Gabriel Part 9

"Reb Mordechai," now interposed a young man with a dark expressive countenance, whom the others called Reb Michoel; "leave that for the present. It is a fine thing when learning is combined with knowledge of the world.... The affairs of this world are also of importance even though you cannot understand it; you come from outside," he continued turning to Gabriel, "have you perchance heard anything more authentic about the battle? It is reported, that the Hungarian cavalry was at first victorious, but that the heavy artillery of the Imperialists had silenced the fire of the small...."

"What does it signify to a student," asked Reb Mordechai vehemently, "whether the cavalry fired on the infantry, or the infantry on the cavalry, whether they first let off the small firelocks and then the great guns, or contrariwise? What rightly const.i.tuted student troubles him about such things? A student may become a Rabbi, or a butcher, or peaceful father of a family, but have you ever seen a student that became a soldier?"

A third youth who had as yet taken no share in the conversation drew nearer. "I have only been a short time in Prague," he said, "I have up to this time been studying at Frankfurt on Main, I am not aware whether the name of Gabriel Suss is known to you.... he was first an able student, and then became a soldier."

Gabriel shrunk within himself; he heard himself thus named for the first time since many years, he made no answer, but Michoel shook his head negatively. "Gabriel Suss.... Suss"--repeated Reb Mordechai thoughtfully, "was not he a b.a.s.t.a.r.d? I once heard something about it.... but I have no memory for such trifling matters."

"What happened to him?" asked Michoel inquisitively, "tell us, I pray you."

Reb Nochum--that was the name of the Frankfurt student--complied with Reb Michoel's urgent request, and related Gabriel's history, departing indeed here and there somewhat from the truth, but on the whole correctly enough. His story concluded thus, that Gabriel had once since his baptism been seen by early acquaintances on horseback with several Imperial troopers, but might perhaps, as he had disappeared since that time, have met his death in the Juliers and Cleves war.

"Yes, I have heard something of the kind," said Mordechai, when the Frankfurt student had finished; "but it was not known in Prague that he had become a soldier, it was reported that he had drowned himself; who knows however whether it was true.... Besides you know, he might have been declared legitimate, yes truly," added Mordechai hastily, feeling himself once more on firm ground, "The mothers declaration is worth nothing, Gabriel Suss ought not to be looked upon as a b.a.s.t.a.r.d, refer to the Jad-ha-Chasaka cap. 15 &c." ...

"That's all very well, Reb Mordechai," replied Michoel, "but you forget, it was a dying mother, a dying mother will not part from her child with a lie.... and moreover she had ever till then, as this story is told, loved her son.... besides, what would be the use to him? Will any one, will any one person doubt, that he is a b.a.s.t.a.r.d? If you had a sister or daughter, would you give her to him to wife? think of that, Reb Mordechai: _No power on earth could establish the legality of his birth before our inward convictions!_"

Michoel's glance chanced to rest upon Gabriel's face, he noticed the fiery red, and deadly pallor that coursed in quick succession over Gabriel's features.--"_Not before inward conviction_," echoed Gabriel, feebly.--Reb Mordechai had no answer to make, and a pause ensued.

Gabriel might now have got away, but he would not, the conversation was too interesting to him not to hear the end of it.

"The law: that a b.a.s.t.a.r.d may not enter into the congregation of the Lord," began Reb Nochum again, "is unreasonable. Why should the innocent be punished for the sins of his parents? Why is he cast forth from the closest, loveliest union? Why may he never lead home a loving woman as wife? Why may he not be happy in the circle of his family? Yet consider, even in this law the spirit of the Lord comes to light, which breathes upon the faithful out of every word of Holy Scripture.

Contemplate this b.a.s.t.a.r.d, this Gabriel Suss.... he cursed his inanimate mother: ... only a b.a.s.t.a.r.d could do that, no man could perpetrate such an iniquity, unless he were born in sin.... The transgression, that called him into life, urges him ever farther forward, and involuntarily he trod the paths of sin.... therefore the Lord in his wisdom may...."

