!" The young merchant stood motionless, plunged in deep
thought. Then he passed slowly down the square, and finally
disappeared into a large house of fine outward appearance. It was the
biggest and showiest house in the town, almost new, for it was built
by Hersh himself, and shone with yellow walls and brilliant windows.
Hersh sat for a long time in a large, simply-furnished room. His look
was gloomy. Then he raised his head and called:
"Freida! Freida!"
In answer to this call the door of the adjoining room opened, and in
the golden light of the fireplace appeared a slender young woman. On
her head was a large white turban, and a white kerchief fell from her
neck, ornamented with several strings of pearls. Her big, dark eyes
shone brightly and like flame from her gentle, oval face. She paused
opposite her husband, and questioned him with her eyes only.
Hersh motioned her to a chair, in which she sat immediately.
"Freida," he began, "have you heard of what happened in the town
to-day?"
"Yes, I have heard," she answered softly. "My brother Joseph came to
see me, and told me that you had quarrelled with Reb Nohim."
"He wishes to eat me up as his great-grandfather ate up my
great-grand father."
Freida's dark eyes became filled with fear.
"Hersh!" she exclaimed, "you must not quarrel with him. He is a great
and saintly man. All will be with him!"
"No," answered the husband, with a smile, "don't be afraid. Now other
times are corning--he can't harm me. And as for me, I can't shut my
mouth when my heart shouts within me that I must speak. I can no
longer stand by to hear that man teaching that what is good is bad,
and see the stupid people look into his eyes and shout, although they
do not understand anything. No! And how can they understand? Has
Todros ever taught them to distinguish good from evil, and separate
that which was from that winch shall be?"
After a few moments of silence, Hersh continued:
"Freida."
"What, Hersh?"
"Have you forgotten what I told you about Michael the Senior?"
The woman folded her hands devoutly.
"Why should I forget it?" she asked. "You told me beautiful things of
him."
"He was a great--a very great man. Todros ate him up. If that family
had not eaten him up he would have accomplished great things for the
Jews. But no matter about that. I will ask him what he wished to do.
He will teach me, and I will do it!"
Freida grew pale.
"But how will you ask him?" she whispered in fear, "he is dead a long
time ago."
A mysterious smile played about the merchant's thin lips.
"I know how. Sometimes God permits those who have died to talk with
and teach their grandchildren, Freida," he continued, after another
pause, "do you know what the Senior did when he saw that Todros would
eat him up, and that he would die before the good times would come?"
"No, what did he do?"
"He shut himself up in a room, and he sat there without eating or
drinking or sleeping, and--he only wrote. And what did he write? That
nobody yet knows, because he hid what he had written, and when he
felt that his end was near, he said to his sons: 'I have written down
everything that I have known and felt, and what I intended to do; but
I have hidden my writings from you, because now such times are at
hand that all is useless for the present. The Todros rule, and they
will rule for a long time, and they will do this that neither you,
nor your sons, nor your grandsons will care to see my writing, and
even were they to see it, they would tear it into pieces, and scatter
it to the winds for annihilation, ant they would say that Michael the
Senior was kofrim (heretic), and they would excommunicate him as they
did the second Moses. But there will come a time when my
great-grandson will wish for what I had written--to ask for guidance
in his thoughts and actions in order to free the Jews from Todros'
captivity, and to lead them to that sun from which the other nations
receive the warmth. Thus, my great-grandson who desires to have my
writings, will find the writings, and you have only to tell the
eldest son of that family on your deathbed that it exists, and that
there are many wise things written down. It must be thus from
generation to generation. I command you thus. Remember to be obedient
to this one, whose soul deserved to be immortal! (It was the teaching
of Moses Majmonides, in regard to the immortality of the soul, that
every man, according to the culture of his mind and moral perfection,
could attain immortality, and that annihilation was the punishment
for misdeeds)."
Hersh stopped speaking. Freida sat motionless looking into her
husband's face with intense curiosity.
"Shall you search for that writing?" she asked softly.
"I shall search for it," said her husband, "and I shall find it,
because I am that great-grandson of whom Michael Senior spoke when
dying. I shall find that writing--you must help me to find it."
