Transcriber's Notes:
1. Page scan source: http://books.google.com/books?id=f_kMAQAAIAAJ&dq
2. Alternate spelling of author's name: Józef Ignacy Kraszewski.

THE JEW

TRANSLATED FROM THE POLISH OF
JOSEPH IGNATIUS KRASZEWSKI

BY

LINDA DA KOWALEWSKA

NEW YORK

DODD, MEAD & COMPANY

PUBLISHERS

Copyright, 1890

By DODD, MEAD & COMPANY.

All rights reserved

PRESS OF
Rockwell and Churchill
BOSTON

CHAPTER I.

[SESTRI-PONENTE.]

On a warm afternoon in the autumn of 1860 the best, or rather the only, inn of Sestri-Ponente was full of people. Firpo, the host of the Albergo e Trattoria della Grotta, was little accustomed to such a crowd, except on Sundays and fête-days. As this was only a simple Thursday, his sunburnt cheeks reflected a smile of satisfaction.

Sestri-Ponente is situated an hour's distance from Genoa, on the sea-shore "in vincinanza del mare" and on the grand route from Savona to Nice. Sestri, beside dock-yards for the construction of small merchant-vessels, which is its chief source of wealth, possesses also a fine beach where it is possible to bathe in safety. It has this one superiority over Genoa "la superba" which lacks sea-bathing. Genoa has all else; even her trees seem dwarfed near her stately edifices; she has a magnificent harbour, and if one is determined to bathe in the sea he can hire a boat to take him some distance from the quay, where the water is not full of all sorts of débris. Once in clear water a rope is tied around his waist, and he can seat himself on the steps fixed to the back of the boat. If he slip, the honest boatman draws him out of the sea, by the rope, at the end of which he looks like a new species of fish suspended on a hook. Those who dislike this method are at liberty to bathe in the saltwater of the port or in the marble bath-houses of the Piazza Sarzana; but to bathe where the beach is more or less rocky one must abandon Genoa for the fashionable Livourne, the charming Spezia, or the modest Sestri. The wealthier classes congregate at the former resorts. Sestri is patronized more by quiet people who wish to economize, who prefer a peaceful life to the distractions of the gay world, and the fresh sea-breeze to the feverish gayety and gossip of a crowded watering-place. The scenery is somewhat sombre, but not altogether deprived of the picturesque; in grave and classic lines, like that of Poussin, are delineated vineyards, groves, gardens, and luxurious villas, to-day used chiefly as country-seats for the Italians. Here and there the spires of little churches and of convents rise to heaven and complete the panorama. The steep banks extend on one side as far as Genoa, on the other to Savona, and are then lost in the immensity of the sea, a mighty space of blue and green.

From a distance the Albergo della Grotta makes a good appearance. This pretty little palace was formerly the villa of a rich noble, and was never intended to be an inn. Its approaches are lined with laurels, pomegranates, and orange-trees, and it is reached by a steep path with steps cut in the solid rock. Everywhere traces appear of the fastidious taste of some former owner, and in the midst of all this beauty, without regard for the neighbouring nobility, is a prosaic inn. This shows that the conditions of life are changing everywhere. It is not only in Italy that one meets edifices which do not respond to the exactions and the needs of actual society. How many palaces are changed into breweries, how many villas transformed into inns, how many beautiful private gardens have become plantations! The opulent parvenus, only, have preserved some remains of the noble dwellings of the extinct or ruined nobility. The great lords have built for the bankers. The shell still remains, but the mollusk has departed.

The principal ornament of our villa was that which its name indicates, a grotto constructed with great skill, recalling the time when the Roman Cæsars established oyster-parks on their roofs and forced nature into every extravagance. This grotto formed a vast salon occupying an entire wing of the house, and, thanks to the bizarre ornamentation of stalactites, had every appearance of a natural cavern. The walls were of gypsum of all colours. A labyrinth lighted from above led to a fish-pond and a fountain, from which the water flowed slowly, its musical plashing being a genuine refreshment on a hot summer's day.

On entering this subterranean place for the first time one experienced a sense of melancholy, but gradually the eye became accustomed to the twilight and the illusion disappeared, and was followed by a delicious feeling of refreshment and enthusiasm.

To-day this grotto serves for the dining-room of the inn. Tables are set in the middle and in the dark corners, and on the rocks surrounding the fish-pond is placed a table where at times the workmen employed in the neighbouring forges eat, drink, and sleep. When they cede this place, it is only to tourists or to English families.

Here all classes fraternize over their wine and macaroni. The host serves with the same zeal the lords or the drivers. Who knows that he does not prefer the latter, for the lords seldom return, while the post-drivers, like an intermittent fever, come back every other day. The cuisine of this inn was no better nor worse than any other Italian cookery. The wine was agreeable enough to a palate that was not too blasé, and a grateful freshness made the grotto a delightful retreat during the day, for no brawling crowd or discordant music ever disturbed the place. Over the skylight the pomegranate and orange trees intermingle their branches, and when all was still could be heard the murmuring of the sea, a fine view of which might be had from the flat roof of the grotto.

Sestri is a village which is animated only at times by travellers, and to which the railway gives but a fugitive vitality. Few people stop here, for before them near at hand appears the vision of Genoa, and each one hastens to reach "la Superba." Only the visitors of the Villa Palaviccini, which is near, meet at Sestri with the occasional tourists who do not dislike the brodi of Signor Firpo.

The inn, as we have said, was, for a sultry afternoon, unusually full of people. Two diligences painted blue, as well as other vehicles, had arrived from Genoa and Nice. The host naturally conducted his guests to the grotto, which he loved to show off as a wonder. The tables were soon taken by the travellers, who, once comfortably seated, began to examine each other with a certain distrust.

Near one of the tables was seated a young man of medium size. At the first glance one would judge from his expressive face and regular features that he was an Italian; but examining him more closely certain characteristics of the Oriental type would be discovered. Sorrow or labour had prematurely furrowed his high forehead, and the energy of his glance denoted a strong character. He appeared like one who had conquered himself after long internal combats.

His was a sympathetic face and drew men to him. His costume, not extremely elegant, yet comfortable and in good taste, attested, if not a great fortune, at least a fair competency. Before him were spread the remains of a frugal repast of fruit, wine, and cheese.

A short distance from him was a group of three persons, one of whom was a woman. She was a clear brunette with red lips, and had passed her first youth, but was still very attractive, almost beautiful, and the natural gayety of her manner was augmented by a charming air of good-will toward all. She appeared to be the idol of the two men seated near her. One of fine physique, dark complexion, and quiet manners was evidently her husband, or else a very intimate friend. The other cavalier was blonde, slender, and timid as a young girl, blushing on every occasion. The trio ate slowly, and seemed to try to shake off the melancholy impression produced by the singular dining-room.

On the other side a man sat smoking, with a bottle of wine before him. Under his long black disordered hair he knitted his brows. Although still young he bore the traces of a dissipated life. His bronzed complexion, his thick lips, his low, square forehead which made him resemble the sphinx, indicated that he was the descendant of a non-European race. He looked like a carving in basalt, but in basalt worn by the storms of passion, to-day extinct but formerly tumultuous. One was reminded on regarding him of those lakes which, agitated in the morning, are calm under the soft breeze of evening.

Farther off lounged two Italians, easily recognized by the carelessness of their attitude in spite of the presence of a lady. Their nationality was furthermore betrayed by their olive complexions and long black hair falling over their shoulders. The younger wore a mustache à la Victor Emmanuel, which gave him a military air. The second and stouter man was an artist. They both had that air of content worn by men who are at home and breathe their native air.

Separated from them by an empty table a pale, blonde young man seemed to seek solitude. This was a son of Germany. Despite his phlegmatic manner and apparent indifference one could divine nevertheless that he had experienced some misfortune.

Clad poorly and with a certain negligence, forgetting his bread and cheese he looked dreamily at the grotto and his neighbours, absorbed entirely in awaiting the morrow, yet as though he dreaded it.

All the company was silent and a little sleepy. From time to time could be heard voices at the table where the only woman of the party was seated; at times the clinking of glasses and of bottles; then the silence became more profound.

