IV

So strange and marvellous a story, so full of minute detail, and for

the possible truth of which my Cabalistic studies had prepared me,

roused in me again the ever-smouldering hope of becoming expert in

these traditional practices of our nation. Why should not I, like

other Rabbis, have the key of the worlds? Why should not I, too,

fashion a fine fat calf on the Friday and eat it for my Sabbath meal?

or create a soulless monster to wait upon me hand and foot? The

Talmudical subtleties had kept me long enough wandering in a blind

maze. I would go forth in search of light. I would gird up my loins

and take my staff in my hand and seek the fountain-head of wisdom, the

great Master of the Name himself; I would fall at his feet and beseech

him to receive me among his pupils.

Travelling was easy enough:--in every town a Beth-Hamidrash into which

the wanderer would first make his way; in every town hospitable

entertainers who would board and lodge a man of learning like myself,

rejoicing at the honor. Even in the poorest villages I might count

upon black bread and sheep's cheese and a bed of fir branches. But

when I came to make inquiries I found that the village in Volhynia,

which Rabbi Baer had made his centre, was far nearer than the forest

where the Master, remote and inaccessible, retired to meditate after

his missionary wanderings; nay, that my footsteps must needs pass

through this Mizricz, the political stronghold of Chassidism. This

discovery did not displease me, for I felt that thus I should reach

the Master better prepared. In my impatience I could scarcely wait for

the roads to become passable, and it was still the skirt of winter

when, with a light heart and a wild hope, I set my face for the wild

ravines of Severia and the dreary steppes of the Ukraine. Very soon I

came into parts where the question of the Chassidim was alive and

burning, and indeed into towns where it had a greater living interest

than the quarrel of the amulets. And in these regions the rumor of the

Baal Shem began to thicken. There was not a village of log-houses but

buzzed with its own miracle. Everywhere did I hear of healings of the

sick and driving out of demons and summoning of spirits, and the face

of the Master shining.

Of these strange stories I will set down but two. The Master and his

retinue were riding on a journey, and came to a strange road. His

disciples did not know the way, and the party went astray and wandered

about till Wednesday night, when they put up at an inn. In the morning

the host asked who they were.

"I am a wandering preacher," replied the Baal Shem. "And I wish to get

to the capital before the Sabbath, for I have heard that the richest

man in the town is marrying there on the Friday, and perchance I may

preach at the wedding."

"That thou wilt never do," said the innkeeper, "for the capital is a

week's journey."

The Master smiled. "Our horses are good," he said.

The innkeeper shook his head: "Impossible, unless you fly through the

air," he said. But, presently remembering that he himself had to go

some leagues on the road to the capital, he begged permission to join

the party, which was cheerfully given.

The Master then retired to say his morning prayers, and gave orders

for breakfast and dinner.

"But why art thou delaying?" inquired the innkeeper. "How can you

arrive for Sabbath?"

The Baal Shem did not, however, abate one jot of his prayers, and it

was not till eve that they set out. All through the night they

travelled, and in the morning the innkeeper found himself, to his

confusion, not where he had reckoned to part with the others, but in

the environs of the capital. The Baal Shem took up his quarters in a

humble district, while the dazed innkeeper wandered about the streets

of the great city, undecided what to do. All at once he heard screams

and saw a commotion, and people began to run to and fro; and then he

saw men carrying a beautiful dead girl in bridal costume, and in the

midst of them one, who by his Sabbath garments and his white shoes was

evidently the bridegroom, mazed and ghastly pale. He heard people

telling one another that death had seized her as she stood under the

canopy, before the word could be said or the glass broken that should

have made her the wife of the richest man in the capital. The

innkeeper ran towards them and he said--

"Do not despair. Last night I was hundreds of miles from here. I came

here with a great wonder-worker. Mayhap he will be able to help you."

The bridegroom went with him to seek out the Baal Shem at the far end

of the town, and offered a vast sum for the restoration of his

beloved.

"Nay, keep thy money," said the Master. And he fared back with the

twain to see the corpse, which had been laid in an apartment.

As soon as he had looked upon the face of the bride he said: "Let a

grave be dug; and let the washers prepare her for the tomb. And then

let her be reclad in her marriage vestments. I will go to the

graveyard and await her coming."

