THE RECOMPENSE.
For four weeks Rachel had been a prisoner in her own house; all persons,
with the exception of a Catholic priest and a Jewish rabbi, having been
refused access to her. But at the expiration of this time a deputy from
the imperial chancery was admitted, who had a long interview with the
poor girl, and at dusk another visitor presented himself at the door of
that gloomy abode. This last one was Baron Eskeles Flies.
The sentinels had allowed him to pass, and the guards in Rachel's
anteroom gave way also, for the baron's permit to visit his daughter was
from the emperor. With a respectful inclination they presented the key
of the prisoner's room and awaited her father's orders.
"Go below, and wait until I call you," said he.
"Of course, as we are commanded in the permit to obey you, we follow the
emperor's order."
Herr Eskeles thanked them, and putting a ducat in the hand of each, the
men departed in a state of supreme satisfaction. They had scarcely left,
when the banker bolted the door from the inside, and crossed the room
toward the opposite door. His hand trembled so that he could not
introduce the key to open it, and he was obliged to retreat to the sofa,
and there recover himself.
"How will she receive me?" thought he. "They say that she is sadly
changed, and that her father would scarcely know his beautiful child
again. Oh, my child, will I be able to bear the sight of your grief
without falling at your feet, and acknowledging my guilt? But pshaw! She
is safe now. I shall take her home; and for every tear that she has
shed, I will give her a diamond bright as a star She shall have gold,
pearls, riches, and be once more the envy of all the women in Vienna.
Yes, my Rachel, yes--gold, diamonds, and happiness!"
He turned the key, and the door opened. Not a sound greeted his entrance
into that dismal room, wherein four funeral-looking wax-lights were
burning at each corner of a square table. Even so had the lights burned
in the room where Rachel's mother once lay head. The banker thought of
this, as between those flaring lights he saw the pale, wan figure on the
sofa, that seemed as rigid, as motionless, and as white as a corpse.
Was it indeed Rachel? Those pinched features, those hollow eyes; that
figure, so bowed with sorrow, could that be his peerless daughter? What
had diamonds and pearls in common with that pale spectre?
The banker could scarcely suppress a cry of angwish as he gaze a upon
the wreck of so much beauty. But he gathered courage to cross the room,
and stood before her.
"Rachel," said he, in a soft, imploring voice, "do you know me?"
"I know you," replied she, without moving; "do you know me?"
"My beloved child, my heart recognizes yon, and calls you to itself.
Come, darling, come and rest within you father's protecting arms. See,
they are open to receive you. I have forgiven all, and am ready to
devote my whole life to your happiness."
He opened his arms, but Rachel did not stir. She looked at him, and when
he saw the look, his hands dropped nerveless to his side.
"Where is Gunther?" asked she. "What have you done with him?"
"I, my child?" exclaimed Eskeles. "The emperor has detected him in some
dishonorable act (I know not what), and has sent him recruit to
Hungary."
"I have heard this fable before," said Rachel, with a glance of mourn.
"The priest who was sent to convert, has tried to console me for my
loss, by dinning in my ears that Gunther was a traitor; but I know
better. He is the victim of a Jew's revenge. It is you who have accused
him with false witnesses, false letters, with all that vengeance can
inspire, and wicked gold can buy. You are the accuser of my noble
Gunther!" By this time she had arisen, and now she stood confronting her
father, her wasted finger pointing toward him, and her sunken eyes
glowing like lights from a dark, deep cave. "Who says so? Who has dared
accuse me?" said he.
"Your face accuses you!--your eyes, that dare not encounter mine!
Nay--do not raise your hand in sacrilegious protest, but answer me. By
the faith of your ancestors, are you not the man who denounced him?"
He could not meet her scrutinizing glance. He averted his face,
murmuring: "He who accused him is no better than himself. But it is the
emperor who condemned him."
"The emperor is miserably befooled," cried Rachel. "He knows not the
subtlety of Jewish revenge. But I am of the Jewish race, and I know it.
I know my father, and I know my lover!"
"In this hour of reunion we will not discuss the innocence or guilt of
the emperor's secretary," said the banker, gently. "I am thankful that
the dark cloud which has hidden you so long from my sight is lifted, and
that all is well with us again."
"All is not well, for between us lies the grave of my happiness, and
that grave has sundered us forever. I cannot come to you, my father: the
memory of my lover is between us, and that memory--oh, do not call it a
cloud! 'Tis the golden beam of that sun which has set, but whose rays
are still warm within my breaking heart. I say nothing to you of all
that I have endured during these four weeks of anguish; but this I can
tell you, my father, that I have never repented my choice. I am
Gunther's for life, and for death, which is the birth of immortality!"
"He is a dishonored man!" said Eskeles, frowning.