The woman stood erect, beaming with joy.
"Hersh, you are a good man!" she exclaimed. "You are kind to
associate me, a woman, with such an important affair and great
thoughts."
"Why should I not do it? Are you a bad housekeeper or a bad mother?
You do everything well, and your soul is as beautiful as your eyes."
The white face of the young Hebrew woman became scarlet. She dropped
her eyes, but her coral-like lips whispered some words of love and
gratitude.
Hersh rose.
"Where shall we search for the writing?" said he thoughtfully.
"Where?" repeated the woman.
"Freida," said the husband, "Michael the Senior could not have hidden
his writing in the earth, for he knew that there the worms would eat
it, or that it would turn to dust. Is this writing in the earth?"
"No," answered the woman, "it is not there."
"He could not have hidden it in the wails of the house, for he knew
that they would rot, and that they would be destroyed, and new ones
built. These walls I have built myself, and I carefully searched the
old ones, but there was no writing."
"There was not," repeated Freida sorrowfully.
"He could not have hidden it in the roof, because he knew it would
not be safe there. When I was born there was perhaps the tenth roof
built over our house, but it seems to me that the writing could not
have been there. Where is it?"
Both were thoughtful. All at once, after a while, the woman
exclaimed:
"Hersh, I know where the writing is!"
Her husband raised his head. His wife was pointing to the large
library filled with books, which stood in a corner of the room.
"There?" said Hersh, hesitatingly.
"There," repeated the woman, with conviction. "Have you not told me
that these are Michael Senior's books, and that all the Ezofowichs
have preserved them, but no one has read them because Todros would
not permit the reading of books."
Hersh passed his hand over his forehead, and the woman spoke further.
"Michael the Senior was a wise man, and he saw the future. He knew
that for a long time no one would read those books, and that only the
one who would read them would be that great-grandson who would find
his writings."
"Freida, Freida," exclaimed Hersh, "you are a wise woman!"
She modestly dropped her dark eyes.
"Hersh, I am going to see why the baby is crying. I will give the
servants their orders, and have them keep the fire, then I will come
here and aid you in your work."
"Come!" said her husband, and when she had gone to the room from
which came the sounds of children's voices, he said to himself:
"A wise woman is more precious than gold and pearls. Besides, her
husband's heart is quiet."
After a while she returned, locked the door, and asked softly:
"Where is the key?"
Hersh found the key of his great-grandfather's library, and they
began to take down the large books. They placed them on the floor,
and having seated themselves, they began to turn slowly one leaf
after the other. Clouds of dust rose from the piles of paper, which
had remained untouched for centuries. The dust settled on Freida's
snow-white turban in a gray layer, and covered also Hersh's golden
hair. But they worked on indefatigably and with such a solemn
expression on their faces that one would think that they were
uncovering the grave of their great-grandfather in order to take
therefrom his grand thoughts.
Evening was already approaching when Hersh exclaimed as people
exclaim when they meet with victory and bliss. Freida said nothing,
but she rose slowly and extended her hands above her head in a
movement of gratitude.
Then Hersh prayed fervently near the window, through which could be
seen the first stars appearing in the sky. During the whole night
there was a light in that window, and seated at the table, his head
resting on both hands, was Hersh, reading from large yellowish sheets
of paper. At the break of day, when the eastern part of the sky had hardly
begun to burn with pinkish light, he went out, dressed himself in a
travelling mantle and large beaver cap, got into a carriage, and drove
away. He was so deeply plunged in thought that he did not even bid
good-bye to his children and servants, who crowded the hall of the house.
He only nodded to Freida, who stood on the piazza, with the white turban
on her head turning pink in the light of the dawn. Her eyes, which
followed her husband, were filled with sadness and pride.
Where had Hersh gone? Beyond mountains, forests, and rivers, to a
remote part of the country where, amidst swampy plains and black
forests of Pinseyzna lived an eloquent partisan of the rights to
civilisation of the Polish Jews, Butrymowicz. He was a karmaszym--(the
higher, or rather richer, class of nobility in Poland were called by that
name, which means a certain shade of red, because their national
costumes were of that colour)--and a thinker. He saw clearly and far.
