Part 14

"I suffered inexpressibly: the news, which again painfully tore open my heart's wounds, joined to the passionate unjust reproaches of my brother, whom I loved so tenderly, by whom I believed that I was so tenderly loved, agitated my mind with such violence that I fell dangerously ill. For eight weeks I strove with the angel of death. In the confused wild fever dreams of my sickness it sometimes seemed to me as if an angel approached my couch, as if a girl's white hand touched my burning forehead--once I thought, that a lovely woman bent over my bed and that a tear rolled down upon my face.--God--praised be his name--granted my recovery. He refreshed me with the springs of his infinite grace. The sickness had had the most beneficial, the most inexplicable influence upon my life. A new fresh stream of blood seemed to roll through my veins. I was restored not only to bodily, but also to mental health. My love for Miriam, now the wife of another, which I must have violently eradicated, had died out in a miraculous manner. Oh yes, it was a miracle! and I thanked God for that instance of his goodness!--The noble handsome girl who had nursed me with more than a sister's care, who had watched night after night by my bed, full of sympathy and compassion, was thy mother, dear Schoendel.--Leah the daughter of the Rabbi's widow.... Thy mother was lovely and good. As long as Miriam had reigned in my heart, I had not noticed the wonderfully beautiful maiden, but now, that I was once more free, my earnest gratitude was easily converted into an infelt, fervent, faithfully returned love. Half a year after my convalescence Leah became my wife, and I took my seat in the Rabbi's chair at Germersheim.

"During my sickness my brother had shown me the most self-sacrificing love, and had attached himself again to me with the greatest tenderness, as though to make me forget the inauspicious reproach that had pained me so much. I had never borne ill will against him. True it is that he had shaken with rude hand the firm bonds, that held our hearts entwined, that the hasty word which he had uttered, had touched me to the quick,--but, dear children! you do not know what brotherly love is, you do not know, how one loves a brother, and above all a twin-brother!... From our birth, from our mother's lap we had been united to one another by the sweetest holiest bonds.--The same pulsation had stirred our hearts, we had lain on the same mother's breast, we had hitherto fairly and equally shared every sorrow and every joy.--I could not help it, I was constrained to love my brother with undiminished cordiality!

"In the first year of a happy peaceful marriage thy mother presented me with an admirably beautiful girl, with thee, dear Schoendel.... I was happy, but my happiness endured but for a short time; eight days after your birth thy dear never to be forgotten mother died! You may conceive my profound grief! I formed a firm immoveable resolution never to marry again, and following my father's lofty example to dedicate my whole life to the study of God's word, to the religious care of my community, to the education of my only beloved child.--In the conscientious performance of my duties I at length found tranquillity, and when thou, Schoendel, didst gaze at me with thy sweet child-like smile, when thou didst extend to me thy little delicate hands, I felt myself almost happy!

"My brother was my faithful companion. He occupied a small room in my house and studied almost the whole of the day. My heart was filled with the sad remembrance of my deceased wife, so soon snatched from me. I never thought of Miriam except with a sensation of friendly gratitude. Every feeling of love for her.--I have already said so--had quite died out in me. I could have calmly conversed with my brother about her father and sister: but I did not dare to do so, because the profound silence which he preserved, was an unmistakeable sign, that he had not yet conquered his once deep felt love, that it still remained rankling with full strength in his soul. Miriam's name therefore never again crossed our lips. Many advantageous offers of marriage were proposed to my brother, he was elected as Rabbi by many important German communities: but he firmly refused everything, and paid no attention to my well meaning advice.... We often sat all day together, plunged in the study of the Talmud. Once we were engrossed in the solution of a case that had been laid before me for my decision by two Rabbis, who could not come to an agreement with respect to it. We had long remained seated, then in the eagerness of discussion began walking round the room, and at last, as was often the case, happened to stop before the open window. My brother was just on the point of controverting a proposition that I had laid down, when he cast a glance through the window.... He instantly became dumb, his arms fell powerlessly by his side, his lips moved convulsively, but emitted no sound.

"'What ails thee, brother?' I asked in terror.

"He made no answer, but stretched out his arms and pointed to the street; I saw a lady, stepping out of a travelling carriage.

"'What ails thee, brother?' I repeated more earnestly 'I see nothing that can have discomposed you to such a degree.'

"My brother gazed fixedly at me, as if he thought my question an incomprehensible one, then pointed once more at the lady and collecting all his strength, screamed involuntarily in a loud shrill voice: 'Miriam Suess!' and trembling convulsively fell down pale as a corpse. My brother did not come to himself till late in the evening. He was right, it was Miriam. Joseph Suess her husband, had a lawsuit with the magistracy of the city of Spires, and wished to wait for the issue of it at the adjacent town of Germersheim. His wife had followed him. I felt sorry that Joseph Suess had selected just Germersheim for his residence, not for my own but for my brother's sake.