"You are a thinker," Michoel interrupted the speaker, "and I am glad to have met you: such are not often found among students.... _A firm faith in G.o.d is not shaken by reasonable speculations, if they are kept properly subordinate_. But you are in error friend! G.o.d forbid, that any man should be obliged to follow a path absolutely fixed beforehand, the path of sin.--Where would his free will be? that is not so. You may not give a daughter or sister to a b.a.s.t.a.r.d as wife, so the commentaries enjoin us--but only that and nothing further is declared by the Talmud--that is a command, like many others, a command of the Lord's, obscure and inexplicable to man's mind.... but a b.a.s.t.a.r.d may be n.o.ble, great, a shining light to his people. Are you not acquainted with the article 'a b.a.s.t.a.r.d profoundly versed in scripture is superior in dignity to a high priest who is less deserving.' Is it not true,"

Michoel turned to Mordechai, "that it is so. Gabriel Suss ought not to have despaired, ought not to have acted as he did. The Lord had blessed him with earthly wealth, had endued him with a powerful intellect: he might have been a benefactor of the poor, a staff to the infirm, a teacher of his people, an example of humble submission. In the enjoyment of the highest mental activity, the undisturbed study of G.o.d's word, in strivings for a future state, he might have found consolation, and peace even in this world. _His fate was in his own hands.... it was his own fault that he perished_."

Gabriel felt as if a blazing thunderbolt had fallen in the depths of his soul. He pressed his hands spasmodically against his heart and was forced to sit down upon the curb-stone. Mordechai, whose understanding was not transcendent enough to appreciate the force of what had just been said, observed this as little as Reb Nochum, whose attention remained entirely fixed upon Michoel's words. It was only the sharp glance of this latter that noticed Gabriel's emotion, which he was incapable of controlling.--_The state of frightful excitement_, of feverish expectation in which he found himself, _had still more intensified and exaggerated the impression of those words_. He felt at this moment with the whole power of his comprehension that in the most decisive events of his life the torch of his wild hatred had been his only light, that everything had come grinning to meet him distorted by its gloomy dismal rays.... The words which might once have fallen like a.s.suaging balsam upon his bleeding heart now struck him with the whole weight of their convincing truth. The thought, that might once have saved him, now filled him with nameless unutterable woe. The audacious confidence with which he had believed himself irresponsible for all that he had done was broken--Michoel had shown him what he might have been--how different had he become!

A pause had again ensued. Mordechai now observed with horror that he was almost too late for evening-prayer, and hurried with Reb Nochum into the nearest synagogue. Michoel remained standing before Gabriel who seemed nearly to have lost consciousness. At last he asked, recovering himself, in a dull voice: "Who are you and what is your name?"

"I am Michoel Glogau, I was born in Silesia, and have finished here my course of Talmudic study. I have been summoned to Breslau as preacher--and what is your name?"

"I am called Gabriel Mar," he replied to the interrogation in a trembling unsteady voice.

"Gabriel Mar, Mar, Mar," echoed Michoel quite softly and thoughtfully, his eyes fast fixed on Gabriel: "strange!... are you unwell, that you sit there thus languidly on the stones?"

"Yes.... no.... rather--I shall soon be better. Why do you gaze at me so fixedly? only go away, Reb Michoel, do not be disturbed on my account.... I am often wont.... to suffer so. Away, I pray you, away, away...."

Michoel went off, stopping from time to time to look round after Gabriel. He sat for some minutes as if changed to stone, but--whether it was recovered self-possession, or whether the heavy snow which began to fall had roused him--he got up suddenly, wiped the cold sweat from his forehead and looked motionlessly at the spot where Michoel had stood, as if to convince himself, that they were not fantastic dreams which hovered over him, then hurriedly strode to his dwelling. As he arrived at the end of the narrow lane that led out of the Jews-town to the Old-synagogue, he suddenly heard his old name Gabriel Suss called.