Suddenly a stranger entered by a little back-door. All eyes were turned toward him. There was something in the sudden appearance of this man that was startling. He was very pale and thin. His garments, gray with dust, proved that he had travelled long on foot. Fatigue had marked his visage, and imprinted on his features that melancholy beauty which interests at first sight all men truly worthy of that name. His eyes were sunken, but their expression was soft as the glance of a woman, and attested almost superhuman, sufferings. His haversack, his staff, and his miserable appearance showed that he travelled on foot rather from necessity than from preference.

He sought timidly with his eyes an obscure corner; then, seeing that almost all the tables were occupied, he moved slowly to a seat near the German; but scarcely had he taken off his straw hat and wiped the sweat from his brow, than his figure contracted under frightful suffering. He seized the table convulsively to steady himself, but his strength gave way and he fell unconscious to the ground. In the fall he overturned his chair, and it was a miracle that he did not cut his head on the stalactites of the grotto. He remained stretched at full length, pale as a corpse, and retaining on his features that expression of calm which death gives. All the travellers, led by the lady,--we must do them that justice,--rushed to his assistance. It was the lady who showed most presence of mind, and she proved a veritable sister of charity. In every woman there is a mother and a sister. She seized a carafe, and wetting a napkin applied it to the temples of the unknown, who sighing deeply opened his eyes, and soon came to himself. At first he seemed ashamed of his accident. He leaned on his elbow, his eyes timidly lowered, and stammered some unintelligible words of thanks.

Short as was the time of this little scene the landlord had already heard of it. He hastened, speechless from fear of the formalities which would follow a sudden death in his inn, and he had already decided to beg the invalid to go and die elsewhere, when he was reassured by seeing the stranger again conscious.

This first thought of Signer Firpo was characteristic of our age, which, in place of giving the hand to the unfortunate, repulses him, and does not recognize in the poor the right to be ill. The first sentiment experienced to-day when men meet is that of suspicion or distrust. Indifference has replaced the ideal. Society has turned its back on the unfortunate, and its motto is egotism.

The innkeeper felt a little ashamed when he saw the solicitude of all his patrons for the unfortunate man. Nevertheless, he had no idea of harbouring during the night a traveller who fainted so easily and who had no baggage. Genoa is not far off. There are hospitals there, thought he. I must see that he leaves as soon as possible.

What would have been the exasperation of the honest Firpo if he had known that hunger was the cause of the fainting?

For the present he did not announce his charitable intention on account of his guests who gathered around the new-comer. A common feeling of compassion and charity drew these strangers to each other. They fraternized like old friends, conversing now in French, now in Italian, in order to understand each other.

The woman sought with her delicate hands the wound on the young man's head, whence flowed the blood which stained his temples. The men talked in low voices about the accident, and with a forced smile the stranger muttered feebly:--

"It is nothing! Pardon and thanks! But the heat--fatigue--" "Or rather hunger," added the spectators, looking at the poor fellow whose sunken cheeks showed that they were right.

Gradually calm was again established. Some one advised the invalid to take a little wine, and the woman brought him her own glass after having filled it. He raised it to his lips, thanking her timidly.

"Will you come and sit with us, monsieur?" said she drawing near him; "after a little rest this weakness will pass away." Then she added:--

"These accidents are sometimes succeeded by another, and it will be prudent to be near us. We can watch over you. And if the question is not indiscreet, will you tell us whence you came and where you are going?"

"I go to Genoa, madame," replied the unknown.

"And you come from a distance?"

"Quite a distance, from France. I have travelled on foot, and am very weary."

There was a short silence. But the woman was curious and continued the rôle of interrogator.

"Then you are not a Frenchman?"

"No, madame."

"I knew it by your accent."

The other travellers approached the table where the stranger was seated, and the conversation became general. They talked of their travels, and during this time the invalid became stronger. His extreme paleness diminished as the blood circulated more rapidly in his veins. The woman fixed on him a maternal gaze.

"You are truly unpardonable," continued she. "Being subject to fainting, you ought not to have undertaken such a long journey alone and in such heat. Although Italy is safe in the vicinity of Naples, and has lost her legendary brigands, who no longer exist except in romances, you might have been assassinated or at least robbed in some lonely place on the route that you have taken."

The young man smiled sadly, hung his head, and replied in a low voice, "It would have been impossible, madame, to have followed your excellent advice. I had not the means to do so."

"Poor boy," murmured his fair questioner, "this is frightful!"

"I am an exile," continued he raising his head. "I am a Pole. I left my country on account of some college pranks for which I would have been sent to Siberia, with my future ruined. I hoped to find a warm welcome from compassionate nations. I sought it in Germany, in England, and in France. Everywhere beautiful words concealed a cold indifference. At last I thought of Italy. It has a people whose destiny not long ago somewhat resembled ours. Outlaws, they also sought from the world a little aid and sympathy. Alas!" He interrupted this involuntary confession, which had produced different impressions on his hearers.

He had at first somewhat chilled the company, who, however, soon submitted to a more generous sentiment, and felt themselves captivated by his frankness.

"We are, then, in a measure compatriots," said in Polish the blonde young man seated near the beautiful lady. "I am a little Polish, but Galician." The "but" sounded coldly on the ears of the outlaw, who nevertheless saluted him, and took in silence his outstretched hand.

The dark man with majestic features arose in his turn.

"I, also," declared he in a slightly ironical tone, "have the honour to present myself as in a measure your compatriot. I am Polish, but a Jew."

The Galician turned quickly toward the last speaker, who was warmly shaking the hand of the exile.

"In this general recognition," added the lady's second cavalier, "permit me also to consider myself as somewhat your countryman. We are brother Slavs, for I am a Russian, but outlawed. Give me, then, your hand."

"Outlaw or vagabond, it is all the same," said the man with the bronzed skin. "Permit me, then, as a brother in exile and vagabondage, as a pariah, to fraternize with you. I am a Tsigane, but a rich Tsigane, and that is a rare thing. It is the only reason why I am not rubbing down horses, and why I do not rob hen-roosts. Yes, messieurs, I belong to that condemned race who in the Middle Ages were driven out at the bayonet's point, and who are to-day under the supervision of the police. The only exception made is for our sisters under twenty years who have white teeth, a sweet voice, and la beauté du diable. To reassure you, I repeat, messieurs, that I am very rich; that, surely, is a corrective for the worst reputation. I am not, however, a Tsigane king. I am only an idler by profession." He laughed sardonically, watching the effect of his words, then continued: "I bear on my face the indelible witness of my origin. No magic water can whiten my skin. No cosmetic can conceal my race."

"Listen, messieurs," interposed the lady with vivacity, "if banishment and a nomadic life are the standard of your good-will, you can admit me to your society. My father was Italian, of that Italy which was not yet a country, but a 'simple geographical expression,' to quote Metternich. He emigrated voluntarily to England. My mother was of an old Irish family. My husband, Russian; and if that be not enough, my grandmother was Greek."

A little man suddenly advanced from the midst of the circle brandishing an enormous parasol. He was dressed with great care, and wore a pair of spectacles, with shoulder-straps crossed on his breast from which hung on one side a lorgnette and on the other a game-bag.

"Bravo! bravissimo!" cried he, taking a part in the conversation. "Pardon me for interrupting you, madame, but I desire to participate in this general introduction, and I flatter myself that I have rights which give me the priority. I am a Dane by birth. My mother was Scotch or English, my grandmother an Italian. I have long lived in France, and I believe that I am even naturalized. I hope, then, to have the right to dine in a company from all the world. What think you, my friends?"

There was a general laugh, and he was admitted with frank and joyous cordiality.

"I solicit the same honour," said the German with a heavy air; "I, also, am an exile." With these words he bowed and seated himself.

"The question of country," said the Dane, "is today a simple question of money. With a full purse one is everywhere received, everywhere naturalized; with gold one has everywhere the right of citizenship. No money; no country! No money; move on! The only real outlaw, the true pariah, is he who has nothing. With money one can buy as many countries as he desires. That is why I do not feel the want of one."

With these words he shrugged his shoulders and was silent, and one of the Italians arose.

