Part 12

"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 bloody 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 Passover, 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 bloody 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 succumbed 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 assistance, took care of the helpless orphaned babe, noble mothers suckled him at their breasts. But bigotry was not satisfied with the bloody 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 God was stamped as a crime. A number of noble men, who crossed the sea to Barbary, carried the baby with them, in order to preserve the offspring of so illustrious family for its faith. But the poor people, without money and without protection, were rejected from the coast, a portion of the fugitives succumbed 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 God'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 God 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 nobody. 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 passage. 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.

Gabriel read on:--

"This proof of his affection encouraged me on that day to the timid question, what was the meaning of the purple streak upon his forehead, a mark, that also at time showed itself on us children when we were violently excited. I had expected a monosyllabic answer from my taciturn father, but contrary to his wont he recounted to us with the whole power of his mournful recollection the terrible events of his life. These we now learnt for the first time, we learnt for the first time, the place of our mother's grave.... 'The spot, that sparkles on my, on your foreheads,' concluded my father, '_is a remembrance of the man from whom we are descended_, who suffered the most painful death in sure trust upon God.... May it be ever remind you to be worthy of your ancestors....'"

Gabriel laid down the manuscript. The fiery mark upon his own forehead now seemed to burn him painfully.... Was he, just at the moment when he desired to come to a violent and complete rupture with his earlier past life, was he, just at the moment when he was giving up all hope of finding his father, that nobler aim of his life, was he just at that very moment to find a direction post? Might not the mark whereby to remember, be also a mark whereby to recognise? After short reflection he once more seized the manuscript with feverish haste and read further:--

"These confidences made an immense impression upon us children, and often, as we sat idly by twilight before the gate of the synagogue, we discussed our father's narrative with mournful emotion, always coming to the conclusion, that we would do all in our power to sweeten our father's life, and some day, when we were grown up, to wander to Cologne to pray at our mother's grave.... I have already mentioned, that we, I and my brother, had no playmates; but in truth we did not care to associate with other children; the infelt brotherly love, with which we were mutually penetrated, quite filled our young minds. Chance, or rather God's providence, guided me however to a young friend, a friend who became the stay of my life.... I had once gone on a commission from my father to an artisan who had some work to deliver for the house of the Lord. My way home led me by the banks of the Moldau. A pack of wild schoolboys were insulting and ill-using a delicate Jewish boy, apparently of about my own age. His cry for help aroused my warmest sympathy. Born under a hot Southern sun, I did not reflect that I was but ten years old and alone, but threw myself into the thick of the throng, and came to the assistance of the poor maltreated child at that moment when two of the worst, irritated by his feeble resistance, would have tossed him into the river. 'Do you want to kill the lad?' I cried with the whole force of my young voice, 'the river is deep, he will be drowned! The first that touches him is a dead man!'

"My arrival, the decided tone of my speech, made the wild troop hesitate for a minute; but immediately afterwards a scornful horse laugh resounded. Naturally strong, indignation gave me double force. With a powerful blow of the fist I compelled the biggest of them, who had got tight hold of the poor sufferer, to let him go. I disengaged the little pale Jew-boy who was bleeding at mouth and nose, and whilst I encircled him with my left arm, I threatened with the right to fling into the river whoever dared come near us with hostile intention. Twenty strong clenched fists let fly at me. I accepted the unequal struggle with superior numbers, and they soon perceived that they had to do with an antagonist, at least much surpassing any single one of them in strength.... I resisted till my call for assistance brought up some Jews who fetched the watch. The wild troop dispersed on their arrival with a loud shout, and I carried, though myself bleeding from many wounds, the fainting boy to the door of his house. The boy was your father dear Schlome; Carpel Sachs, son of the wealthy Beer Sachs.--Arrived at home, as soon as I had told my father what had happened, I fell down and fainted.... My father poured some drops from a flask into my wounds, kissed the blood from my face and smiled kindly.--I was well again, I was happy! Next Friday the wealthy Reb Beer Sachs sent me a beautiful new Sabbath-dress and three gold-pieces, but the present was resolutely refused. The little Carpel had, in consequence of the fright and the ill usage he had been exposed to, been obliged to keep his bed for a week. The first time that he was allowed to leave the house he came to thank me. The tears in his eyes, the profound gratitude, the beautiful words with which the dear boy knew how to give such a true and warm expression of this feeling, won my heart. Carpel asked if he might often visit us, and as my father had no objection to make, Carpel came to us as often as he had time, and a firm bond of love and friendship was knitted between us, in which my brother, also a noble-looking handsome boy took the warmest sympathy. Carpel looked upon me, not unjustly, as his preserver, and his to a certain extent respectful behaviour towards me, that he kept up even to old age, caused almost the only difference in our kindly intercourse. On the occasion of his frequent visits he not unseldom took part in our lessons, and on his side only regretted that we, my brother and I, could not make up our minds to come to his house; but the present of the wealthy Reb Beer Sachs, who had never considered it necessary to thank me in person for the real service which I had rendered his son, had wounded us too deeply; and so it happened, that he scarcely knew his son's preserver by sight.