When her body was brought, he told the bearers to lay her in the

grave, earth to earth. The onlookers wept to see how, for once, that

shroud which every bride wore over her fur robe was become a fitting

ornament, and how the marvellous fairness of the dead face, crowned

with its myrtle garlands, gleamed through the bridal veil. The Master

placed two stalwart men with their faces towards the grave, and bade

them, the instant they noted any change in her face, take her out.

Then he leaned upon his staff and gazed at the dead face. And those

who were near said his face shone with a heavenly light of pity; but

his brow was wrinkled as though in grave deliberation. The moments

passed, but the Master remained as motionless as she in the grave. And

all the people stood around in awed suspense, scarce daring to

whisper. Suddenly a slight flush appeared in the dead face. The Baal

Shem gave a signal, the two men lifted out the bride from the raw

earth, and he cried: "Get on with the wedding," and walked away.

"Nay, come with us," besought the weeping bridegroom, falling at his

feet and kissing the hem of his garment. "Who but thou should perform

the ceremony?"

So the throng swept back towards the synagogue with many rejoicings

and songs, and the extinguished torches were relighted, and the music

struck up again, and the bride walked, escorted by her friends,

seemingly unconscious that this was not the same joyous procession

which had set out in the morning, or that she had already stood under

the canopy. But, when they were arrived in the synagogue courtyard,

and the Baal Shem began the ceremony, then as she heard his voice, a

strange light of recollection leapt into her face. She tore off her

veil and cried, "This is the man that drew me out of the cold grave."

"Be silent," reprimanded the Master sternly, and proceeded with the

wedding formulæ. At the wedding feast, the bride's friends asked her

what she had seen and heard in the tomb. Whereupon she gave them the

explanation of the whole matter. The former wife of her rich

bridegroom was the bride's aunt, and when she fell ill and knew she

would die, she felt that he would assuredly marry this young girl--his

ward,--who was brought up in his house. She became madly jealous, and,

calling her husband to her death-bed, she made him take an oath not to

marry the girl. Nor would she trust him till he had sworn with his

right hand in hers and his left hand in the girl's. After the wife's

death neither of the parties to this oath kept faith, but wished to

marry the other. Wherefore as they stood under the canopy at the

marriage celebration the dead wife, seen only of the bride, killed

her. While she was lying in the grave, the Baal Shem was occupied in

weighing the matter, both she and the jealous woman having to state

their case; and he decided that the living were in the right, and had

only given their promise to the dead wife by force and out of

compassion. And so he exclaimed, "Get on with the wedding!" The memory

of this trial in the world of spirits had clean passed from her till

she heard the Master's voice beginning to read the marriage service,

when she cried out, and tore off her veil to see him plainly.

The Baal Shem spent the Sabbath in the capital; and on Sunday he was

escorted out of the town with a great multitude doing him honor. And

afterwards it was found that all the sick people, whose names happened

to be scribbled by their relatives on the grave-stone which his robe

had brushed, recovered. Nor could this be entirely owing to the merits

of him who lay below, pious man though he was.

On the Tuesday night the Baal Shem and his disciples came to an inn,

where he found the host sitting sadly in a room ablaze festally with

countless candles and crowded with little boys, rocking themselves to

and fro with prayer.

"Can we lodge here for the night?" asked the Baal Shem.

"Nay," answered the host dejectedly.

"Why art thou sad? Perchance I can help thee," said the Baal Shem.

"To-night, as thou seest, is watch-night," said the man; "for

to-morrow my latest-born is to be circumcised. This is my fifth child,

and all the others have died suddenly at midnight, although up to then

there has been no sign of sickness. I know not why Lilith should have

such a grudge against my progeny. But so it is, the devil's mother,

she kills them every one, despite the many charms and talismans hung

round my wife's bed. Every day since the birth, these children have

come to say the _Shemang_ and the ninety-first psalm. And to-night the

elders are coming to watch and study all night. But I fear they will

not cheat Lilith of her prey. Therefore am I not in the humor to lodge

strangers."

"Let the little ones go home; they are falling asleep," said the

Master. "And let them tell their fathers to stay at home in their

beds. My pupils and I will watch and pray."