Taken by surprise he involuntarily turned his head--he saw no one and hastened with redoubled speed to his house by the Old-synagogue.

"It is he!" said Michoel stepping from behind the corner of a wall that had concealed him from Gabriel's sight, "my suspicion was correct, Gabriel Mar--is Gabriel Suss. I must speak with him."

Gabriel was once more in his room by the Old-synagogue. In a few hours, since the forenoon when Schlemmersdorf had summoned him to the battle-field, what numberless events had happened within and without him. Frederick had lost his crown, the Emperor had won a highly important victory. He had been present at this weighty catastrophe, had been a witness, a partic.i.p.ator in the hot combat, his life had been threatened on all sides. He had stood opposed to Pappenheim, the most accomplished knight in the Imperial army, and believed that he had slain him--and all these occurrences of which any one would have been sufficient to have put the most strong minded into a state of intensest excitement disappeared and left no trace in Gabriel's soul. Michoel's words had called forth a fresh flood of emotion in his overcharged breast. A new sorrow never before antic.i.p.ated strove with the old grief in his breast. With the whole gigantic strength of his intellect he endeavoured to swing himself up out of the wild chaos of thoughts which would have indubitably thrown any one of weaker mould into the black night of madness.--With both his mighty hands pressed against his inflamed and glowing lofty brow, as if to force all thoughts to one point, he sat for hours by the table in strong inward struggle.

"No, no, no!" he cried out at length impetuously, "now it is too late, too late! Gabriel, thou hast gone, too far, too far, now thou canst never recede.--Thou art like that Acher, he that heard said of himself: 'Turn again ye stiffnecked children.... all but Acher!'--Yes Michoel.

Thou man with a beautiful voice, with mild friendly gleaming eyes!

Hadst thou stood at my mother's death-bed, hadst thou then addressed me thus.... but they had all rejected me.... Oh, Blume! Blume! Why did you treat me so? Had you but extended to me, _I will not say your hand, but your compa.s.sion_.... Alas! one single word of comfort on that day of atonement, in my fierce wrestling with the unutterable grief! Why did you not speak like this Michoel? Oh! I should have been quite another man, surely, surely, I should have been a changed man!... Blume! you might have been the preserving angel of my life.... You cast me from you, you became my demon!... Gabriel held both hands before his face: yes, _you_, _you_," he now suddenly cried, and wild fury repressed all gentle feelings, "_you_ have forced me to take the path which I tread.... you have poisoned my existence, annihilated my hopes!...

If I now stand between a comfortless past and a hopeless future, I will at least turn the present to account, I will at least bring my ruined wretched life to a consistent conclusion. I will avenge myself, sweetly, fearfully.... This night I dedicate to revenge--and then--myself to certain death: the next battle I will hurl myself where the enemies' ranks are thickest, will bathe my naked breast in a warm shower of bullets. One blade, one ball will surely find its way to my heart broken with sorrow!--and when alone and forsaken, trampled by horses' feet on the b.l.o.o.d.y plain, I expire: then will I raise my failing eyes for one last defiant look, then with unbending spirit I will once more exclaim: Where art thou whom men call, all just, all mighty, all merciful? Dost thou behold? I die desolate forsaken unwept,--cursed by the woman whom once I madly loved, rejected by the father...."

This thought, that had been woven like a red thread through Gabriel's spiritual life, this thought, that had continually buoyed him with hope or racked him with despair, according as the waves of his troubled spirit were rising or falling, now worked upon Gabriel, only if possible more violently, if possible, with greater tenacity. He tore open the window in almost mad haste, and looked up to the partially clouded starry heaven: "Give me my father, if thou art Almighty, let me find him, find him _to-day_, _to-day_.... and I will offer up to thee the greatest sacrifice, the woefullest sacrifice, the sacrifice of my revenge; let me die in my father's arms ..., and I will perform my vow, yes, yes, I will bow my stiff neck as I die, _I will repent, will say that I have sinned, that thou art all merciful, all just, Almighty!_ my last breath shall be a 'Hear o Israel'.--I will die like a pious Jew: but thou must give me my father, give him _to-day_! Canst thou do that.