"We boys spent our time monotonously and quietly, our life was now made beautiful by the love of our little friend Carpel. But on a sudden the hardest blow that could befall us, destroyed our calm happiness. It was that feast of atonement when I and my brother, as we should in a few days be thirteen years old; were fasting for the first time. The day was declining, the departing sunbeams cast their red light, that gradually faded before the advancing darkness, through the lofty narrow windows of the Old-Synagogue, and the tapers were already dimly burning. A profound silence prevailed in the vast space filled with worshippers, when my father stepped to the desk to offer the appointed evening prayer. I myself, though weary and excited, leant against the marble enchased wall which incloses the steps that lead up to the tabernacle in order to look my father in the face as I listened. He was a wonderfully glorious man and at that moment was like an angel. Thus had my childish spirit pictured the Prophet Elias!--His form was tall and unbowed. The dark beard, but scantily sprinkled with grey, fell down upon his breast and curved strikingly upwards against the long white robe, while the locks of his hair, which forced their way from under his turban, were already shining in the silvery glimmer. His noble face now bore a stamp of the deepest devotion, and over his flashing eyes, whose glance kindled enthusiasm, there glowed a dark purple flame in the centre of his forehead. The prayers on the day of atonement are striking, but in my father's mouth they made an extraordinary impression. He did not look into the prayer-book that laid open before him, but gazed heavenwards, so that it seemed as if what he was saying came from the inspiration of the moment, as if he was a divinely inspired seer. Every word that sounded with the full melody of his voice from his lips penetrated victoriously and irresistibly into the hearts of all present. As he repeated the confession of sins with agitating expressiveness all were melted into tears, and when on the other hand he gave utterance in prayer to a devout trust in God's mercy, all felt exalted and strengthened. At length he came to the end. With pious confidence in God he intoned seven times at the top of his voice: 'The everlasting is our God' and as the thousand voiced loud chorus of all who were present broke magnificently against the vault of God's temple, my father sank suddenly down:--I caught him in my arms....

"'I die,' he said in a feeble but audible voice. 'Lord of this world! my father dared to breathe his life away upon the scaffold for the glory of Thy holy name.--Me Thou hast not accounted worthy of this favour.... but Thou permittest me to die here, on holy ground, reconciled to Thee, at the conclusion of the festival of atonement.--Father of all I thank thee!'--then he signed to my brother also to draw near him, and said in faint dying voice that grew ever weaker and weaker: 'My children, time presses.... Your mother rests in the grave at Cologne.... In Prague, as attendant in this consecrated house, I have passed the loveliest most tranquil years of my life.... Love one another.... sorrow not, despair not!... What God doeth that is well done.... this world is but the vestibule of the next, bear this ever in mind, and some day _on your own deathbeds inculcate it on your children_--a benediction--a faint 'Hear oh Israel,' and the noble man was no more!

"The day but one after we stood weeping at his grave as we returned to our now desolate house, I asked my brother: 'What shall we do now?' The sensible boy fixed his bright eyes upon me. 'Didst thou not hear what our father said at his decease? Your mother lies buried in Cologne ... We have prayed to-day at our father's grave, shall we not also visit the last resting-place of our dear forsaken mother?'

"'Yes, yes dear, brother,' I cried, casting myself with loud sobs on his breast, 'to Cologne, to Cologne, to our mother's grave.'

"During the seven days of mourning we arranged that directly after the feast of tents we would start on our long journey. To our single friend the little Carpel we made known our intention to his deep and infelt regret. Tears rose in the poor boy's eyes, but he repressed them like a man, that he might not vex us still more. On the feast of Tabernacles we both, my brother and I, kept our 13th birthday. It was just the day on which expositions are made. We attended the early service and got ourselves called upon to expound. Then we went to the burial ground, where the rulers of the Old-synagogue had caused a handsome gravestone to be erected to my father, on which a bunch of grapes and the symbols of a Levite were chiselled.... and then with slender bundle on back and staff in hand went forth from the gate. Carpel accompanied us for an hour. He pressed a small purse into the hand of each of us, and assured us, that it consisted entirely of his own savings and that he had said nothing to his father about this present. Then we renewed once more our covenant of eternal friendship....