He was familiar with the necessities of the century.
When Hersh was introduced into the mansion of the nobleman and
admitted to the presence of the great and wise member of parliament,
he bowed profoundly, and began to speak thus:
"I am Hersh Ezofowich, a merchant from Szybow, and the great-grandson
of Michael Ezofowich, who was superior over all the Jews, and was
called Senior by the command of the king himself. I come here from
afar. And why do I come? Because I wished to see the great member of
the Diet, and talk with the famous author. The light with which his
figure shines is so great that it made me blind. As a weak plant
twines around the branch of a great oak, so I desire to twine my
thoughts about yours, that they shall over-arch the people like the
rainbow, and there shall be no more quarrels and darkness in this
world."
When the great man answered encouragingly to this preface, Hersh
continued:
"Serene lord, you have said that there must be an agreement between
two nations, who, living on the same soil, are in continual
conflict."
"Yes. I said so," answered the deputy.
"Serene lord, you said that the Jew ought to be equal in everything
with the Christians, and in that way they would be no longer
noxious."
"I said it."
"Serene lord, yon have said that you consider the Jews as Polish
citizens, and that it is necessary that they should send their
children to the secular schools. They should have the right to
purchase the land, and that among them certain things, which are
neither good nor sensible, should be abolished."
"I said it," again affirmed the deputy.
Then the tall, stately figure of the Jew, with its proud head and
intelligent look, bent swiftly, and before the deputy could resist
Hersh had pressed his hand to his lips.
"I am a newcomer in this country," said he softly. "Younger
brother--"
Then he drew himself up and pulled from the pocket of his halat a
roll of yellowish papers.
"That which I have brought here," he said, "is more precious to me
than gold, pearls, and diamonds."
"What is it?" asked the deputy.
Hersh answered in a solemn voice:
"It is the will of my ancestor, Michael Ezofowich, the Senior."
They both sat reading through the whole night by the light of two
small wax candles. Then they began to talk. They spoke softly, with
heads bent together and burning faces. Then toward day-break they
rose, and simultaneously each stretched out and shook the hands of
the other cordially.
What did they read the whole night, and of what were they talking?
What sentiment of enthusiasm and hope united their hands as a sign of
a pact? Nobody ever learned. It is sunk in the dark night of
historical secrets, with many other desires and thoughts. Adversities
plunged it there. It was hidden, but not lost. Sometimes we ask
ourselves whence come the lightnings of those thoughts and desires
which nobody has known before? And we do not know that their sources
are the moments not written on the pages of the history by any
writer.
The next day a coach driven by six horses stopped before time house
of the nobleman. The noble, with his Jewish guest, got in, and
together they went to the capital of the country.
A couple of months afterwards Hersh returned from Warsaw to Szybow.
He was very active in the town and its environments, he spoke,
explained, persuaded, trying to gain partisans for the changes which
were in preparation for his people. Then he went away again, and
again he returned--and went away. This lasted a couple of years.
When Hersh returned from Ins last journey he was very much changed.
His looks were sad, and his forehead was lined with sorrow. He
entered the house, sat on the bench, and began to pant heavily.
Freida stood before him, sorrowful and uneasy, but quiet and patient.
She did not dare to ask. She waited for her husband's words and
look. Finally he looked at her sadly, and said:
"Everything is lost!"
"Why lost?" whispered Freida.
Hersh made a gesture, indicative of the downfall of something grand.
"When a building falls," he said, "the beams fall on the heads of
those who are within, and the dust fills their eyes."
"It is true," affirmed the woman.
"A great building is in the mire. The beams have fallen on all the
great problems and our great works, and the dust covers them--for a
long time."
Then he rose, looked at Freida with eyes full of big tears, and said:
"We must hide the Senior's testament, because it will be useless
again. Come, let us hide it carefully. If some great-grandson of ours
will wish to get it, he will find it the same as we did."
From that day Hersh grew perceptibly older. His eyes dulled, and his
hack grew bent. He sat for hours on the bench, sighing deeply, and
repeating:
"Assybe! assybe! assybe! dajde!" (Misfortune! Misfortune! Woe!)