So said, so done. The Baal Shem told off two of his men to hold a sack

open at the cradle of the child, and he instructed the rest of his

pupils to study holy law ceaselessly, and on no account to let their

eyelids close, though he himself designed to sleep. Should anything

fall into the sack the two men were to close it forthwith and then

awaken him. With a final caution to his disciples not to fall asleep,

the Master withdrew to his chamber. The hours drew on. Naught was

heard save the droning of the students and the sough of the wind in

the forest. At midnight the flames of the candles wavered violently,

though no breath of wind was felt within the hot room. But the

watchers shielding the flames with their hands strove to prevent them

being extinguished. Nevertheless they all went out, and a weird gloom

fell upon the room, the firelight throwing the students' shadows

horribly on the walls and ceiling. Their blood ran cold. But one,

bolder than the rest, snatching a brand from the hearth, relit the

candles. As the last wick flamed again, a great black cat fell into

the sack. The two men immediately tied up the mouth of it and went to

rouse the Baal Shem.

"Take two cudgels," said he, "and thrash the sack as hard as you can."

After they had given it a sound drubbing, he bade them unbind the sack

and throw it into the street. And so the day dawned, and all was well

with the child. That day they performed the ceremony of Initiation

with great rejoicing, and the Baal Shem was made godfather or

_Sandek_. But before the feasting began, the father of the child

begged the Baal Shem to tarry, "for," said he, "I must needs go first

to the lord of the soil and take him a gift of wine. For he is a cruel

tyrant, and will visit it upon me if I fail to pay him honor on this

joyous occasion."

"Go in peace," said the Baal Shem.

When the man arrived at the seigneur's house, the lackeys informed him

that their master was ill, but had left instructions that he was to be

told when the gift was brought. The man waited, and the seigneur

ordered him to be admitted, and received him very affably, asking him

how business was, and if he had guests at his inn.

"Ay, indeed," answered the innkeeper; "there is staying with me a very

holy man who is from Poland, and he delivered my child from death."

"Indeed!" said the seigneur, with interest, and the man thereupon told

him the whole story.

"Bring me this stranger," commanded the seigneur; "I would speak with

him."

The innkeeper went home very much perturbed.

"Why so frightened an air?" the Baal Shem asked him.

"The seigneur desires thee to go to him. I fear he will do thee a

mischief. I beseech thee, depart at once, and I will tell him thou

hadst already gone."

"I will go to him," said the Baal Shem.

He was ushered into the sick-room. As soon as the seigneur had

dismissed his lackeys he sat up in bed, thus revealing black-and-blue

marks in his flesh, and sneered vengefully--

"Doubtless thou thinkest thyself very cunning to have caught me

unawares."

"Would I had come before thou hadst killed the other four," replied

the Baal Shem.

"Ho! ho!" hissed the magician; "so thou feelest sure thou art a

greater wizard than I. Well, I challenge thee to the test."

"I have no desire to contend with thee," replied the Baal Shem calmly;

"I am no wizard. I have only the power of the Holy Name."

"Bah! My witchcraft against thy Holy Name," sneered the wizard.

"The Name must be vindicated," said the Baal Shem. "I accept thy

challenge. This day a month I will assemble my pupils. Do thou and thy

brethren gather together your attendant spirits. And thou shalt learn

that there is a God."

In a month's time the Baal Shem with all his pupils met the wizard

with his fellows in an open field; and there, under the blue circle of

Heaven, the Baal Shem made two circles around himself and one in

another place around his pupils, enjoining them to keep their eyes

fixed on his face, and, if they noticed any change in it, immediately

to begin crying the Penitential Prayer. The arch-wizard also made a

circle for himself and his fellow-wizards at the other end of the

field, and commenced his attack forthwith. He sent against the Baal

Shem swarms of animals, which swept towards the circle with clamorous

fury. But when they came to the first circle, they vanished. Then

another swarm took their place--and another--and then another--lions,

tigers, leopards, wolves, griffins, unicorns, and unnameable

creatures, all dashing themselves into nothingness against the holy

circle. Thus it went on all the long day, every instant seeing some

new bristling horde vomited and swallowed up again.

Towards twilight the arch-magician launched upon the Baal Shem a herd

of wild boars, spitting flames; and these at last passed beyond the

first circle. Then the pupils saw a change come over the Baal Shem's

face, and they began to wail the Penitential Prayer.

Still the boars sped on till they reached the second circle. Then they

vanished. Three times the wizard launched his boars, the flames of

their jaws lighting up the gathering dusk, but going out like blown

candles at the second circle. Then said the wizard, "I have done my

all." He bowed his head. "Well, I know one glance of thine eyes will

kill me. I bid life farewell."