"'Forget me not, dear friends,' said Carpel as he took farewell.... 'Mosche! I thank thee once more; we are still boys, but shall some day be men, do not forget, Mosche; that in Prague you have a friend, whose life you have saved, who is for ever thy debtor, who is prepared every moment of his life to pay the heavy debt.... Forget me not, as I will never forget thee! Carpel kissed me, my brother, then flung himself once more sobbing aloud on my breast. Exerting all the force of my soul I at length tore myself away.... We set off, Carpel sat himself down upon a hillock and gazed weeping after us.... He was very sorry for us.... We were so lonely, so forsaken. Father and mother lying in the grave, and our one faithful little friend staying behind in despair!--Ignorant of the road we wandered over all Germany. We experienced many a sorrow, many a pain, but were sometimes entertained compassionately and sympathetically. After a difficult journey of many months we at length arrived at the end of our travel, at Cologne. Our hearts beat high as we passed through the city-gate. But the unwonted fatigues of the long way, had exhausted my brother's strength, and the poor boy fell down, sick and worn out, in the open street. I was alone with him in a strange city, my burning eyes sought help despairingly--then God sent us a preserver. An elderly gentleman stepped out of the house on the threshold of which my brother was lying unconscious.

"'A sick child in the open street?' he enquired, 'who is the boy?'

"'It is my brother,' I answered shyly, 'we are orphans, we have come from far away out of Bohemia, to visit our mother's grave....'

"'Carry the boy into the room upstairs,' was the gentleman's order, 'lay him in bed, let him have some broth, I will attend to him directly....'

"'We are Jew-boys, gracious Sir,' I cried quickly.

"'I too am a Jew,' smiled the worthy man, 'I am Baruch Suess, favourite physician to our gracious Elector, the Archbishop of Cologne.'"

Gabriel shuddered but read on:--

"Bustling servants carried my sick brother up the broad stairs into a splendidly furnished room and laid him in bed. I stayed with my brother. The noble humane Baruch Suess examined him with the greatest attention and found that he was lying sick of an inflammatory fever, that he probably would require nothing but complete repose, and that it would not be possible to form a decided opinion as to the further progress of the disorder till after a lapse of one and twenty days.--Suddenly fresh childs' voices were heard at the door, which was pulled open and two lovely maidens peeped into the room. The roguish smile on their face rapidly yielded to the deepest emotion, as their father enjoined silence by a sign, and informed them in a low voice that they must give up their room for the present to a poor parentless boy, who had fallen suddenly ill in the street. _The two maidens were the daughters of Baruch Suess, Miriam and Perl_."

The manuscript escaped from Gabriel's nervously trembling hand. Must the memory of his grandfather, of his mother, just to-day, in the hour when, obstinately advancing, he wished to cut off the last possibility of retreat, must it just to-day be awakened in him in such a strange, unexpected, he was obliged reluctantly to admit, in such an almost miraculous manner? Was he perhaps to discover in this writing, that a curious accident had played into his hands at a critical moment, a solution of the mystery of his birth? And if he did find it, should he account all these remarkable coincidences as chance, or rather as a wonderful proof of that all powerful providence which he had often so defiantly challenged? These thoughts assailed Gabriel with all the compass of their fearful import, and worked upon him all the more effectually, as the tide of the swiftly succeeding events of the day was calculated to shake the strongest determination. He paced impetuously up and down the room. "I must not read further," he muttered to himself, "till I have embraced a resolution. If I should find a disclosure about my father in this manuscript, if I durst hope that he would fold me in his arms, that he would press me lovingly to his breast, Gabriel, what in the whole past, what in the future would matter unto you? If I could find my father, if I could find him such as I have always pictured him to myself in the short moments of blissful dreams, if such I could fold him in my arms--though it were but for the most infinitesimal instant of time that the human mind can conceive--_God_!"

Gabriel's passionate excitement had attained a height that may easily be imagined. In the most violent excess of a feeling that eagerly sought an escape he had uttered the word, that, at least in his self-communings, had not passed his lips for a long series of years, and he almost shuddered, as the strange sound fell, if involuntarily, almost believingly from his mouth....