"I did not venture to talk to my brother about Miriam's presence; the sight of her had too much affected him. I made a slight attempt to advise him to go a journey while her stay lasted in Germersheim; but his eyes flashed, as he answered: 'Brother, I have no one in the wide world save thee! I have sacrificed everything, the dearest thing on earth, to thee, cast me not away from thy presence!'

"After a time he became gradually calmer, and I was already beginning to indulge a hope, that he had reconciled himself to his immutable destiny, when after the expiration of some months his behaviour again altered in a strange and striking way. My brother avoided my society, came to me seldomer and seldomer, till at last he shut himself up in his room, and refused either to see me or speak to me. I did not know how to explain this to myself, and only waited a convenient opportunity, to have a private conversation with him. This I at length found, I was usually the first in God's house, and as a rule unlocked its doors. One morning, it was winter. I stepped into the dark and quite empty interior, shortly afterwards the iron gates grated again and a form appeared on the steps that led into the inner synagogue. The pale trembling light of the lamp that ever burneth revealed to me my brother. He stopped irresolutely, as if he would avoid an interview with me alone. I did not give him time to take a resolution, stepped quickly up to him and held out my hand to him. But his hand trembled in mine, he could not bear my steadfast gaze, his eye, that once was wont to look me truly and honestly in the face, remained fixed on the ground, and even his features formerly so beautiful seemed to me marred and disfigured. The red streak of flame on his forehead burned to a deeper hue than had ever been seen on him before, broad violet coloured circles were stamped under his glistening eyes, his blue lips quivered incessantly, it was clear, that my poor brother could not encounter my looks. I gazed into his face, a profound inexpressible pang, an incommunicable sympathy seized my heart:--but then suddenly a ray of conviction flashed across me, brotherly love sharpened my spiritual eyes; Miriam was in Germersheim, her husband was absent, my brother loved her with a furious passion.... his face bore the Cains-mark of guilt, there was no doubt, _my poor brother had sore sinned!_ I let fall his hand! I was too violently agitated, and vainly struggled a long time for a word.... My brother broke the painful death-like stillness that reigned in the broad space with no sound. It was a silent confession to me of his guilt!

"Pious worshippers now began to enter into the temple, and I could say no more to him at present; in the deep silence of night, alone, I determined that he should hear his brother's warning voice.

"I passed the day in a state of most painful excitement. Had my brother's bleeding corpse been laid torn and disfigured at my feet I should not have so profoundly mourned him! Could I with the last drop of my heart's blood have undone that, which I now felt myself constrained to admit as certain,--I would have gladly shed it. It was for me to raise again my brother, my poor fallen brother, out of the bottomless depths to which he had sunk. It was for me to tear him from the strong arm of sin; I knew, that it must have been a hard struggle in which my brother was subdued....

"After midnight.... all around was sunk in deep sleep--I crept to the door of his room. I knocked at first gently, then louder, no answer followed.--The key of my room also opened this door. It was not till after long hesitation that I crossed the threshold with loud-beating heart. The small lamp, that I carried with me, threw its dull light round about; I stepped to my brother's bed, it was empty.... my brother was not in his room--I sank down in despair; I had in truth before been convinced of my brother's guilt; but the certainty, this horrible certainty that robbed me of every, even the faintest shadow of a hope, seized my heart anew with a grief as terrible as if I had up to that time had not the least presentiment of it! At the very moment, when my fraternal heart was crying out in the depths of its agony, at the very moment when I was prepared to make any sacrifice to save my brother, at that very moment _my brother_, _my brother_, 'my second I--oh no, more, more;' I had loved him more than myself, I would have sacrificed myself thousands of times for him--was wantoning! at that very moment my brother was wantoning in the arms of an adulterous woman, _of that woman whom I had once idolized with pure chaste fervent love_....

"What was I to do? I must stay, I must wait for him, though my poor heart should break. I seated myself by the table and tried to read a bible by the lamplight: but I could not. Incapable of thought I gazed out through the open window, and made frequent fruitless attempts to collect myself, to ponder over the address with which I proposed to receive my brother. Every second seemed a century, and yet, and yet I would gladly have postponed the painful moment, and yet I trembled sadly at the slightest sound, that the wind made in the passage. I might have sat thus for three long hours that seemed as if they would never end, when I heard a faint rustle, and shortly afterwards a powerful form swung itself through the window. It was my brother.--He remained standing stiff and motionless as a statue before me. At sight of him all my blood flowed back so swiftly and violently to my heart, that I thought that it must indeed burst; a cold shudder crept over my bones, I had half got up, keeping one hand on the open bible, as if I would draw strength and confidence from it. A long pause ensued, it exhausted my nervous system, more than ten years of trouble would have done!

