THE FLIGHT.
"You persist in your refusal?" cried Eskeles Flies, in an angry voice.
"You dare to oppose the will of your father?"
"I persist in my refusal," replied Rachel firmly, lifting her dark,
tearful eyes to her father's excited countenance. "I must rebel against
your authority, my father, for you would compromise my earthly happiness
and my salvation. Oh, dear father, do not harden your heart against me!
In mercy heed my prayers!"
With these words Rachel would have thrown herself upon her father's
bosom. But he thrust her from him.
"'Tis you who have hardened your heart against the law of God which bids
the child obey her father," cried he.
"I cannot recognize my father's authority when he oversteps his rights,
and trenches upon mine as a human being," urged Rachel. "I cannot
perjure myself by accepting, as a husband, a man whom I do not love. He
is a coarse, illiterate creature, who honors nothing but wealth, loves
nothing but gold!"
"He is the son of the richest merchant in Brussels, and the emperor has
made a nobleman of his father. He is your equal, or rather he is your
superior, for he is richer, much richer than we."
"He my equal! He cannot understand me," cried Rachel.
Her father laughed. "Not your equal, because he does not go into
raptures over young Mozart, and does not indulge in speculative
theology, but worships God after the manner of his fathers!--a Jew, in
short, who hates the Christian and glories in his Jewish birthright!"
"Yes," said Rachel, shuddering, "a Jew in feature, speech, and spirit.
Not such a noble Israelite as you, my father, but a man possessing every
repulsive peculiarity which has made the Jew the pariah of the civilized
world. Oh, father, dear father, do not barter me for gold! Let me remain
your child, your darling; living and dying in the home which your love
has made like Eden to my girlhood!"
"I have promised your hand to Baron von Meyer," was the curt reply.
"I will not give it!" cried Rachel, frantically. "You force me to
disobedience, by requiring of me that which is impossible."
"I shall force you to obedience, rebellious girl, for our laws invest
the father with absolute authority over his child, and I shall use my
right to rescue you from dishonor. I read your heart, Rachel, and
therein I see written the history of your perfidy and shame."
"Then you have read falsely," exclaimed Rachel, with indignation. "Up to
this day I have kept the oath I made to remain a Jewess! And no mortal,
were he ten times my father, has the right to couple my name with
perfidy or shame!"
"You dare look me in the face and deny your disgrace!" said her father,
trembling with anger. "You, who at early morning in my own garden have
listened to the vows of a false-tongued Christian! You who have sworn to
be no man's wife, if not his!"
"Ah, you know all!" cried Rachel, in accents of supreme joy. "God be
praised, there need be no more concealment between us! Yes, father, I
love Gunther, and if I be not permitted to become his wife, in the might
of my love I would not scorn to be his handmaid! I have loved him since
you first brought him hither, and proudly presented him as the emperor's
favorite. Oh, my father, we were not rich then!"
"No--and he would have scorned to ask you to wed him. Now he would
degrade the heiress of my wealth by seeking to make her his wife."
"Degrade me!" echoed Rachel, with a blush of indignation. "I should be
honored by bearing his name, not because he is the emperor's favorite,
but because he is worthy of my love."
"And yet, God be praised, Rachel Eskeles can never be the wife of a
Christian!" shouted the banker, triumphantly, "for she has sworn by the
memory of her mother to die a Jewess!"
"She will keep her oath unless her father release her," replied Rachel.
"But oh!" added she, falling on her knees and raising her white arms
above her head, "he will have pity upon the misery of his only child; he
will not condemn her to despair! Have mercy, have mercy, dear father! Be
your generous self, and take me to your heart. Release me, and let me
become a Christian and the wife of my lover! He cares nothing for your
wealth, he asks nothing but my hand!"
Her father glared at her with a look that seemed almost like hate. "You
are a Jewess," hissed he, "and a Jewess you shall die!"
"I am no Jewess at heart, father. I have been educated in a Christian
country, and after the manner of Christian women. And you, too, have
renounced your birthright. You have eaten and drunk with the Gentiles;
you have cut your hair, and have adopted their dress. Nay, more! You
have parted with your name, and have accepted a Christian title. Why,
then, have you not the manliness to abjure the god of revenge and hate,
and openly adore the Christian God of love and mercy?"
"I will live and die a Jew!" cried the banker, choking with rage. "I
swear it again, and may I be accursed if I ever break my oath!"
"Then, father, release me from the lie that follows me like an evil
shadow, blasting my life here and hereafter. Give me to my lover. Keep
your wealth to enrich your tribe, but give me your blessing and your
love!"
"You shall remain a Jewess!" thundered her father.
"Is this your last word?" cried Rachel, springing to her feet. "Is this
your last word?"
"It is," replied he, eying her with cold cruelty.
"Then hear my determination. I have sworn fidelity to Gunther, and if I
must choose between you, I give myself to him. I will not become a
Christian, for such was my oath; but I will abjure Judaism."
"And become a Deist?"
"Call it what you will. I shall adore the God of love and mercy."
"A Deist! Then you have never heard what punishment awaits the Deist
here. You do not know that the emperor, who affects toleration, has his
vulnerable heel, and will not tolerate Deism. The gentle punishment
which his majesty awards to Deism is--that of the lash. [Footnote:
Gross-Hoffinger, ii., p. 160.] So that I scarcely think you would dare
me to accuse you of that! But pshaw! I go too far in my fears. My
daughter will recognize her folly, and yield her will to mine. She will
be, as she has ever been, my adored child, for whose happiness I can
never do too much; whose every wish it shall be my joy to gratify."
"I have but one wish--that of becoming the wife of Gunther."