"My friend and I," said he, "do not wish to be excluded from this charming circle, and we have both a title to be received among you. In the first place, we are artists, who are always nomads in body and spirit. And though we are Italians, one is a Roman, the other Venetian. And we can tender the hand to the Pole, for we are brothers in poverty."

"No! no!" cried the Pole. "You are not like us, despoiled of all. You know whither to fly from persecution. All Italy is open to you. You have a country, a king, and a government. We have only police, spies, executioners, and persecutors. We are always menaced with Siberia or death. Europe does not recognize even our right to exist."

These words, vibrating with despair, threw into the conversation the dramatic note. All the men in this motley society--Italians, Poles, Jew, Dane, and Tsigane--gathered around the little tables, and even those who were least inclined to make new acquaintances could not resist the general impulse. The ice had been broken by the fainting and the confession of the Pole.

We very often hesitate to make new acquaintances when travelling. The motive is usually a selfish one. Each encounter costs us some words of politeness, some courteous concessions, if our ideas are not in accord with those of our new friend. And all these concessions are a total loss, because before long we part at the next station. It is an expense that one can easily avoid. It is much pleasanter to be silent and to stretch one's legs without caring for a neighbour who will be gone in a few moments.

For once the guests of Sestri-Ponente forgot all considerations of personal comfort. The woman had communicated to all the sentiment of charity which had seized her.

Everything is contagious in this world, even virtue. A half-century ago, when there was less travelling, men were much more accessible to each other. To-day there passes before our eyes such a procession of specimens of human kind, from the prince without a crown to the prolétaire without a shirt, that one reflects that caution is necessary.

Man has become cosmopolitan, and he avoids sympathetic persons for fear he may become attached to them.

The landlord, concealed behind the door, felt reassured on seeing him whom he thought dying, under the protection of the whole company. This protection relieved him from obligations, the very thought of which was terrifying.

As a good action reacts on those who are the cause of it, the lady was radiant. She chatted with the Venetian and the Roman, interrogated the Pole, argued with the Dane, said some words to the Tsigane, even smiled at the phlegmatic German, and so charmed the whole company that each one commenced to dread the hour of departure. The conversation continued gayly as it had begun.

"I am not altogether a cosmopolite," said the lady; "man needs a country, and he who has none has one joy the less in his heart, one love the less in his life, and in his thoughts a hope and a consolation the less. Rather than want a country one ought to choose and create one to love, for it is necessary for a young man to have an ideal love if he has not a real one. However, love of one's country does not imply hatred of others. It is a beautiful thing this human brotherhood."

"Very well said," agreed the Dane, who, in order to put in his word, had left his macaroni. "But unfortunately, madame, this fraternity belongs only to fabulous and Utopian days, like the English republics and the patriarchal monarchies. It is a dream, like the imaginary cottages of lovers with idyllic roots and herbs for food, and the clear water of the rushing brook for drink; it is an idle dream, like any other nonsense that men have invented in this age of beefsteaks, of business, of bank-notes, and comfort. It is thousands of years since men coined the word 'fraternity.' Eh! madame, ask the Muscovite to love the Pole, and the English to love the French; demand, then, of the German to renounce his disposition to assimilate all the neighbouring provinces and to demand their ground for the cultivation of his potatoes; ask him then to cease singing the praises of his mother-country wherever he may be."

"Oh! oh!" said the peaceable German shaking his head. "Behold already a satire on the most inoffensive of men." Then he resumed between his teeth, "Oh! Schiller!"

"I have had the pleasure of reading all his works," replied the Dane, returning to his macaroni, "in a translation. He has written many beautiful things. But beautiful verses do not characterize a people, my dear German. I call you very dear, because I love exceedingly men in general, although I hate a few in particular. Well, very dear son of blonde Germany, I tell you, without remembrance of your monopoly of Schleswig and of Holstein, two principalities to which I do not belong,--I tell you frankly, Schiller, Goethe, Kant, Herder, and Lessing are not Germans."

"How is that?"

"Listen, peaceable son of industrious Germany; do not fly in a passion. I know you, that is why I maintain that neither Schiller nor the others belong to you."

"To whom do they belong, then?" demanded the German, striking his knife on the table.

"They are geniuses like Shakespeare. They belong to the whole world, and not to His Majesty the King of Prussia. They are not as well known in the country that has produced them as in other lands."

"That is perfectly true," added the young Pole. "I feel that I understand Schiller better than most Germans, who go into ecstasies over his genius, and raise statues on all the street corners, and throw a flat contradiction over the poet's ideal by shutting themselves up in a narrow and egotistical nationality."

"Enough, young enthusiast!" interrupted the Dane. "You are twenty-one or"--

"Twenty-two," said the Pole.

"I will not permit you to discuss the subject of egotism yet. Wait a few years, until you become an egotist yourself. 'Nemo sapiens nisi patiens.' I admit, however, that you have comprehended my meaning very well, and that you have argued fairly."

A general laugh seized the whole company.

"With your permission," added the Dane, taking up his lorgnette, which he had placed on the table, "this threatens to become a rather long international conference. It is necessary that I should reinforce the inner man to sustain the discussion. Macaroni is very 'filling,' but does not nourish overmuch. I shall send for something more substantial. Decidedly, these Italians for many generations of stomachs have cultivated an exaggerated taste for macaroni."

"Do not trouble yourself about us!" replied the lady smiling.

"Monsieur Pole," continued the loquacious Dane, "do not be offended if I invite you brusquely to dine with me. It is simple egotism. When I eat alone I am not hungry. To see any one eat gives me an appetite, and I divine in you a Polish stomach."

The young man blushed deeply and murmured, "But--but"--

"No buts. It is a service which you can render me. Eat like a wolf; I will enjoy looking at you in coveting your appetite."

With these words he sighed with regret and knocked on the table. A waiter in his shirt-sleeves came running in. Each one ordered his dinner. The conversation flagged, and the German, gloomy and indignant, went and seated himself in a corner.

"Monsieur is provoked," said the Dane to him; "but monsieur is wrong. I esteem your nation very highly, and I render justice to all its general qualities. The Germans abound everywhere, like the trichina; and like it, the hardier they are the more surely they provoke the death of those who have received them. It is a credit to the people, though it be an offence in the trichina. If you dislike my opinion read Heine, who justifies me in all points."

The German made a gesture of contempt.

"Heine, a Jew!" said he in a low voice.

The Dane alone heard him, and leaning towards his companion added, in an undertone, "I fear you will soon be obliged to seek your future where Heine saw it." Then lower still he pronounced this word, a title in one of Heine's works,--"Hammonia!"

After a short colloquy the two men evidently came to an amicable understanding, for they shook hands.

The menu for the principal meal at the Albergo della Grotto was as follows: First a thick brodo, a soup that alone with Italians supersedes their beloved macaroni. Then a dish of fried fish and one of stewed meat; that, to say the least, was a little suspicious, for it had come from Genoa in the heat of the day, and was certainly somewhat fatigued by the journey. Afterward a roast, then cheese and fruit.

The Dane grumbled, and said that the cooking was unworthy of the least of scullions; but the travellers were hungry, and they excused many shortcomings.

The Pole had overcome his embarrassment and ate with evident enjoyment, although he feared that his new friends would divine his long fast. His companion was not hungry, for he had eaten at Cogoletto. The unfortunate young man considered this meal a Godsend, for he was saving his last sou to return home. Having lost confidence in "human fraternity," he relied only on his own strength and economy.

"Am I permitted to ask where you are going?" said the lady, looking around the tables.

"As for me," said the one whom she had succoured, "I go, or rather return, to Poland. It is two years since I left it, and I return impelled by suffering and hope. Aged by my trials, I have left on the way all my illusions."

"I also return to Poland," added the Jew. "I consider it my country. Permit me to call it thus, for I love it, and that gives me the right."

The two men pressed each other's hands like brothers, whilst the Galician seemed to be looking for something under the table, and feigned not to hear them.

"I," said the Tsigane, "believe that I will go to Hungary. I say believe, for it is not yet decided; it is only probable. I have relations established there. They have left the tents of their tribe for more substantial dwellings. I wish to see them once more and to salute them in our ancient language. But for me every place is the same. I am never in haste; I have money, and wander where I will. My country is any spot that suits me, for there does not exist for us a country in the sense in which you use it. We have forgotten our land since we left it, and if we should return, she would not recognize her children. We should be like Epimenides when he returned and found that no one knew him."