"I had reckoned with certainty that my brother would fall broken-hearted into my arms, that the sight of me at that hour would remind him of all that he had forgotten. I believed that he would come to meet me; but I had deceived myself, my brother remained stiff and motionless and never once dropped his eyes....

"In spite of the immense excitement in which I found myself at this fateful moment, the whole impression of it has continued uneffaced in my memory, and even at this day, when I am writing this history--though almost twenty years have since elapsed,--the image of my poor brother stands with perfect clearness before my soul, the image of my brother, as J saw him then for the last time. He was tall, about the same height as myself, his eyes flashed weirdly under black bushy eyebrows, on his forehead, the fiery sign of our family glowed in deepest purple, his dark beard set off the frightful corpselike pallor of his face, his quivering lips were so violently convulsed that his large moustachios kept continually trembling, his long abundant hair fell in tangled masses over his shoulders."

Gabriel stopped again. From the depths of his soul confused memories all suddenly emerged, that ever became clearer and clearer. That form, which had once pressed its burning lips on the face of the frightened child, stepped life-like before him--a half faded reminiscence of a beggar, who had once followed him in Aix-la-Chapelle from the church door to his house, again gathered life and strength. Strange to say, it now for the first time, after a long series of years had weakened and effaced the impression of these forms, seemed to him, that they resembled each other--that both, Gabriel thought that he could not be mistaken--corresponded with the description of his father. In vain he sought to realise another embodiment of this picture, which he imagined that he had seen only a short time back. But human memory possesses this strange peculiarity, that it is just the impressions of the remotest past, and especially youthful impressions, that survive with greater vividness and clearness, than those, we have received later; and, as the best shot in the heat of battle often misses the nearest aim, in the same way did Gabriel, usually so strong-minded, in his almost mad excitement vainly strive to conjure up this recollection. He hoped perhaps to obtain from what followed more particular discoveries about his father and read on:--

"I was determined to preserve silence, and left it to my brother to break the profound stillness, that could not be less painful to him than to me.... My brother was silent for a long time; his breast laboured fearfully, he breathed heavily, his face too was extraordinarily convulsed as I had never seen it before. The veins on his forehead swelled, as if they would burst, his underlip dropped loosely down, foam gathered on his mouth before he had spoken a word.--I perceived, that he was seeking a word, a thought, wherewith to crush, to annihilate me. I was afraid of him, but nevertheless gazed at him fixedly and steadily. At last after a hard struggle some words escaped from his lips, but his voice sounded hollow and dead: 'What seekest thou here in the dead of night? Why dost thou act as a spy upon me? Art thou my keeper? What dost thou want of me?'

"I had not expected such a stubborn unbending defiance. I stood at first as if turned to stone, but at the next moment my hot Spanish blood immediately boiled over; with a wild passionate excitement, such as one only feels at such a moment, under such circumstances, I answered my brother.

"'Dost thou ask, what I want of thee? Can you dare ask? Can you look me in the face as if you were free and innocent? Do you not sink into the ground for shame? Look into your own breast! Look! your very face bears signs of your wicked wicked deed.... you ask what I want of you? I would save you, tear you from the strong arm of sin, but lo! it holds thee fast in brazen chains!--I stopped, my words seemed ineffectual. My brother's features bore an expression of the wildest fury, he gnashed his teeth, but made no answer.

"'Brother!' I began again, after a short painful pause, 'Brother! hast thou then forgotten everything, everything? Hast thou no more memory for the past, no regard for the future?... Oh, gaze not at me so stonily, as if thou didst not understand me.... Brother, by that infinite love which I have felt for thee, by the memory of our deceased father, by the recollection of our early lost mother upon my knees I implore thee,--think of it, _only think of it_, what a transgression thou hast committed!... Yes! gaze at me as you will, with eyes sparkling with rage, gnash your teeth, clench your fist, I do not tremble, yes! thou hast fearfully sinned, yes, yes! dost hear?'

"I was so immeasurably confounded by my brother's obstinate unexpected resistance, that I could say no more. I grasped at the bible which was lying on the table, opened at the ten commandments and pointed silently at the seventh.

"'Thou shalt not commit adultery!' I recommenced after a deep pause, during which we could hear our hearts beating.... 'Thou shalt not lust after thy neighbour's wife.... Dost thou see, thus it is written, thus was it declared to listening mankind on flaming Sinai!... Well then, that word of God, that word of God, which was a pillar of fire unto thy people illuminating them in the darkness of night, and an ever refreshing fountain in the heat of the day, that word of God, for which thy grandfather endured a death by fire, that word of God whose everlasting truth, thy father, I, every pious Jew, would have sealed with his heart's blood, that same word of God thou hast despised, cast from thee, trampled under foot!... Art thou not acquainted with the sentence of our wisemen. All shall be inheritors of the kingdom to come, all save three, the adulterer, the....'