Her father affected not to hear her. "Yes," continued he, "she will
verify my promise, and take the husband I have chosen. This marriage
will be a fine thing for both parties, for I give my daughter one-half
million of florins, and Baron von Meyer gives his son a million cash
down. Then the father-in-law gives three hundred florins a month for
pin-money, and I seven hundred; so that Rachel has a thousand florins a
month for her little caprices, and of this she is to render no account.
That is a pretty dower for a bride. I give my daughter a trousseau equal
in magnificence to that of a princess. Upon her equipage, the arms of
our two houses are already emblazoned, and to-morrow four of the finest
horses in Vienna will conduct the Baroness von Meyer to her husband's
palace. I congratulate you, baroness. No Christian woman in Vienna shall
have an establishment like yours."
"I shall never be the Baroness von Meyer," said Rachel, calmly, but an
icy chill ran through her veins, for she loved her father, and felt that
they must shortly part forever.
"Yes, you will be the Baroness von Meyer to-morrow. I have anticipated
all your objections. The rabbi that is to marry you is a Pole. He will
not understand your reply, and the young baron has magnanimously
consented to overlook any little informality of which your folly may be
the cause; for he likes money, and is too good a Jew not to aid me in
rescuing my heiress from disgrace. You see that your poor little
struggles will all be in vain. Resign yourself, then, and accept the
brilliant destiny which awaits you."
"I will sooner die than consign myself to misery and disgrace!"
"Be easy on that subject. God will shield you from misery, and your
father's watchful eye will see that you do not consign yourself to
disgrace," replied the banker, coldly. "But enough of words. Night sets
in, and I have yet a few preparations to make for tomorrow. It is proper
that you pass the last evening of your maiden life in solitude, and that
you may not spend it in weariness, I have ordered your drawing-rooms to
be lighted, and your trousseau to be laid out for your inspection. Go,
and gladden your heart with its magnificence. Good-night."
So saying, Baron Eskeles Flies left the room. Rachel heard him turn the
key in the lock, and withdraw it. She then remembered that the
drawing-rooms were lighted. Perhaps her father had neglected to fasten
some of the doors leading thence into the hall. She sprang to the door
of communication, and flung it open. The rooms were brilliantly
illuminated, and the sparkling chandeliers of crystal looked down upon a
wilderness of velvet, satin, flowers, lace, and jewels--truly a
trousseau for a princess.
But what cared Rachel for this? Indeed, she saw nothing, save the
distant doors toward which she sped like a frightened doe. Alas! they,
too, were locked, and the only answers to her frantic calls were the
mocking echoes of her own voice.
For a few moments she leaned against the wall for support; then her
glance took in the long perspective of magnificence which was to gild
the hideous sacrifice of a whole human life, and she murmured, softly:
"I must be free. I cannot perjure myself. I shall keep my vow to Gunther
or die! My father is no father--he is my jailer, and I owe him no longer
the obedience of a child."
She went slowly back, revolving in her mind what she should do.
Unconsciously she paused before a table resplendent with trinkets, whose
surpassing beauty seemed to woo the young girl to her fate. But Rachel
was no longer a maiden to be allured by dress. The exigencies of the
hour had transformed her into a brave woman, who was donning her armor
and preparing for the fight.
"Gunther awaits me," said she, musing.
But why--where? that she could not say. But she felt that she must free
herself from prison, and that her fate now lay in her own hands.
At that moment she stood before a large round table which was just under
the principal chandelier of her superb reception-room. Here lay dainty
boxes containing laces, and caskets enclosing jewels. Not for one moment
did she think of their contents. She saw but the gilt letters which were
impressed upon the red morocco cases.
"RACHEL VON MEYER" was on every box and case. In her father's mind she
already bore another name.
"Rachel von Meyer!" said she, with a shudder. "My father denies me his
name! Who, then, am I?"
A flush of modest shame overspread her face, as scarcely daring to
articulate the words, she knelt, and murmured:
"I am Rachel Gunther. And if such be my name," continued she, after a
pause of rapture, "I have no right to be here amid the treasures of the
Baroness von Meyer. I must away from this house, which is no longer a
home for me. Away, away! for Gunther awaits me."
And now she looked with despair at the locked doors and the lofty
windows, so far, far from the ground.
"Oh, if I had but wings!--I, who am here a prisoner, while my heart is
away with him!"
Suddenly she gave a start, for deliverance was possible. She looked from
the window as if to measure its height, and then she darted through the
rooms until she saw a table covered with silks. She took thence a roll
of white, heavy ribbon, and, throwing it before her, exclaimed joyfully:
"It is long, oh, it is quite long enough. And strong enough to support
me. Thank Heaven! it is dark, and I shall not he seen. A gold ducat will
bribe the guard at the postern--and then I am free!"
She returned to her sitting-room, and, with trembling haste, threw a
dark mantle around her. Then, looking up at her father's portrait, her
eyes filled with bitter tears.
"Farewell, my father, farewell!"
Scarcely knowing what she did, she fled from her room, and returned to
the only object which possessed any more interest for her there, the
long, long ribbon which, like a gigantic serpent, lay glistening on the
floor where she had unrolled it. She stooped to pick it up, and trailing
it after her, she flew from room to room, until she came to the last one
of the suite which overlooked the park. She opened a window, and
listened.
Nothing was heard there save the "warbling wind," that wooed the young
branches, and here and there a little bird that ventured its note upon
the night.
Rachel secured the ribbon to the crosswork of the window, and then let
it fall below. Once more she listened. She could almost hear the
beatings of her own heart, but nothing else broke the silence of the
house.
She gave one quick glance around her beautiful home were lay all the
splendor that might have been hers, and grasping the ribbon firmly in
her hands, she dropped from the window to the ground.