Almighty one?"

The phrensied scornful laughter with which he accompanied these last words, echoed over the empty court, and reverberated dull and hollow from the s.p.a.cious adjacent vaults of the opposite synagogue, the lofty windows of which chanced to be open.

In the highest state of bodily and mental tension Gabriel sank back in his chair, the warm stream of blood that had rushed to his head and threatened to burst his forehead, flowed again slowly back to his heart: a sudden collapse, as is often the case, followed after this indescribable excitement; after this, but later, a calm reflective mood. In this state his landlady Schondel found him, when she opened the door, and asked: "Reb Gabriel, you are sitting in the dark, do you wish for candles?"

Accepting Gabriel's silence as consent, she disappeared directly to fetch a light.

On his return home Gabriel had laid his weapons upon the table; he wished to hide them quickly before Schondel returned with a light. A large old bureau, belonging to his landlord, stood near him: but the key was not in the lock. Without stopping to reflect he opened its bottom drawer with a strong kick and threw the arms into it. A moment afterwards Schondel entered with a light: Gabriel leaned heavily against the broken bureau to conceal it from Schondel.

"Where have you been all day, Reb Gabriel?" she asked, "we have not seen you since early morning! What do you say to the news of to-day?...

We in the Jews-town are absolutely without information; perhaps by to-morrow morning early the Imperialists will already occupy the circle of the Altstadt."

"Indeed, then I must make haste," said Gabriel.

"Why make haste?" enquired Schondel with an air of surprise.

"That is quite clear," answered Gabriel recovering himself, with a forced laugh. "I have now been rather a long time in Prague and have to speak the truth not studied much Talmud. I must recommence. If the city is surrendered, everybody's attention will be diverted, I myself shall be disturbed, and my good intentions will be again postponed for some days. I will set to work this very day. At midnight I shall go to the lecture room and study all night long. Then before daybreak I shall go to prayers in the Old-synagogue. I suppose the gate will be open early enough?"

"Yes, but you must be in the Jews-town two hours before midnight or the gates will be shut ... Well, I am heartily rejoiced that you intend beginning to behave like a real student.... but you will not come to prayers to-morrow morning, I give you my word of that?"

"Why not?" asked Gabriel.

"Early to-morrow you will be sleeping a deep sleep, out of which a person does not easily awaken."--Schondel heard her husband's voice calling her and hurried away. Gabriel had misunderstood the last words.

Students, who staid awake the whole night in a lecture-room, were in the habit of falling asleep towards morning and so being late for early service. This was what Schondel had meant jokingly to signify: but Gabriel was in no mood to understand a joke, and these words sounded gloomily and bodingly.... they accorded so strangely with the terror of the faithful armourer, with Bubna's affecting farewell, with the mournful presentiment that had many times in the course of the day taken possession of him!

The stroke of the clock on the Rathhaus indicated that hour which corresponds to eight in the evening. He wished to be in the Jews-town before the gates were shut, two hours before midnight, so that he had still some time before him. The superhuman excitement of the day, the delicious torment of the expectation of revenge, that kept all his manly energy on the stretch, could not long continue in such strength.

