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CORNELL 
 
 UNIVERSITY 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 FROM 
 
 The Cornell Memorial 
 
 Society 
 
Cornell University Library 
 PS 3545.0452R3 
 
 A renegrade, and other tales 
 
 3 1924 021 731 538 
 
M "^ Cornell University 
 WM Library 
 
 The original of tliis book is in 
 tine Cornell University Library. 
 
 There are no known copyright restrictions in 
 the United States on the use of the text. 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924021731538 
 
A RENEGADE 
 
 AND OTHER TALES 
 
A RENEGADE 
 
 AND OTHER TALES 
 
 BY 
 MARTHA WOLFENSTEIN 
 
 Author of "Idyls of the Gass" 
 
 PHILADELPHIA 
 
 THE JEWISH PUBLICATION SOCIETY 
 
 OF AMERICA 
 
Copyright, 1905, 
 
 BY 
 
 The Jewish Publication Society of America 
 
 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED 
 
ACKNOWLEDGMENT 
 
 The Jewish Publication Society of 
 America acknowledges its indebtedness to the 
 publishers of the following periodical publica- 
 tions, who have permitted the use of copy- 
 righted matter : — • 
 
 The American Israelite for The Beast. 
 
 Jewish Comment for A Goy in the Good 
 Place, and Nittel-Nacht. 
 
 The Outlook for A Renegade. 
 
 Lippincott's Monthly Magazine for A 
 Monk from the Ghetto, Dovid and Reset 
 (which appeared there under the name, An 
 Idyl of the Gass), A Judgment of Solomon, 
 and A Sinner in Israel. 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 I. A Renegade g 
 
 II. DoviD AND Resel 45 
 
 III. LoEBELE Shlemiel 75 
 
 IV. A Sinner in Israel 105 
 
 V. Nittel-Nacht 131 
 
 VI. A Judgment of Solomon 151 
 
 VII. A GoY IN THE Good Place 161 
 
 VIII. Genendel the Pious 183 
 
 IX. A Monk from the Ghetto 203 
 
 X. Grandmother Speaks: Chayah 231 
 
 XL Grandmother Speaks: Our Friend 259 
 
 XII. Babette 287 
 
 XIII. The Beast 307 
 
I 
 
 A RENEGADE 
 
A RENEGADE AND OTHER TALES 
 
 A RENEGADE 
 
 Schneider, Schneider, 
 Meek, Meek, Meek. 
 
 The quiet village street echoed with this 
 taunting cry. The shouters were half- 
 grown boys, running in pursuit of a taller 
 one, who fled before them, casting strange- 
 ly terrified looks behind. At the corner of 
 the street leading into the Jews' quarter, 
 he ran full against a short, fat boy, bound- 
 ing back as though he had collided with a 
 rubber cushion, and in a moment his 
 pursuers were upon him. 
 
 " Come on, let's fight 'em, Peretz ! " 
 
 cried the shorter boy. The other glared 
 
 for a moment at his tormentors, breathed 
 
 hard, clenched his fists, then suddenly 
 
 11 
 
A RENEGADE AND OTHER TALES 
 
 grasped his companion by the arm, and, 
 dragging him along, ran down the Jews' 
 quarter into the open door-way of the 
 synagogue yard. He quickly slammed the 
 gate and bolted it. The two boys stood 
 panting and glaring at each other. " They 
 are right," burst forth the shorter, " they 
 are right that they call us Jews cowards! 
 Why didst not fight 'em? " 
 
 For answer Peretz lunged forward, 
 grasped his companion by the shirt and the 
 belt of his trousers, tossed him up above his 
 head, shook him as a dog would a cat, and 
 then gently laid him on the ground at his 
 feet. The boy — his name was Jacob, 
 euphoniously called Yaikew in the Ghetto 
 — lay for a moment as if stunned. 
 
 " What kind of craziness is this? " de- 
 manded he, hotly, scrambling to his feet. 
 " Thou needst not show me what a strong 
 man thou art." 
 