"I could say no more, a fearful change came over my brother. His features, even before marred and disfigured, now took an expression so frightful, that they scarcely seemed to belong to an human being, all the blood in his face seemed to have gathered into the dark-red borders about his eyes, these protruded in an unnatural size far out of their sockets, his mouth stood wide open, and disclosed his beautiful white teeth--he resembled at that moment a wild blood-thirsty animal.

"'Thou hast robbed me of this world, wilt thou rob me of the next too?' he yelled, after a long pause with a loud howl and threw himself furiously upon me. I perceived to my unutterable grief, that my well meant but bitter word, had penetrated the inmost recesses of his soul, that the consciousness of his guilt had awaked in him with overwhelming force, that it had suddenly conjured up the darkness of madness over his once so clear and luminous mind.... In vain was now my friendly address, he attacked me with the wild fury of delirium. 'Brother! let go, let go, force me not to exert my strength?' I cried, 'we are still brothers, Twin-brothers, I am still thy Mosche!...' But my brother heeded me not, he seized me in his nervous grasp by the neck. My life was in imminent danger. I did not much value life on my own account; but I desired to preserve thy father for thee, dear Schoendel, thou who haddest none other in the wide world but me, and the thought of thee gave me a giant's strength! I had at first vainly more than once endeavoured to force away my brother, whose hand compressed my throat violently, but could not succeed in doing so.... My breathing became difficult, the blood rushed to my head, lights danced before my eyes. I was giddy, I felt that some decided course must be taken, that I must disengage myself from my terrible opponent. I collected all my strength, and forced him with the whole weight of my body to the ground. 'Peace, Mosche, Peace!' said my brother at last, grinding his teeth, after a fruitless struggle to break from my arms.... let me go, I will be quiet!'

"I trusted his promise, but at the next moment he sprung upon me with the fury and agility of a tiger, fastened his sharp teeth upon my naked breast, and made most desperate efforts to strangle me. I screamed aloud for excess of pain, and seized him, in obedience to a dim instinct of self-preservation, by the throat.... a violent wrench of my sinewy wrist--and my brother with a hollow muttering and distorted visage sunk lifeless down! I stood for an instant in despair, motionless, then threw myself, mad with grief, upon the ground and endeavoured to recall him to life. My exertions were ineffectual!

"I recovered my presence of mind with astonishing rapidity, and it was again the thought of thee, my dear daughter! which drew me out of the wild storm of despair.... I opened the window, and cried out aloud to the star-spangled heaven: '_Lord of the world: Thou hast seen it, Thy paternal eye was watching_.... _I am not guilty of his death, I am no Cain, my hand did not shed this blood!_'"

Gabriel, exhausted, almost unconscious, ceased reading, and threw the fateful writing far away from him.... The superhuman strength, with which he had hitherto attentively and greedily devoured the faded characters, gave way. The hope of obtaining information about his father, of searching him out, of being able to fold him to his beating, bursting heart, had pervaded him with the wildest, most blissful rapture--and now, now all these hopes were scattered, annihilated; the very name of his father, which, as if intentionally, was not once mentioned in the manuscript, remained unknown to him.--_The more beautiful nobler aim of his life continued to be unattainable by him_. What mattered to him the farther contents of the manuscript? Of what importance to him was it to learn, how Rabbi Mosche in that same night had taken flight with his daughter, to escape the avenging hands of human justice? Of what importance was it to him to learn, how Reb Carpel Sachs had received the old friend of his youth with warm affection? Of what importance was it to him to learn, how Reb Mosche, as attendant in the Old-Synagogue had led a peaceful, contemplative life, how he embraced the firm resolution, to give the hand of his daughter to a man who like himself, like his deceased father, would accept the modest office of attendant in the Old-Synagogue, where far from the busy tumult of the world he could peacefully live for his faith, for his duties: calm and isolated, like his father, like himself, might quietly close a storm tossed life.... What did all this and more signify to Gabriel? Had he not learnt that his father was dead, lost to him for ever--did he not know, that the hot unstilled longing of his soul must remain for ever and ever ungratified, were not the thousand threads, with which his heart hung to the sweetest hope of his life, suddenly painfully snapped!... Gabriel read no further. He sat for a while motionless in his chair. Language has no power to express the tempest of emotion, that whirled through his breast, and it needs the boldest flight of imagination, to picture it even in faint colour to oneself.

"_That hope then is vanished!_" he said at last after long silence, pressing his hand convulsively on his heart, "that hope is vanished!... _there remains to me then but one, the only aim of my life. Vengeance_ ... Mannsfield is still at Pilsen, Blume's destiny is yet in my hands!... I thank thee, chance, thou hast wonderfully led me, thou hast solved the torturing doubt in the most critical moment.... _vengeance is all that is left to me--my resolution continues immoveable!_"