"Well," said the Dane to the Pole brusquely, "you have made a wonderful journey, and in the most agreeable way. Necessity is often a blessing in disguise. How often have I wished to be obliged to go on foot, but, unfortunately, there has never been any urgent reason for doing so, and I have always listened to the voice of sloth."

"You wish for everything," said the Jew; "but at the same time you lack the will to obtain the object of your desires."

"That is true. But that which I long for most is youth!" replied the Dane.

"The route is truly charming enough to make one forget hunger and heat," said the Pole. "Walking along the shores of the blue sea, it seemed to me that the world was finished in emeralds and opals and sapphires. It was like Paradise,--an ideal land. What a poem is the ocean!"

"The ocean is not at all poetical," said the Dane; "it only seems so in your youthful enthusiasm. To me the sea speaks only of oysters and fish."

The lady smiled at this prosaic remark, and softly quoted,--

"O primavera! gioventù de l'anno!
O gioventù! primavera della vita!"

"I intend to visit Italy, and I am going to Genoa," remarked the German laconically.

"I, also," added the Dane.

"We go anywhere," replied the Roman and the Venetian.

"As for me," declared the Muscovite, "I am obliged to wander, because I cannot return to 'la sainte Russie' until"--

"Until the tempest explodes there," finished the Dane. "Was not that what you intended to say?" added he.

The Moscovite made an affirmative gesture.

"As for me, I shall prolong my voyage," murmured the Galician. "I wish to see Italy thoroughly."

"Then we are all bound for Genoa," resumed the lady; "this Genoa 'la superba,' that we can already catch a glimpse of here, and which I am anxious to reach."

"Madame, do not complain of the length of the route," observed the Jew. "The true happiness of life is in knowing where one aims to be, and then going slowly toward it. Genoa the beautiful is more beautiful at a distance than when near. The journey from here is ravishing."

"I know something of it, for I have come on foot from Marseilles," said the Pole.

One of the Italians launched out into enthusiastic praise of Italy "la bella."

"I am not surprised to find love of country even among the Esquimaux, but I cannot comprehend an Italian that does not love Italy. Where else can be found so beautiful a country? At your feet eloquent ruins of past ages, overhead a sky of unequalled beauty, and everywhere wonders, with a climate which restores life to the dying. Italy reigns queen of the world; they have plucked the diadem from her brow, but she still continues calm and majestic. Barbarians have chained her beautiful hands, but she will soon rise again and shake off her fetters. Tell me, do you know a more beautiful land?"

"I know one," replied the Pole mournfully. "A gray sky envelops it; its soil is stained with blood. The cemeteries alone speak of the past, and through these burial-grounds pass often despairing groups of chained men. It has no sapphire sea,--nothing but the cold, icy wind. But it is the altar of innumerable sacrifices,--it is my country."

The Italians nodded their heads, and the Tsigane smiled ironically.

"What matters it to a man," cried he, "whether he be here or there! Life is short, and death will soon oblige him to return to the darkness whence he came. Let us not become attached to anything or anybody. It is not worth the trouble."

"What an error!" interrupted the lady; "it is by the heart that one lives. All else is the bitter peel of the fruit."

"In that case one must become accustomed to the peel," said the Tsigane shrugging his shoulders.

A servant came to announce to the lady's cavaliers that their carriage was ready, and he believed it his duty to add that the diligence was also waiting at the door to take the other travellers to Genoa. This interruption had the effect of a cold douche on the company, and a cloud passed over their countenances.

"Thus," said the lady sighing, "we must separate. Destiny pushes us on again like the galley slaves who wish to stop on the way, and are relentlessly forced onward by their keepers. God alone knows if we shall ever meet again!"

"No, we cannot tell," rejoined the Dane, adjusting his lorgnette; "but we shall certainly meet again the types which we resemble. As for myself, I am convinced that I have seen you all already somewhere, and that I shall meet you again, but perhaps under a form less attractive."

This odd idea did not please the lady, who was no doubt offended at the thought of being considered an ordinary woman.

"As for me, monsieur," said she haughtily, "this is the first time in my life that ever I saw you, and I tell you that"--

"That you do not desire to see me again?"

"That is not exactly what I was going to say. However, your belief in types and not in individuals shocks me, I acknowledge. For what man has then a perfect ideal?"

"Men are but men, be certain of that, madame. I affirm more: to believe in a variety of men is dangerous; there are only certain types many times repeated. We often think to find a new man, an unknown; but we soon recognize an old acquaintance who, between you and me, does not amount to much."

"In the abstract you are right, monsieur," said she, glancing at the Russian, who smiled, and at the Galician, who appeared not to listen. "But," added she quickly, "we will not grieve about it. En route and Au revoir!"

"Au revoir! but where?"

"At Genoa."

"At what place?"

"At Aqua Sola," said one of the Italians; "there is good music there, and there we may easily find each other."

Every one arose and saluted the lady, who held out her hand to the young Pole and wished him better health.

The rest of the company prepared to leave, wishing each other a pleasant journey. The Dane took the diligence and the Tsigane an omnibus. The Italians went on foot. The German found it economical to glide into the vehicle of the propriétaire, in the midst of tomatoes and fruits.

"We will go together," said the Jew to the Pole. "I do not wish to part with you. I have a carriage, and if you will not come willingly I shall employ force."

"But I have no right to trouble you."

"On the contrary, you will do me a service. Solitude fatigues me, and your company will distract my thoughts. It is a genuine favour that you will grant me. Come, no more doubts. Give me your hand, brother, and think no more about it."

From the threshold of the inn the landlord saw the departure of the invalid with great satisfaction. And his joy was augmented by the fact that all had paid well, and that his first care now was to prepare a second dinner.

"What good luck," said he to himself, "that that young stranger should have fallen into the hands of those people. If it had not been so he might perhaps have committed suicide here, and I should have been obliged to bury him at my own expense, for he did not appear to have a heavy haversack, and I do not believe he had a sou. May God deliver me from any more such tourists! Yes, I have had a lucky escape."

CHAPTER II.

[JUDAISM AND POLAND.]

The two men traversed in almost uninterrupted silence the short distance which separated Sestri from Genoa. The route is simply a continuous line of straggling hamlets. On one mass of rock arose the ruins of an old tower; above the door was the image of the Virgin, patroness of the city. The light-house appeared in the distance, then the harbour, like an amphitheatre around which Genoa la Superba is built. This beautiful city is seen to best advantage from the sea. It is a city of palaces, with its colonnades, its porticos and staircases, its streets climbing toward the sky or sinking in sudden precipices. It has been likened to an enormous shell thrown up by the waves of the sea. The marine monster who lived in this shell has been replaced by a miserable spider; a life full of littleness has succeeded the life of grandeur of past ages.

In this marble city the inhabitants to-day are somewhat embarrassed. The shell is too large for them,--this shell, in the bottom of which the turbulent Genoese Republic vied with Venice in its traffic and its aristocracy. New peoples are there, new ways. The Balbi and Palaviccini palaces now have the appearance of tombs, while at the port the modern Italian struggles for precedence in a new form of existence, perhaps as full of pride as in the vanished past.

The carriage rolled softly through the streets which led to the interior of the city.

"Permit me to alight," said the young Pole suddenly.

"Why?"

"To go in search of lodgings."

"I thought it was agreed that we travel together?"

"Yes; but I wish to live alone. I tell you frankly that I have scarcely enough to finish my journey. It is necessary for me to seek cheap lodgings."

"Have you not accepted my fraternal offer to stay with me?"

"Yes, perhaps; but poverty has its pride, as wealth sometimes has its humility. Do not be angry because I wish to retain my independence. It is so good to be free, when liberty costs only a bad dinner and a wretched bed."

"I understand your scruples," replied the Jew. "If they were of any value I would heed them. I do not dream of chaining you to myself. My offer amounts to little, but it is made with a good heart, and if you find life with me insupportable you can leave me. In asking you to share my lodgings, if only for a night, I do not make any sacrifice, and you owe me no gratitude. Do not refuse. I can share with you without inconvenience, and it is you who will do me a favour. I am sad-hearted; solitude oppresses me, I do not wish to be alone. Come with me to my hotel. I do not ask you to amuse me, but only to be near me. My heart longs to overflow into the heart of a fellow-man. If I weary you, you are at liberty to leave me to my sufferings."