Around this sad man moved softly and solicitously a slender woman
dressed in a flowing gown and white turban. Her dark eyes often
filled with tears, and her steps were so careful and quiet that even
the pearls which ornamented her neck never made the slightest noise,
and did not interrupt her husband's thoughtfulness.
Sometimes Freida looked sadly at her husband. His sadness made her
sad also, but she did not clearly understand it. Why was he
sorrowful? His riches did not diminish, the children grew healthy,
and everything was as before that quarrel with Reb Nohim and the
finding of those old papers. The loving and wise woman, whose whole
world was contained between the four walls of her home, could not
understand that her husband's spirit was carried into the sphere of
broad ideas--that it was fond of the fiery world, and being driven
out of it by the strength of events, could not be cured of its
longing. She did not know that in this world there were griefs and
longings which had no connection with either parents or with
children, or with wife or with wealth, or with one's house, and that
such griefs and longings of the human spirit are the most difficult
to cure.
Todros was rejoicing, and he called his flock to rejoice with him,
who believed in his wisdom and sanctity. He triumphed, but he desired
to triumph still further. To destroy the Ezofowichs would mean to
destroy the stream which flowed into the future, striving with that
other stream which strove to congeal into ice--into the petrification
of the past. Who knows what may happen in the future? Who knows but
that that cursed family may not give rise to a man strong enough to
destroy the centuries of work achieved by the Todros. If events had
taken another turn, Hersh, with the aid of his friend Edomits, would
already have accomplished this!
As in times of yore, his ancestor Michael was accused, so now Hersh
was assailed with reproaches of all kinds. In the synagogue they
shouted at him that he did not observe the Sabbath, that he was
friendly with gojs (any man who does not follow Judaism is a goj),
and that he sat at their tables and ate meat which is not kosher.
That in contentious affairs he avoided Jewish courts, and went to the
tribunals of the country; that he did not obey the superiors of
kahal, and he even dared to criticise them that he did not respect
Jewish authorities in general, and Reb Nohim in particular.
Hersh defended himself proudly, refuting some of the objections and
acknowledging some of the others, but justifying them by reasons,
which, however, were not recognised as being right, either by his people
or his superiors.
This lasted quite a long time, but finally it stopped. The
accusations were discontinued, and intrigues ceased, because the
object of these attacks became himself silent, and morally
disappeared. Grown prematurely old, and tired of lights, Hersh shut
himself up in the circle of private life, and occupied himself with
business transactions, These, however, did not go as smoothly as did
those of others, because he did not possess--as did others--the
sympathy of his brethren. What he felt, and about what he thought, in
those last years of his life, no one knew, for he told no one
anything. Only before his death he had a long conversation with his
wife.
The children were too small to be entrusted with the secret of his
disappointed desires, wasted efforts, and smothered griefs. He left
these as a legacy to his children through his wife. Did Freida
understand and remember the words of her dying husband? Was she
willing, and was she able, to remember them, and repeat them to his
descendants? It is not known. Only this is certain--that only she
knew the place where the Senior's will was hidden--the old writings
which were the heritage not only of the Ezofowich family but of the
whole Israelitic nation--a neglected and forgotten heritage, but in
which--who knows!--were treasures a hundredfold richer than those
which filled the chests of that wealthy family.
Therefore the Senior's last thoughts and wishes slept in some
hiding-place, waiting for a bold descendant who would be courageous
enough to bring them into life. But in the meantime there remained in
the town not one soul longing for the light--not one heart which
throbbed for something more than his own wife, his own children, and
before all, his own riches.
There was plenty of noise arising from the care and haste whose only
aim was to gain money; there was darkness because of mystic fears and
dreams there was narrowness and suffocating because of merciless,
grinding, dead orthodoxy.
The common people of the same faith throughout the whole country
considered the people of Szybow as powerful, both materially and
morally, wise, orthodox, almost holy.
Over the whole deep-sunk social valley hung a cloud. This cloud was
composed of the darkest elements which exist in human kind, which
are: respect for the letter from which the spirit has departed, dense
ignorance, suspicious and hateful defence of self against everything
which flows from broad, sunny, but 'foreign' worlds.