"Nay, look up," said the Baal Shem; "had I wished to kill thee, thou

wouldst long ago have been but a handful of ashes spread over this

field. But I wish to show thee that there is a God above us. Come,

lift up thine eyes to Heaven."

The wizard raised his eyes towards the celestial circle, in which the

first stars were beginning to twinkle. Then two thorns came and took

out his eyes. Till his death was he blind; but he saw that there was a

God in Heaven.

V

Of Rabbi Baer I heard on my way nothing but eulogies, and his miracles

were second only to those of his Master. He was a great man in Israel,

a scholar profound as few. Even the enemies of the Chassidim--and they

were many and envenomed--admitted his learning, and complained that

his defection to the sect had greatly strengthened and drawn grave

disciples to this ignorant movement. For, according to them, the Baal

Shem was as unlettered as he gave himself out to be, nor did they

credit the story of his followers that all his apparent ignorance was

due to his celestial oath not to reveal himself till his thirty-sixth

year. As for the followers, they were esteemed simply a set of lewd,

dancing fanatics; and, of a truth, a prayer-service I succeeded in

witnessing in one town considerably chilled my hopes. For the

worshippers shouted, beat their breasts, struck their heads against

the wall, tugged at their ear-curls, leaped aloft with wild yells and

even foamed at the mouth, nor could I see any sublime idea behind

these maniacal manifestations. They had their own special Zaddik

(Saint) here, whom they vaunted as even greater than Baer.

"He talks with angels," one told me.

"How know you that?" I said sceptically.

"He himself admits it."

"But suppose he lies!"

"What! A man who talks with angels be capable of a lie!"

I did not pause to point out to him that this reasoning violated even

Talmudical logic, for I feared if I received the doctrine from such

mouths I should lose all my enthusiasm ere reaching the fountain-head,

and hereafter in my journeyings I avoided hunting out the members of

the sect, even as I strove to dismiss from my mind the malicious

inuendoes and denunciations of their opponents, who said it was not

without reason this sect had arisen in a country where only the eldest

son in a Jewish family was allowed by the State to marry. I would keep

my mind clear and free from prepossessions on either side. And thus at

last, after many weary days and adventures which it boots not to

recall here, such as the proposals of marriage made to me by some of

my hosts--and they householders in Israel, albeit unillumined--I

arrived at the goal of the first stage of my journey, the village of

Mizricz.

I scarcely stayed to refresh myself after my journey, but hastened

immediately to Rabbi Baer's house, which rose regal and lofty on a

wooded eminence overlooking the river as it foamed through the

mountain gullies on its way to the Dnieper. I crossed the broad

pine-bridge without a second glance at the rushing water, but to my

acute disappointment when I reached the great house I was not

admitted. I was told that the Saint could not be seen of mortal eye

till the Sabbath, being, I gathered, in a mystic transport. It was

then Wednesday. Mine was not the only disappointment, for the door was

besieged by a curious rabble of pilgrims of both sexes, some come from

very far, some on foot and in rags, some in well-appointed equipages.

One of the latter--a beautiful, richly dressed woman--by no means took

her exclusion with good grace, bidding her coachman knock again and

again at the door, and endeavoring to bribe the door-keeper with

grocery, wine, and finally gold; but all in vain. I entered into

conversation with members of the crowd, and discovered that some came

for cures, and some for charms, and some for divine interpositions in

their worldly affairs. One man, I found, desired that the price of

wheat might go up, and another that it might fall. Another desired a

husband for his elderly daughter, already nineteen. And an old couple

were in great distress at the robbery of their jewels, and were sure

the Saint would discover the thief and recover the booty. I found but

one, who, like me, came from a consuming desire to hear new doctrine

for the soul. And so I was to have the advantage of them, I learnt,

not without chuckling; for whereas I should receive my wish on the

Sabbath, being invited to attend "the Supper of the Holy Queen," these

worldly matters could not be attended to till the Sunday. I whiled

away the intervening days as patiently as I could, exploring the

beautiful environs beyond the Saint's house, further than which nobody

ever seemed to penetrate; and, indeed, it was but seldom that I had

heard of a Jew's making the blessing over lofty mountains or beautiful

trees. Perhaps because our country was for the most part only a great

swamp. But often had I occasion in these walks to say, "Blessed art

thou, O Lord our God, who hast such things in Thy world." I scarcely

ever saw a human creature, which somehow comforted and uplifted me.