He was afraid, that the excess of these sensations would drive him mad, would kill him. He pa.s.sed his strong hand over his lofty brow, and firmly closed his eyes, as though to annihilate thought.... He sought for some object adapted to occupy his mind otherwise for two hours:--one suddenly offered itself to him. A ma.n.u.script had fallen out of the bureau when it was violently broken open.--He now noticed this for the first time. He picked up the sealed packet, it was written in Hebrew, and the envelope informed him, that it was the history, the testament of Reb Mosche, his landlady's father, which was to be first opened twenty years after his death. He locked the door of his room, pushed the chair to the table: unsealed the writings and read.--Its contents were as follows:

"On the 23d day of the month Tischri, that is the day which succeeds the feast of tents, in the year 371 according to the lesser Jewish reckoning. It will be seven and thirty years to-day since I kept my 13th birthday, and now I have reached my 50th year. On the same day too I left the ancient, worthy community of Prague--in which I had pa.s.sed my youth, and where G.o.d willing, I will end my days--on a wide and weary wandering."

"I cannot employ this day more holily than by beginning to write the leaves of my biography; the leaves which I intend for you my children.

When you break the seal of these writings I shall have been for years no longer among the living; but as a father's infinite love reaches far beyond the grave, so will your recollection of me survive, and you will not then refuse me the fullest sympathy.--I have written down the narrative of my life, that at least after my death there may be no mystery between us.

"My father, may the memory of the just be blessed, was that most learned Talmudist and Cabbalist Rabbi Jizchok Meduro. He was descended from a very old family that flourished for centuries in Spain, and his ancestors had always made themselves conspicuous from learning and attachment to their faith.--Fearful and b.l.o.o.d.y persecutions of the Jews had compelled his father, a little orphan boy, to a formal change of faith. When arrived at man's estate it repented him that he had, though but in outward profession, laid aside the faith of his father's, and when the officers of the inquisition discovered him at a celebration of the Pa.s.sover, and led him before the tribunal, he openly confessed that with all his soul he was a Jew. He mounted the scaffold at Seville. He sang psalms and hymns with devout mind, while the flames with a thousand greedy tongues licked up his b.l.o.o.d.y body, at length a jet of flame shot up into his face and extinguished the light of his eyes. One 'Hear oh Israel' escaped in a suffocated voice from the breast of the dying man--at the same moment a heart-rending cry, a cry that made the bones creep, resounded from the Cathedral square, and a woman fell down lifeless. It was the wife of the dying man; she was pregnant with my father. Two hours afterwards he saw the light of this world in a dismal cellar--soon after her delivery, his mother succ.u.mbed to the most maddening grief. The day of my father's birth was the day of his parents' death. A small red flame was observed on the forehead of the new-born child, an effect of the frightful torture, which the horrible sight of the scaffold had inflicted on the mother stricken with mortal terror.--Devout Jews, themselves in want of every a.s.sistance, took care of the helpless orphaned babe, n.o.ble mothers suckled him at their b.r.e.a.s.t.s. But bigotry was not satisfied with the b.l.o.o.d.y sacrifice.

Another of those frequently recurring persecutions of the Jews had broken out in the Spanish peninsula; there were to be no more Jews in Spain. Whoever would not abjure the old faith was to leave the country within four months without carrying with him silver or gold. A hundred thousand souls forsook goods and possessions to save their relics in a far country, to escape from a land, where their prayer to the one true G.o.d was stamped as a crime. A number of n.o.ble men, who crossed the sea to Barbary, carried the baby with them, in order to preserve the offspring of so ill.u.s.trious family for its faith. But the poor people, without money and without protection, were rejected from the coast, a portion of the fugitives succ.u.mbed to the plague, a portion fell into the hands of pirates that carried them into captivity: some however were so fortunate as to find a refuge in Portugal after terrible sufferings.--Among these was my father. He had in the meanwhile grown to be a glorious boy. He had as yet experienced nothing but sorrow. The infinite crushing misfortunes that had marked the day of his birth had made an indelible impression on his mind, and even on his features.--A profound abiding melancholy rested on the boy's thoughtful face, and the red fiery spot that sparkled on his forehead never allowed him for a moment to forget that flaming scaffold that had consumed the body of a loved idolised father, the sight of which had caused the death of his mother.