"It would be foolish for me," said the Pole, "to refuse such a courteous invitation. Pardon my too susceptible pride. It was owing to my poverty."

"I honour the sentiment," replied the Jew smiling. Then he cried to the driver, "To the Hotel Féder!"

The Hotel Féder, like most of the hostelries of Genoa, of Venice, and of other Italian cities, is an ancient palace appropriated to this new service. The structure, half antique and half modern, has a strange appearance. At the foot of the court, obscure and abandoned, trickles an old fountain; a narrow path passes under the windows of the chambers, and on every side can be discovered traces of former grandeur, relics of a romantic age now superseded everywhere by the plain practical life of to-day, whose chief end is money-getting.

The companions obtained a large room on the third floor with two beds, the windows of which commanded a fine view of the port, bristling with masts, like a garden of shrubs despoiled of their leaves by winter. In the distance the Mediterranean could be seen stretching away to the horizon.

They had hardly entered the room when the young man fell exhausted into a chair, and seemed about to swoon for the second time. Some cologne revived him, and a slight repast soon dispelled his weakness, the result of long fasting and excessive fatigue. His strength returned with rest and nourishment.

"And now," advised the Jew, "lie down on this couch, or perhaps it would be better to go to bed."

"If you will permit me?" asked the young man timidly.

"Nay, I beg you to do so."

"And you?"

"Oh, I will see Genoa this evening. Never mind me. I will amuse myself; all I ask of you at present is to sleep; and, mind, you must not even dream."

He took his hat and cane and left the room. The young man fell like one dead on the bed, and was asleep before his head touched the pillow. Fatigue is not the same in old age as in youth, for then sleep soon restores the exhausted energies.

The young traveller was awakened from his profound slumber by the discordant braying of the asses grouped under the windows of the hotel. He had forgotten the events of the past evening, and threw an astonished glance around the luxurious apartment. He who had for so long a time been accustomed to sleep in miserable lodgings now awoke in a pleasant room, and saw a simple but abundant breakfast spread out on the table beside him.

The Jew returned from a sea-bath, prepared to do it honour.

"Is it then very late?" murmured the Pole, rising from the bed.

"No, not very late. I arose early to enjoy the freshness of the morning. Have you slept well?"

"I know not."

"How is that?"

"I fell like a piece of lead. I rise as I fell without having stirred, without having moved even. I have slept the sleep of the dead."

"And how do you feel at present?"

"Strong as Hercules, thanks to you."

"Ah, bah! thanks to youth. Does your head ache still?"

"Not at all."

"Then let us attend to breakfast."

"You treat me too well, dear Amphitryon. This is a breakfast worthy of Lucullus and of the Sybarites. I have contented myself for a long while on awakening with a glass of sour wine and a piece of bread with cheese. A similar repast in the evening, and that was all. I cannot permit myself luxuries. I, a poor orphan, without future or friend, have never been pampered."

"It is not necessary that this should hinder your eating," interrupted the Jew gayly. "I am hungry, and will set you an example. Let us begin. We will become better acquainted."

"That is true; we do not even know each other's names."

"Very well. I have the honour to present you Jacob Hamon."

"And I," said the Pole in his turn, "my friends have christened me familiarly with the name of Ivas. In reality I am called Jean Huba. Huba, and not Hube, which is a German name. You will learn it if you know Poland a little, for I am from a Russian province, in the language of which Huba signifies champignon. It is like the Polish Gzybowski or Gzybowicz. This name became later an addition to the family name of the Pstrocki who came from Masovia to gain their living in a more fertile land. In full, I am Jean Huba Pstrocki ex Masovia olim oriundus, in Russia possessionatus et natus."

"Have you any kindred there?" asked Jacob.

"Neither kindred nor an inch of ground. I am an orphan in every sense of the word. My father, after losing his last cent, and seeing his little farm in Volhynie devastated by hail and other plagues, died, leaving me to the charity of men. From pity they sent me to school, where I passed the examination and entered the university."

"Why did you leave the country?"

"Because with us college pranks are considered as a crime; because we are not permitted to love our country, neither in its past nor future; because those who stifle seek the air. For writing some simple patriotic verses I was threatened with banishment to Siberia."

"Always the malady of the oppressed," remarked the Jew. "Where veterans are seen tearing up all their rights, the young try to reconquer, and, in their unreflecting enthusiasm, often find exile, misery, and death."

They both sighed, and Jacob asked:--

"Why do you dream of returning to a country from which you were obliged to flee?"

"I know not myself" replied Ivas sadly; "I only know that I return to my native land. Suffering has pushed me to it. I have not learned to live in any other country, and exile is to me intolerable, morally and physically. I left home believing that ideas of liberty, concord, light, and justice vibrated in the hearts of other men as in mine. Alas! society is not what I thought it. It has no place for the oppressed, no hand to hold out to the dying, no consolation to offer to the afflicted, no shelter to the proscribed. I return, then, to the country I have left. There, at least, beat some generous hearts, while in Europe"--

"Europe has grown old," interrupted Jacob. "She is afraid of quarrelling. The world is in the hands of charlatans who profit by the sufferings of martyrs. Truth is no more comprehended. They mock at her. Men who are crafty and unscrupulous profit by everything in these days. Self-interest is the only spring of human interest. The heart has given out its last spark of generosity, and the world is drifting towards scepticism and intolerance. Men pride themselves on unbelief, for liberty has degenerated into an unbridled license. Revolution has set up a pedestal for the ambition of impostors, and the apostles of progress make money out of their dupes. Fortunately humanity will grow better."

While he was speaking, the sun rose high in the heavens, and the heat, which was great, made it uncomfortable to walk abroad. The Jew closed the shutters, and the two companions continued their conversation in a subdued light and comparative coolness.

"I ought to make myself known to you," said the Jew, after a short silence. "We understand each other already, but my exceptional position requires explanation. Our acquaintance, which commenced near Genoa, will not end here, I hope. You can tell me more of yourself later on, but it is right that I should be the first to make a frank confidence. It is a courtesy that I wish to show to our new-born friendship.

"The word 'Jew' contains all my history. It tells my destiny, it divines my character. This known, the consequences are certain. The Jew, even while he has ceased to be a pariah in society, still remains no less an enigma. For several thousand years he has borne engraved on his forehead his holy mission,--a mission of, suffering, humility, and abasement. But from this deep abasement he comes out greater, to go forward toward the universal power he lends to the entire world. He builds and tears down thrones, dominates over governments, makes laws, and reigns in an invisible manner. It is with pride that I say it, the word 'Jew' has immense significance.

"Pardon me if I forget myself in speaking of the Jews. I feel myself a child of that great family on the foreheads of which the finger of Moses has inscribed the mysterious name--Jehovah.

"Before being a man I am a Jew. This word recalls much suffering, the first legislation worthy of humanity, the most ancient morals emanating from divine wisdom in the Ten Commandments.

"As God is eternal, so are his laws. When nations were wandering and lost in the by-ways of polytheism and of anomalism (if I can by this word express the absence of laws), the one God is manifested to us; and to us is communicated the sacred fire, which we have preserved during all ages.

"We are spread over the whole world, holding fast the word of God. During two thousand years we have not made proselytes: we have guarded the treasure for ourselves. The world is busy, toils and labours; and we live on, absorbed entirely in guarding this treasure. We are preserved in all our suffering, a distinct people, bearing everywhere our country in our hearts, in our holy books and our religious services, and in all the minute circumstances of life. But to-day, I fear, alas! that we have thrown from our shoulders this dear burden. The Jewish idea seems to have diminished with the cessation of persecution. But to return to my personal history.