Only once were my meditations interrupted, and that by a shout which

startled me, and just enabled me to get out of the way of an elegant,

glittering carriage drawn by two white horses, in which a

stout-looking man lolled luxuriously, smoking a hookah. My prayerful

mood was broken, and I fell upon worldly thoughts of riches and ease.

On Friday night I ate with an elder of the Chassidim, who heard of my

interest in his order, but whom I could not get to understand that I

was come to examine, not to accept unquestioningly. I plied him with

questions as to the ideas of his sect, but he for his part could make

nothing clear to me except the doctrine of self-annihilation in

prayer, by which the devout worshipper was absorbed into the Godhead;

a doctrine from which flowed naturally the abrogation of stated hours

of prayer, since the mood of absorption could not be had at command.

Sometimes, indeed, silence was the better prayer, and this was the

true explanation of the Talmudical saying: "If speech is worth one

piece of silver, silence is worth two." And this, likewise, was the

meaning of the verse in 2 Kings ch. iii. v. 15: "When the minstrel

played, the spirit of God came upon him." That is to say, when the

minstrel became an instrument and uttered music, it was because the

spirit of God played upon him. So long as a man is self-active, he

cannot receive the Holy Ghost.

The text in Kings seemed to me rather wrenched from its context in the

fashion already nauseous to me in the orthodox schools, but as I had

never in my life had such moments of grace as in my mountain-walks, I

expressed so hearty an acquiescence in the doctrine itself--shocking

to the orthodox mind trained in elaborate codification of the

time-limits of the dawn-prayer or the westering-service--that mine

host was more persuaded than ever I meant to become a Chassid.

"There is no rite," said he reassuringly. "That you desire Perfection

suffices to ensure your reception into our order. At the Supper of the

Holy Queen you will not be asked as to your past life, or your sins,

because your heart is to the Saint as an open scroll, as you will

discover when you have the bliss to see him face to face, for though

he will address all the pilgrims in a body, yet you will find

particular references designed only for you."

"But he has never heard of me before!"

"These things would be hard for one who preaches to his own glory. But

he who lets the spirit play upon him is wiser than all the preachers."

With beating heart I entered the Saint's house on the long-expected

Sabbath. I was ushered, with many other men, into a dining-room,

richly carpeted and tapestried, with a large oak table, laid for about

a score. A liveried attendant, treading with hushed footsteps,

imparted to us his own awe, and, scarcely daring to whisper, we

awaited the great man. At last he appeared, tall and majestic, in a

flowing caftan of white satin, cut so as to reveal his bare breast.

His shoes were white, and even the snuff-box he toyed with was equally

of the color of grace. As I caught my first glimpse of his face, I

felt it was strangely familiar, but where or when I had seen it I

could not recall, and the thought of this haunted the back of my mind

throughout.

"Peace be to you," he said to each in turn. We breathed back

respectful response, and took our seats at the table. The same solemn

silence reigned during the meal, which was wound up by _Kuggol_

(Sabbath-pudding). By this time the room was full of new-comers, who

had gradually dropped in for the levée, and who swarmed about the

table, anxious for the merest crumb of the pudding. And great was the

bliss on the faces of those who succeeded in snatching a morsel, as

though it secured them Paradise.

When this unseemly scramble was over, the Saint--who, leaning his brow

on his hands, had appeared not to notice these proceedings--struck up

a solemn hymn-tune. Then he put his hands over his eyes, as if lost in

an ecstasy; after which he suddenly began to call out our names,

coupled with the places we came from, astonishing us all in turn. Each

guest, when thus cried, responded with a verse from the Scriptures.

When it came to my turn, I was so taken aback by the Saint's knowledge

of me that I could not think of a verse. But at last, blushing and

confused, I fell back upon my name-verse, which began with my initial

to help me to remember my name (for so I had been taught) when the

angel should demand it of me in my tomb. To my astonishment the Saint

then began to deliver a discourse upon all these texts, so ingeniously

dovetailed that one would have sworn no better texts could have been

selected. "Verily have they spoken the truth of this man's learning,"

I thought, with a glow. Nor did this marvellous oration fail to evince

that surprising knowledge of my past--even down to my dead wife--which

mine host had predicted. I left this wonder-worker's house exalted and

edified, though all I remember now of the discourse was the novel

interpretation of the passage in the Mishna: "Let the honor of thy

neighbor be as dear to thee as thine own."