"The youth Jizchock Meduro soon discovered a wisdom almost equal to Solomon's, a fervent love for the faith. He was worthy of his renowned ancestors. Leading a solitary life, he found consolation only in religious studies, and in investigating the powers of nature, and he devoted himself to these pursuits with the greatest zeal. His immense industry, added to unusual intellectual gifts, enabled him to obtain the most beautiful results and the youthful Jizchok Meduro was soon accounted one of the lights of the Portuguese Jewish society.

"My father had attained the age in which he thought it right to choose a wife. His choice fell upon a Spanish orphan, whose father, of firm faith and devout, had also expired upon the scaffold.--In the first year of a happy marriage she gave birth to twins, myself and brother.

The small cosy family circle seemed to banish the spirit of melancholy from my father, and not indeed to extinguish but soften his sorrowful recollections. Even this domestic happiness was however soon to be destroyed. Persecutions of the Jews broke out in Portugal also and were soon followed by a royal edict that forced the Jews to change their religion or to leave the country. My father fled with his wife and two children, then in tenderest years. Hunted like wild beasts of the forest, we crossed the Pyrenean peninsula and a part of France. No house, no cottage would hospitably entertain us. At night we were obliged to sleep on the open heath. A drink of water was often refused to the perishing. And we could only attribute it to G.o.d's visible protection that after unutterable hardships we reached German ground.

In a city on the Rhine our dear mother sunk under the unwonted sufferings of the long journey--she lies buried in Cologne.... My father was alone in a foreign country with two little boys. Too proud even in the misery of exile to be a burden upon his benevolent brethren, he wandered over the whole of Germany, and when at length he arrived in Prague he considered it an interposition of Providence, that the post of upper-servant was vacant in the Old-Synagogue, where the same ritual prevails as in Portugal. He offered himself as a candidate for this office and when he mentioned to the overseer of the synagogue his name the fame of which had reached far into Germany, the latter expressed much regret that my father did not prefer to accept the chair of Rabbi in a community, or whole district. But my father had been too sore afflicted by the strokes of adversity, he desired to live unknown in perfect retirement, for his faith, for his religious studies, for his sons. Nothing could be refused to a man so famous; his wishes were entirely fulfilled by the authorities. Reb Jizchok Meduro became upper-attendant, but it remained a secret to every one else that the servant Reb Jizchok was the great teacher from Portugal. Here then, where I lived as a little boy, and afterwards as man, and where G.o.d willing, I will close these wearied eyes, here in this house, which you my dear children now inhabit, lived and studied my deceased father....

His immense knowledge, his wisdom, his ascetic habits, filled every one with a profound reverence for him, which was if possible increased by his kind though reserved manners.

"It was natural that a feeling of reverential respect should also animate myself and brother to the highest degree. Except at prayer we met n.o.body. Our father never received visits, and as we children did not go to school we had no play-fellows. Our father was all in all to us. In our tender years he had performed for us all the troublesome and petty services of a nurse-maid; as we grew older, he was our instructor; were we sick, he was our physician and nurse.... The profound gravity that rested on his features only gave way to a soft gentle smile when we, my brother and I, sitting below there in the synagogue at his feet, listened to his wonderful expositions, expositions than which since that time I have never heard any so admirable, so inspiriting; when he perceived how the fire of his mighty eloquence found its way to our youthful hearts and kindled them.--He loved his children infinitely, but refrained from showing it. He never kissed us, once only when he thought that I was asleep, he pressed his lips to my forehead, and a scalding tear rolled down on my face--a sweet rapturous shudder crept over my limbs but I did not venture to open my eyes."

Gabriel stopped at this pa.s.sage. The image of that pale tall man, who had once pressed his hot lips upon his own young forehead, whose tears had once wetted his face, now appeared vividly, more vividly than ever before him. He now felt sure that this image of his youth had been no dream, and believed himself convinced that if it were now to appear before him he should recognise him, him whom he held to be his father.