"I was born of one of those Jewish families scattered in the Polish villages. You probably know something of the Jews in Poland, a country that I love as well as you do, and on which I can cast only one reproach. The Poles, though deeply imbued with the idea of human dignity, refused the name of man to all those who were not noble. Poland, like the Republic of Venice, has not known how to reform herself. Caste prevailed to so great a degree that she has preferred to perish sooner than adopt a new mode of existence, and risk all in the defence of liberty. Nevertheless, in the lives of these people I recognize a great and brilliant spirit like our own. In speaking of Poland, I do not call myself a Pole, for I am a Jew, and we are a distinct people, it matters not what land we dwell in. In judging Poland's past impartially, one can perhaps criticise, but must acknowledge that it is full of poetry; it is a Homeric epoch."

"Stop!" cried the young Pole, "you are a son of the present; do not excuse the past."

"Why do you speak thus?"

"Why? Because I was born in the midst of new ideas. I condemn the most brilliant epochs of our history, for they were the veritable cause of our ruin. We who are descended from those guardians of our rights are now their judges, and we justly consider as the greatest kings those who tried to crush the nobility to establish their own power."

"You are partly right. Nevertheless, when I meditate on Poland, she seems to me strange, frightful, at times almost savage, but always grand and magnificent, chivalrous and noble. No one has a better right than the Jew to condemn the Polish nobility, yet it is necessary to judge a nation without personal prejudice."

"We will discuss this subject at another time," interrupted the young man; "but there is really something strange in the fact that I, a noble Pole, should condemn the past more than you, a Jew. You are truly magnanimous!"

Jacob smiled, and said, "I am older than you, dear brother, if not in years, at least in experience. Suffering, labour, and meditation, and perhaps, also, the sorrows of bygone generations, have prematurely aged me."

"That is true; but tell me more about yourself."

"Do not be impatient. I cannot do otherwise. We will travel over a rocky road, like the mineralogists. Every time that we encounter a curious stone we will strike it with our hammer to find out what it contains. So we will pause to discuss different subjects. But do you not remember that it will soon be time to go to Aqua Sola?"

"Ah, yes! It is true that we shall meet my beautiful benefactress, who, like the Samaritan, gave me aid in my distress."

"This Italienne who bathed your temples with water, and at the same time, perhaps, lighted a fire in your heart. But between yesterday and to-day there is an abyss. Who knows how many will keep the rendezvous at Aqua Sola?"

"Do you think many will fail to put in an appearance?"

"Experience has taught me to count very little on engagements twenty-four hours old, and not at all on those dating back several weeks."

"The evening is still far off," said the Pole.

"Very far. The sun is yet high in the heavens."

"Then pray continue your autobiography."

CHAPTER III.

[EDUCATION OF JACOB.]

"Who does not love to recall the occurrences of youth, however sad? I cannot boast of happiness in my childhood, yet the memory of those days brings tears to my eyes, and I repeat that which is written in one of our books: 'Youth is a garland of flowers; old age, a crown of thorns.' Even in comparison with maturity, full of power and intelligence, those years seem to me strewn with flowers, although they were unhappy.

"My parents were descended from an important and once wealthy family, whose fortunes had declined for several generations. They found themselves for a time in the lowest degree of society, working in the village inns or occupying themselves in some little business or petty speculations in wheat or cattle. To speak frankly, my father was an innkeeper in a little village. He was a quiet, studious man, loving his books, and little calculated for business. My mother took care of everything. She was the second wife of my father, Joël, who had lost his first after the birth of a son, Joël, who was already well grown when I came into the world.

"Joël, the elder, was of a gloomy character, silent, concentrated, a dreamer. He was absorbed in abstruse speculations, and was happy only when he was left in undisturbed possession of his books. He was generally esteemed on account of his learning, but his family suffered from his inaptitude for business, which was for us a question of life.

"It has been, and is still, with the Jews, a traditional duty to amass wealth. This does not proceed from the character of the race, but from the conditions under which they live. The only rights accorded, or, rather, dearly sold, to the Jews can at any moment be revoked, suspended, or torn in shreds by the tribunal of the clergy. Where can justice be found? To whom can they complain? The Jew has been forced to seek in gold, which is worshipped by all nations, the means of obtaining justice, rights, and consideration. The poor Jew has no defence, no protection, but the head of the community to which he belongs. The Christians have, in a measure, made a religious duty of avenging the death of Christ on us; this Christ who was a Jew also. We are therefore obliged to cling to our money as the only safeguard, though the law of Moses condemns severely this love of gold. (Exodus xxii. 25.)

"My father could not be accused of enriching himself at the expense of others. In the end, plunged as he was in metaphysical studies, which made him forget the affairs of this world, he lost even the little hoard that had been saved with so much difficulty. All the care and labour fell on my poor mother, who was much younger, and therefore interested in the future. I had two sisters younger than myself, and my half-brother was much older.

"Our rural establishment consisted of a rented farm, and a tavern situated near a highway. The locality was much frequented. We were brought up in a continual bustle, which, however, did not disturb my father, who was too absorbed to notice it. My mother and two servants worked hard to satisfy their guests. It would have been a most profitable business, in spite of a neighbouring rival, if fortune had only smiled on us. But that which was made by the sale of brandy, hay, and oats was lost in other ways. In his transactions with the dealers in hides and cattle, my father always came out worsted. He attributed this ill-luck to the will of God; but my mother grieved bitterly over his lack of business tact. We grew poorer every day. The family jewels, my father's furs and clothes, all that we possessed of any value, were gradually parted with.

"The owner of the tavern was a noble. Fat, hearty, always gay and good-humoured, he was a viveur; a heart good enough, but terribly dissipated. He cared not for the morrow, provided that to-day was passed agreeably. At all times he required money. He was our plague, although he was not wicked. Every time that he sent for Joël my mother wept, for she knew that he would have to take money with him.

"At the manor-house, which was about half a mile from the tavern, there was always a gay company. When he was alone a single day, Micuta almost died of ennui. If no one came to amuse him, he ordered his horses, and went to visit his neighbours. His wife wept then, like my mother. She could not prevent his dissipation nor correct his faults, but, womanlike, she loved him in spite of all. To procure money with which to amuse himself was the sole object of this nobleman, and when he was told that he would ruin himself, he replied carelessly, 'Ah, bah! Providence will provide. I will die as I have lived.'"

"Such types," said Ivas, "are common with us. Every district possesses several Micutas."

"At the same time that he sent for Joël to bring him money," resumed the Jew, "his wife, Madame Micuta, sent to my mother, and begged her not to give him any. But how could she resist when he was determined to have his way at any cost? Joël always yielded to his demands. For his continual banquets it was necessary to have fish, meat, sugar and vegetables, spices and wine. And that was not all; the accounts increased, and my father was obliged to give his note and pay usurious interest.

"Naturally I, too young to understand the state of affairs, looked on the world around me, and found it wonderful. The tavern was always full of travellers. Behind our garden was a forest of oaks, where I loved to wander, listening to the warbling of birds and the rustling of the branches overhead. Now, I cannot interest myself thus in nature; human beings interest me more. It is not given to every child to grow up in such a turmoil, and in the midst of a crowd of strangers continually going and coming. From it I learned that there were many people in the world, and at the same time that many of them were strangers. I realized that all these people were preoccupied, and cared nothing for us. My mother, in these early days, could pay little attention to me, occupied as she was, while my father prayed and read. We knew that she loved us, but she had no time to caress or to amuse us. I became accustomed at an early age to live alone. My thoughts were my companions, and a secret mistrust separated me from men. I loved, however, to observe them and to penetrate their characters.

"I was still quite young when my father died, after a short illness. That day of mourning and lamentation is engraved on my memory. It was then that I pronounced for the first time the words, as is the duty of all Israelites whom the hand of God has stricken, 'Glory to Thee, equitable Judge, may Thy will be done.'

"After the old man's death, which left me an orphan, our landlord turned us out of the tavern in spite of my mother's entreaties. She rented a little inn situated near a mill, on the border of a forest. This place seemed pleasant to us, but here began hardships which children only do not feel. Instead of the incessant noise of our inn, full day and night, we now seldom saw any one, save that occasionally an individual came to the mill, and this ran only six months in the year, on account of lack of water.

"During this dull season we scarcely sold a barrel of brandy."