"And I, too, will be dishonored to-morrow," replied Rachel.
Her father started. He had forgotten the disgrace which threatened her.
"Rachel," said he, with exceeding tenderness, "I come to rescue you from
shame and suffering."
"To rescue me?" echoed she. "Whither would you have me fly?"
"To the house of your father, my child."
"I have no father," replied she, with a weary sigh. "My father would
have forced my heart, as the priest and the rabbi would have forced my
belief. But I am free in my faith, my love, and my hate; and this
freedom will sustain me to-morrow throughout the torture and shame of a
disgraceful punishment."
"You surely will not brave the lash!" cried her father, his cheeks
blanched with horror at the thought. "You will be womanly, my child, and
recant."
"I must speak the truth," said she, interrupting him. "The doors of the
synagogue, as well as those of the church, are closed against me. I am
no Jewess, and you forced me to swear that I would never become a
Christian. But what matters it?" continued she, kindling with
enthusiasm, "I believe in God--the God of love and mercy; and to-morrow
I shall see His face!"
"You would destroy yourself!" cried her father, his senses almost
forsaking him.
"No. But do you suppose that I shall survive the severity and
humiliation of the lash which it is the pleasure of the emperor to
inflict upon me? No, my father, I shall die before the executioner has
time to strike his second blow."
"Rachel, my Rachel, do not speak such dreadful words!" cried Eskeles,
wringing his hands in despair. "You cannot be a Christian, I know it; for
their belief is unworthy of a pure soul. How could you ever give the
hand of fellowship to a race who have outlawed you, because you scorn to
utter a falsehood! But confess yourself a Jewess, and all will be well
with us once more."
"I shall never return to the Jewish God of wrath and revenge! MY God is
all love. I must acknowledge Him before the world, and die for His
sake!"
There was a pause. Rachel was calm and resolute; her father almost
distracted. After a time he spoke again.
"So be it, then," cried he, raising his hand to heaven. "Be a Christian.
I absolve you from your oath, and oh, my Rachel! if I sought the world
for a proof of my overweening love, it could offer nothing to compare
with this sacrifice. Go, my child, and become a Christian."
She shook her head. "The Christian's cruelty has cured me of my love for
Christianity. I can never be one of a race who have persecuted my
innocent lover. As for you, the cause of his martyrdom, hear my
determination, and know that it is inflexible. I am resolved to endure
the punishment; and when the blood streams from my back, and my frantic
cries pierce the air until they reach your palace walls;--when in the
midst of the gaping populace, my body lies stretched upon the
market-place, dishonored by the hand of the executioner,--then shall
your revenge have returned to you; for the whole world will point at you
as you pass, and say, 'He is the father of the woman who was whipped to
death by the hangman!' "
"Alas!" sobbed the father, "I see that you hate me, and yet I must
rescue you, even against your own will. The emperor has given me a pass
to Paris. It is himself who allows me to escape with my poor, misguided
child. Come, dear Rachel, come, ere it be too late, and in Paris we can
forget our sorrows and begin life anew!"
"No! he has made the law, and he must bear the consequences of his own
cruelty. He need not think to rescue himself from the odium of his acts,
by conniving at my escape! I hate that emperor, the oppressor of my
beloved; and as he dishonored Gunther, so shall he dishonor me. Our woes
will cry to Heaven for vengeance, and--"
But Rachel suddenly ceased, and fell hack upon a chair. She had no
strength to repulse her father, as he raised her in his arms, and laid
her upon the sofa. He looked into her marble face, and put his lips to
hers.
"She has swooned," cried he in despair. "We must fly at once. Rachel,
Rachel, away! The time is almost up. Come, we must away!"
She opened her eyes, and looked around. "Come, my daughter," said her
father, kissing her wasted hands.
She said nothing, but stared and smiled a vacant smile. Again he took
her hands, and saw that they were hot and dry. Her breath, too, was hot,
and yet her pulse was feeble and fitful.
Her father, in his agony, dropped on his knees beside the unconscious
girl. But this was no time for wailing. He rose to his feet again, and
darting from the room, offered a handful of gold to the sentry, if he
would but seek a physician. Then he returned to Rachel. She lay still
with her eyes wide, wide open, while she murmured inaudible words, which
lie vainly strove to understand.
At length came the physician. He bent over the patient, examined her
pulse, felt her forehead, and then turning to the banker, who stood by
with his heart throbbing as if it would burst--
"Are you a relative of the lady?" asked he.
"I am her father," replied Eskeles, and even in this terrible hour he
felt a thrill of joy as he spoke the words.
"I regret, then, to say to you that she is very ill. Her malady is
typhoid fever, in its most dangerous form. I fear that she will not
recover: she must have been ill for some weeks, and have concealed her
illness. Has she suffered mentally of late?"