"Thine own," said Baer, "means the honor thou doest to thyself; to

take pleasure in the which were ridiculous. As little pleasure should

the wise man take in his neighbor's honor--that is, in the honor which

his neighbor doeth him." This seemed rather inconsistent with his own

pomp, and I only appreciated the sentiment months later.

After this discourse was quite over, a member of the sect arrived.

"Why so late?" he was asked.

"My wife was confined," he said shamefacedly. Facetiously uproarious

congratulations greeted him.

"Boy or girl?" cried many voices.

"Girl," he said more shamefacedly.

"A girl!" cried the Saint, in indignant accents. "You ought to be

whipped."

Immediately the company with great glee set upon the unfortunate man,

tumbled him over, and gave him an hilarious but hearty drubbing. I

looked at the Saint in astonishment. His muscles were relaxed in a

grin, and I had another flash of elusive recollection of his face. But

ere I could fix it, he stopped the horse-play.

"Come, brethren," he said, "let us serve the Lord with gladness," and

he trolled forth a jocund hymn.

On the next day, with mingled feelings, I again sought the Zaddik's

doorway, through which was pouring the stream of those who had waited

so long; but access to the holy man was still not easy. In the spacious

antechamber sat the Saint's scribe, at a table round which the crowd

clustered, each explaining his or her want, which the scribe scribbled

upon a scrap of paper for them to take in to the Saint. I listened to

the instructions of the clamorous applicants. "I, Rachel, daughter of

Hannah, wish to have children," ran the request of the beautiful rich

woman whose coachman had knocked so persistently; and her gratuity to

the scribe seemed to be of gold. I myself paid only a few kreutzer, and

simply desired--and was alone in desiring--"Perfection." There was

another money-receiving man at the Rabbi's door; but I followed in the

golden wake of the rich lady, and was just in time to witness the

parting gratitude of the vociferous old couple to whom the Rabbi had

restored their jewels. The Saint, with no signs of satisfaction at his

miraculous success, gravely dismissed the garrulous couple, and took

the folded paper which the beautiful woman handed him, and which he did

not even open, placing it to his forehead and turning his eyes

heavenwards.

"You wish to have a child," he said.

The woman started. "O thou man of God!" she cried, falling at his

feet.

The Saint placed his hand reassuringly upon her hair. And at this

moment something in his expression at length unsealed my eyes, and I

recognized, with a pang of pain, the man who had driven past me in that

elegant equipage, lolling luxuriously and smoking his hookah. I was so

perturbed that I fled unceremoniously from the audience-chamber.

Perfection, indeed! Here was a teacher of humility who sat throned amid

tapestries, a preacher of righteousness who, when he feigned to be

absorbed in God, was wallowing in his carriage! Yea, these Rabbis of

the Chassidim were whitewashed sepulchres; and, as the orthodox

communities did not fail of such, it seemed a waste of energy to go out

of the fold in search of more. All that I had heard against the sect on

my route swept back into my mind, and I divided its members into rogues

and dupes. And in this bitter mood a dozen little threads flew together

and knitted themselves into a web of wickedness. I told myself that the

hamlet must be full of Baer's spies, and that my host himself had

cunningly extracted from me the facts of my history; and as for the

restored jewels, I felt sure his own men had stolen them. I slung my

knapsack across my shoulder and started for home.

But I had not made many hundred yards when my mood softened. I

remembered the wonderful sermon, with its manipulation of texts Rabbi

Baer could not have foreseen, and bethought myself that he was indeed

a Prince in Israel, and that King David and Solomon the Wise had not

failed to live in due magnificence. "And after all," mused I, "'tis

innocent enough to drive by the river-side. Who knows but even thus is

his absorption in God accomplished? Do not they who smoke this

tobacco aver that it soothes and purifies the soul?"

Besides, who but a fool, I reflected further, would slink back to his

starting-point, his goal unvisited? I had seen the glory of the

disciple, let me gaze upon the glory of the Master, and upon the

purple splendors of his court.

And so I struck out again for Miedziboz, though by a side-path, so as

to avoid the village of Baer.