"Around the little cabin murmured the pine-trees, and the narrow path which led to the mill was overgrown with trailing vines and herbs. We lived in this solitude on black bread and vegetables furnished by our little garden. My mother grew more despairing every day, and appealed to her relatives and to those of my father, but in vain. We were in rags, but yet we children were not unhappy. Presently I reached the age for study. My mother grieved over her inability to have me taught, and I remember that one day she left us under the protection of a poor Jew of the neighbourhood, and was gone for some weeks. She returned a little more tranquil, kissed my forehead and said, 'Rejoice, my son, thou shalt soon have some one to instruct thee!'

"I realized so little the importance of this promise, that I was much more pleased with the sweet cakes which she brought me. You know what care the Israelites take in the education of their children, for it is in that way that we learn the laws and traditions of our people; it is, in a word, the shaping of our souls. From the rabbi, at five years, every boy ought to learn the Bible; at ten, the Michna; at thirteen, the Divine Ordinances; and at fifteen, the Gemara."

Seeing an expression of incredulity spread over the lips of Ivas, Jacob paused. "I am aware," said he, "that these books have been ridiculed to you by men who are antagonistic to us. They know only the outlines of their teachings, and that very superficially or by hearsay. It is, however, to these customs which appear ridiculous to you that we owe the fact that we have not disappeared from the face of the earth, nor become absorbed by other nations. Obscure as the text is, it merits our gratitude.

"I remember, as if it was yesterday, the arrival of my tutor. I was at the door of our cabin, when from a miserable vehicle alighted a being so deformed and of such a frightful appearance that he scarcely seemed human. The body of this creature was so bent by long study that he could not stand erect. He was hump-backed, and from his curved chest arose an enormous head, with a high forehead, from which shone a pair of piercing black eyes. His glance terrifies me even now in my dreams. It seemed as if he could penetrate one's inmost thoughts. The outer world was nothing to the owner of these eyes; he lived for books alone. Lame in one foot, he walked with difficulty, leaning on a cane. It was more of a hop than a walk.

"Such was my mentor. He came from the village, was called Moché, and was celebrated in the vicinity for his great learning. His knowledge of sacred literature was most extensive. He recited by heart long passages of the Talmud and of the Kabala, without omitting a word, without forgetting an accent. His life was devoted to the instruction of children and to self-culture. The world did not interest him; he lived entirely in the past. No doubt he would never have consented to come to us, had he not been attracted by two boxes full of rare books, the heritage of my father.

"Moché was a strict teacher, and insisted on the observance of all religious rules and traditions. He was a travelling encyclopedia which moved mechanically. I doubt if there ever was a more severe teacher. He fulfilled his functions without pity, almost with cruelty.

"Deprived so suddenly of my liberty, I was forced to embrace so many studies that I thought I should lose my reason and become a fool. But, at any cost, I must learn to be a Jew, or perish. Mechanically my head was filled with words, with long tirades which I had to repeat without stopping, each intonation of which, required by the sense of the phrase, had to be learned with care. In spite of the brutality of this method, it was a spur to my intelligence, which gradually opened and put itself in motion.

"I commenced to study with some understanding. It is difficult to determine what influence on the mind of a child the study of past generations has. It is certain that, on commencing the study of the Bible and the history of my people, I believed myself awakened from a dream after a long slumber. Once the first difficulties vanished, I applied myself so ardently to study that Moché was astonished. It was not his custom to encourage children by pleasant words, but he showed himself less severe toward me, without, at any time, becoming affectionate. The only thing that annoyed him was when I asked explanations of the passages which we studied. Then he was cross, and rapped my fingers with a little rod which served him for pointing out the letters. He wished to chase from my brain that which he considered premature pride. Moché often repeated to me, to pique me into emulation, that, following the rabbins, the world rests on the breath of children who learn the law of God, and not on the intelligence of savants.

"Laugh, if you will, but these remembrances have a great charm for me."

"That does not prevent me from laughing at your club-footed Moché," said Ivas.

"I do not dream of poetizing him. I even say that his severity rendered him almost a savage. Although he was always polite to my mother, he did not hesitate to reproach her for not keeping up our customs more rigidly. Then he would threaten to go away.

"For us Moché was a sort of bugbear. Yet when he was roused he became almost grand. Then the brightness of his soul became so apparent that you did not think of his body. When he recited to us the sufferings of Israel the tears rolled down his cheeks, he was excited almost to frenzy. His voice was broken with sobs, and he often sang the verses in an inspired voice. In these moments his hair was pushed back from his forehead, and his body shook with a nervous tremor, produced by extreme susceptibility and appreciation of the subject; his memory was prodigious.

"Such is a brief sketch of my master, not flattering, but very like him.

"It was he who made me read the first books of the Bible, or rather who made me weep over them. He was so conscientious that, having recognized in me a certain ability, he advised my mother to send me to a neighbouring town to finish my education.

"Thanks to him, at thirteen, following our custom, I read publicly in the Synagogue passages from the Holy Scriptures, and I was made one of the ten officiants of the temple, the number necessary for the assembly to be considered complete.

"It was exceedingly difficult for my poor mother to remove. But she resolved to use every effort in my behalf. Miserable as our existence was near the mill, it had some advantages, for our rent was very low, and we had fuel, thanks to the woods which surrounded our cabin, and vegetables from our little garden. In the town we should have had to pay for everything, even water. How could we live? How could she do it? How transport her children thither? And after getting there, on what resources could we subsist?

"While my mother racked her brain to find an answer to these questions, my half-brother, having already amassed a little fortune by selling hides, came to pay us a visit.

"This unlooked-for event was of great importance to us. We had not seen him for a long time. He was nearly thirty years old, and was married. His wife's marriage portion and a little heritage from my father formed a small capital, which he had known how to increase. The first year of his married life he had lived at the expense of his wife's parents, who were willing to do anything in their power. Afterward he established himself separately, and little by little increased his business. Fortune, which had frowned on our father, smiled on the son. This gave him courage; economical, cold, prudent, he devoted all his intelligence to the success of his projects. To be rich was his aim, and he was convinced that he should succeed. He was not yet well enough off to draw money from his business to aid us, but he brought us news of relations of my mother's, who, touched at last by her sad situation, sent her a small sum of money to invest in some business, the profits of which might educate my sisters and me. My mother wept with joy. We children were sad when we heard that we were to leave the mill and the forest, but we soon became accustomed to the life of a town.

"The elder brother was received with great affection. My mother asked him if he knew of any way for her to invest the money. Joël, who wished to increase his business, proposed that she invest the sum with him and share his house. She agreed to the proposition, and the next day, impatient for the change, sent for a vehicle to remove from the cabin.

"Here commenced the second period of my life. You have seen that my childhood was not cradled on a bed of roses, that I have suffered, and that suffering was the sun which hastened my development. As the sun's rays make the flowers blossom, so hardship forced my character to unfold. Those years have left me memories, for the most part disagreeable. Memories of ruin, of labour, of fighting against hunger, cold, and the contempt of men which paralyzed the intelligence, and prevented one from rising above bodily occupations. It is permitted to poets, or rather to those who give themselves out as such, to exalt in nature an impossible idealism and to rebel against materialism. But, alas! on regarding actual life, how many needs we have, and how much is required for mere existence!

"Man in full strength can battle with nature and poverty and come out conqueror. It is, nevertheless, very difficult to rid one's self of the cares of each day, the rock of Sisyphus which rolls back on us continually. The Jews were very numerous in our town; indeed, they formed the larger part of the population. We had a synagogue with which I was very much impressed, for until then I had seen only the miserable cabins which we used for places of worship. I could for the first time form a just idea of our religious ceremonies, and of the sabbath which draws us away from the world, restores us to God, and brings us nearer, in a measure, to our lost country. The baking of bread, a part of which is given to the poor, the setting of the table, the prayers in common, the blessing of the wine, all the customs recall the patriarchal epoch when God was with us, and took, in a way, part in human existence.

"To-day you Christians and we Jews have driven God from our presence, and we have forgotten him. Man made by the hands of the Creator believes himself a god, and anthropology is the contemporary religion.