"Yes, I believe that she has," faltered the banker. "Will she die?"
"I am afraid to give you any hope--the disease has gone so far. It is
strange. Was there no relative near her to see how ill she has been for
so long a time?"
Gracious Heaven! What torture he inflicted upon the guilty father! At
that moment he would have recalled Gunther, and welcomed him as a son,
could his presence have saved the child whom himself had murdered!
"Doctor," said he, in husky, trembling tones, "doctor, you must save my
child. Ask what you will--I am rich, and if you restore her to me, you
shall have a million!"
"Unhappily, life cannot be bought with gold," replied the physician.
"God alone can restore her. We can do naught but assist Nature, and
alleviate her sufferings."
"How can we alleviate her suffering?" asked Eskeles humbly, for his
spirit was broken.
"By cool drinks, and cold compressions upon her head," said the
physician. "Are there no women here to serve her?"
"No," murmured the banker. "My daughter is a prisoner. She is Rachel
Eskeles Flies."
"Ah! The Deist who was to have suffered to-morrow? Poor, poor child,
neither church nor synagogue can avail her now, for God will take her to
himself."
"But there is a possibility of saving her, is there not?" asked the
father imploringly. "We must try every thing, for--she must be saved!"
"Must?" repeated the physician. "Think you because you are rich that you
can bribe Heaven? See, rather, how impotent your wealth has been to make
your beautiful child happy (for I know her story). And, now, in spite of
all the gold for which you have sacrificed her, she will die of a broken
heart!"
Just then Rachel uttered a loud shriek, and clasping both her hands
around her head, cried out that her brain was on fire.
"Cold compressions--quick," exclaimed the physician imperatively; and
the banker staggered into Rachel's dressing-room (the room which Gunther
had so daintily fitted up), and brought water and a soft fine towel,
which his trembling hands could scarcely bind upon his poor child's
head. Then, as her moaning ceased, and her arms dropped, he passed into
an ecstasy of joy, for now he began to hope that she would be spared to
him.
"We must have female attendance here," said the physician.
"She must be put to bed and tenderly watched. Go, baron, and bring your
servants. I will see the emperor, and take upon myself the
responsibility of having infringed his orders. Before such imminent
peril all imprisonment is at an end."
"I cannot leave her," returned the baron. "You say she has but a few
days to live; if so, I cannot spare one second of her life. I entreat of
you, take my carriage, and in mercy, bring the servants for me. Oh,
listen! she screams again--doctor go, I entreat! Here--fresh
compressions--water! Oh, be quick!"
And again the wretched man bent over his child, and laid the cloths upon
her head. The physician had gone, and he was alone with his treasure. He
felt it a relief to be able to kiss her hands, to weep aloud, to throw
himself upon his knees, and pray to the God of Israel to spare his idol!
The night went by, the servants came, and the physician, examining his
patient again, promised to return in a few hours. Rachel was carried to
her bed, and, hour after hour, the banker sat patient and watchful,
listening to every moan, echoing every sigh; afraid to trust his
precious charge to any one, lest the vigilance of another might fail.
A day and another night went by, and still no sleep had come over those
glaring eyes. But she wept bitter tears, and when he heard her broken,
murmured words of anguish, he thought he would go mad!
But sometimes in her fever-madness she smiled and was happy. Then she
laughed aloud, and spoke to her beloved, who was always at her side. She
had not once pronounced the name of her father; she seemed to have
forgotten him, remembering nothing in all her past life save her love
for Gunther.
Often her father knelt beside her, and with tears streaming from his
eyes, implored a look, a word--one single word of forgiveness. But
Rachel laughed and sang, heedless of the despairing wretch who lay
stricken to the earth at her side; while the lover whom she caressed was
far away, unconscious of the blessing.
Suddenly she uttered a wild cry, and starting up, threw her arms
convulsively about. Now she invoked the vengeance of Heaven upon
Gunther's murderers and at last--at last, was heard the name of her
father! She cursed him!
With a cry as piercing as that of the poor maniac, Eskeles Flies sank
upon his knees, and wept aloud.
Gradually Rachel grew more tranquil: and now she lay back on her pillow
with a happy smile on her lips. But she spoke not a word. Once more she
sighed "Gunther," and then relapsed into silence.
Into a silence that seemed so breathless and so long, that her father
arose, frightened, from his knees. He bent over his smiling child, and
her face seemed transfigured. Not a sigh stirred he, bosom, not a moan
fluttered from her lips. But that smile remained so long unchanged, and
her eyes--surely they were glazed! Yes!--Rachel was dead. [Footnote: The
sad fate of Gunther and of his beloved Rachel is mentioned by Hormayer
in his work, "The Emperor Francis and Metternich: a Fragment," p 78]