"In my brother's house we dwelt in unity as one family, of which he was the head. The women prepared in common the evening meal, and what was needed for the morrow. When the hour for prayer in the synagogue arrived, an old priest rapped on the shutters three times with his mallet of wood, and we set out toward the temple bearing our books under our arms. The synagogue was an old building, dating from the sixth century. It had cost the community much money, for when they were building it the proprietor of the place, who was a Catholic, the Prince K----, had little toleration. The Jews, who had for worship only a little wooden house with a worm-eaten roof, solicited permission to build a new temple; which was granted to them only because money was needed by the proprietor, and it was not plenty just then, there having been a war. The Jews profited by his necessity to buy from the prince a plot of ground and the right to erect thereon a brick synagogue. The traditions of the neighbourhood speak of a colossal sum paid for the privilege. During the construction the workmen were ordered to undo their work, and to pull down the carved balls which ornamented the roof and made the synagogue more imposing than any of the surrounding buildings. However, such as it was, with its style much less Gothic than was planned, it seemed to my childish eyes fully equal to Solomon's Temple.

"I continued my studies with ardour. My teachers found in me much aptitude, and I had an insatiable desire to learn.

"Our little town, except on market-days, was not one of the most frequented, although it ranked among the most important. It was traversed by a thoroughfare on which a continual procession passed to and fro. Our co-religionists had founded a school here. As the Catholics had an important church, and the principal population was composed of the government employés, it was necessary, in order to remain unmolested, to pay without ceasing.

"I soon learned to conduct myself differently toward each person, according to his position on the social ladder.

"In general the Jew owes tribute to every one, commencing with the door-keepers of the Lords, and the wives of their door-keepers.

"One day returning from my class I found the house in a commotion. I feared at first that there had been an accident. The smiling faces reassured me. They awaited the arrival of an important person. My mother pulled me into the house, and ordered me to array myself in my best. My brother was already dressed. On the table there was brandy, with sweets, honey cake, white bread, spiced bread, and even a bottle of wine. I learned that he whom we were to receive with so much ceremony was my mother's cousin, a rich merchant from Warsaw. He was coming to decide about my future.

"I imagined in my childish brain a man of imposing figure with a long beard and a biblical costume recalling patriarchal times. I was still in this dream when a man appeared that I should have taken for a Christian. He was dressed differently from us, wore spectacles and a round hat. He had passed his first youth, had heavy eyebrows, large features, black eyes, and a smooth face. His complexion was rosy, his figure corpulent, and he evidently considered himself a man of importance.

"My mother told me to kiss the hand held out to me so majestically. Afterward he examined me attentively, caressed my chin, joked about the cap that I wore, and finished by blowing a cloud of smoke in my face from the cigar he was smoking. After the preliminaries, he said in German, in a patronizing voice, 'I think we can make a man out of this boy.' We all listened to him as to an oracle, because he was enormously rich, and my future depended on him.

"'What think you?' added he addressing my mother. 'I will take care of him, but not in your way.' Then turning to my brother he continued: 'There are already enough Jews employed in little ways, keeping taverns in the villages. The cause of it is our ignorance.'

"'Nevertheless,' replied Joël, 'this boy is not ignorant; he has been well taught, and he is now learning to read in the Gemara.'--'Ah! What does he want of the Gemara? Do you think of making him a rabbi? It is necessary for us in these days to go everywhere, and not remain in a corner! Why these ear-rings in the ears? Why that iarmulka? These are all remnants of the Middle Ages. The time of our persecution is almost past. The world opens to us. We must be ready to play an important rôle. The Jew has good sense and judgment, which he has preserved through hundreds of years of suffering. Why can he not enjoy the same advantages as Christians? Why is not our education as well developed as theirs? With that we can remain Israelites in the bottom of our hearts.'

"In spite of their respect for this wealthy kinsman my mother and my brother could not agree with him, for his remarks shocked their traditional ideas. Without noticing this impression he continued:--

"'I ought not to forget that I am a Jew, and to keep my faith in the citadel of my soul, but outwardly appear in the world on an equal footing with other men, as all sensible Jews do, in strange countries, and even in the kingdom of Poland. I have examined this lad attentively. He is worthy of Israel. I will occupy myself with his education, but we must send him to the Christian schools. He must commence to go to them here. Afterward send him to me, and I will take care of him.'

"'You are our benefactor!' cried my mother. 'But you know that many of our people have abandoned their belief, and are equally despised by the Jews and the Christians. How, then, will he preserve his paternal traditions?'

"'And why should he not preserve them? You must banish your puerile fears, otherwise he will vegetate like a good-for-nothing in rags and misery, where you are, instead of being like me. I still remain a Jew. I go to the synagogue, and I observe the law, but no doubt less strictly than you.'

"All this conversation is engraven in my memory, and it fixed my destiny.

"Having learned that our kinsman had arrived from Warsaw, Abraham Machnowiecki, the oracle of the Jews in our town, came to pay us a visit. His was a common type in our community; he was a Polish Jew of the old school, a Polish Israelite, though he could not give so complete an account of his descent as Mickiewicz has so well set forth in his Jankiel. Abraham was an important man in his part of the country. He had continual relations with all the proprietors. He knew their families, their situation, their business, in a word, all that concerned them. He was much interested in electoral meetings. He was consulted on all subjects, and in the most delicate affairs he was often chosen arbiter. He was esteemed because he was worthy of esteem; he was received everywhere with courtesy, and offered a place of honour, while his co-religionists were left standing at the door. Without Abraham nothing of importance was done. His bearing was full of dignity; he was very tall, and wore a white beard, which fell almost to his girdle. His ordinary costume was a black redingote, a czapka of sable, and in summer a wide-brimmed felt hat. A silver-headed cane completed the dress, by which he was recognized from a distance.

"In his dwelling, which was one of the best of the neighbourhood, there were always visitors on business. He was the banker of half the proprietors, and he lent or procured money.

"The science of Abraham went no further than that of most Jews, but he had a quick intelligence and a great knowledge of men. His predominant quality was an imperturbable calmness. He was never annoyed, never gave any signs of impatience, and showed in all things an undisturbed moderation. He was not communicative, words came slowly from his lips, and he was thoroughly trustworthy. Very much attached to his faith and its customs, he was yet not a fanatic.

"This oracle so generally respected was absolutely devoid of pride. He did not demand the consideration which was naturally given him.

"The appearance of Abraham at our house was rare, and you may infer that this extraordinary circumstance was owing to an invitation from my mother, who felt the need of his advice. Our elegant kinsman seemed less sympathetic before the grave Abraham. His somewhat frivolous manner became more offensive compared with the conduct of the other Israelite, who was, at the same time, dignified and amiable. The meeting of these men--one of whom, a free thinker, had lost almost all traces of Judaism; the other, a biblical character--was very interesting and aroused my curiosity.

"Our relative, in all the pride of a man full of his own importance, was hardly polite to the old man. My mother's cousin did not abandon his cigar, and began to laugh on regarding the Jew's long curly hair, iamulka, the old-fashioned costume, and gigantic cane.

"It did not take Abraham long to recognize in our kinsman a type of modern Jew that he had often met before.

"'It is very kind of you,' said he, 'to take an interest in this unfortunate family. Would to God every one would do the same! The book Nedarin says: "Honour the sons of the poor who are the brightness of our religion."'

"'I wish to do so truly,' replied the Varsovien carelessly. 'I wish to make of this young relative a sound and healthy branch of our community. That is why I have proposed to send him to school with the other children.'

"'You will cast him in the fire to see if he is gold? If he be gold, he will remain gold; if he be of base metal, he will melt.'

"'They tell me he has good faculties. It is necessary to develop them.'

"'Provided that he does not lose his faith. That is why I think that it will not do to remove him from our schools until he is well grounded in his religion. When the potter wishes to make an impression on a vase of clay, he sees that the vase goes to the studio soft and plastic.'

"'How old is he?' asked our cousin.

"'Thirteen years.'

"'You have probably,' continued he, 'a good common school here; he must go to it.'

"'Why not?' replied Abraham; 'but the poor child will suffer much.'

"'Who, then, has not had trials? You see me. I am worth to-day two millions, perhaps more, and I commenced by selling blacking and matches in the streets.'

"The old Abraham murmured in a low voice a text from the Book of Judges which said: 'One must endure the sun's bursting rays because it is indispensable to the world.'