 " Dost still think I was afraid? " cried 
 the other, passionately. Then he turned 
 12 
 
A RENEGADE 
 
 suddenly away and hid his face against the 
 wall. Yaikew looked in amazement and 
 saw that he was trembling. 
 
 "What ails thee, Peretz?" he asked 
 more gently. " Has anybody done thee 
 a harm? " 
 
 " It is always so; the people all think I'm 
 a coward," was the tremulous reply. 
 
 Yaikew shrugged his shoulders, and re- 
 turned with a sage air : " What should they 
 think? " ' 
 
 Peretz cast a cautious glance around, 
 and drew from his bosom an old, torn 
 book. 
 
 " See," said he, holding it fondly, " this 
 is why I don't fight." 
 
 " What is that? What dost thou mean? " 
 questioned Yaikew. 
 
 " If I fight, might they not tear my 
 shirt and find it? " 
 
 "What," cried Yaikew, "for an old, 
 torn book thou lettest them torment 
 thee!" 
 
 13 
 
A RENEGADE AND OTHER TALES 
 
 He took it in his hands, turned its 
 yellow pages wonderingly, and finally 
 added : 
 
 "What is this, anyhow? It isn't He- 
 brew." 
 
 " It's Greek," whispered Peretz. 
 
 "Greek," echoed Yaikew. "Where 
 didst thou get it?" 
 
 " Sh — sh," warned the other, in fright. 
 " The schoolmaster who lived at the mill 
 last summer gave it to me, for blacking his 
 boots and carrying water. In the even- 
 ings I taught him to read out of the Pen- 
 tateuch, and he taught me out of this — the 
 Iliad." 
 
 " Ili-ahd," mimicked Yaikew, smiling. 
 " There must be fine things written in 
 this book that thou wearest it in thy bo- 
 som." 
 
 " God forgive me the sin," cried Peretz, 
 "but there is naught so beautiful in all 
 our holy tongue as is written in this little 
 book. I could not live without it. Wai ! 
 
 14 
 
A RENEGADE 
 
 my master would bum it in a minute, and 
 my mother, Yaikew — she is very pious. It 
 would grieve her that I read profane 
 books," and he laid the volume carefully 
 within his open shirt, and pressed his hands 
 lovingly upon it. 
 
 Peretz was fifteen years old, and for the 
 last two years apprenticed to the village 
 tailor. His widowed mother, the poorest 
 woman in the Gass [Jews' Street], picked 
 up a scanty living at any odd work that she 
 could find. She had sent him to the Ghet- 
 to school until he was Bar-Mitzwah (at the 
 age of thirteen). 
 
 " 'Tis time that he begin to earn some- 
 thing, and he has no head for learning," 
 decided the old teacher, for Peretz 
 dreamed idly over the fine, logical intri- 
 cacies of the Talmud text. 
 
 The great dry-goods merchant of the 
 Gass took him into his store to teach him 
 the business, but in a month Reb Noach 
 15 
 
A RENEGADE AND OTHER TALES 
 
 sent him home with the message : " Tell 
 thy mother thou art as fit for business as 
 I am for a tight-rope walker." As Reb 
 Noach had a club foot, and weighed some 
 two hundred pounds, this likeness was fully- 
 convincing. 
 
 . Although Peretz had been with his mas- 
 ter, the tailor, almost two years, he had as 
 yet learned little of the craft. His princi- 
 pal occupation was that of minding the 
 children and doing chores, for which select 
 service he received no wages. 
 
 With his lank limbs protruding from 
 his ragged clothes, an old rimless cap 
 pressed upon his black, curling hair, his 
 pallid face and black eyes red-rimmed with 
 nightly reading, he was the butt and jest 
 of all mischievous boys. The little cowards 
 took particular delight in tormenting him 
 as soon as they discovered that he would 
 not fight. 
 
 The very next day after the incident re- 
 lated, Peretz's master sent him to deliver 
 16 
 
A RENEGADE 
 
 a coat to Count Reichenberg, whose estate 
 was an hour's walk from the village. Pe- 
 retz went along reciting parts of his be- 
 loved Iliad to himself. His memory faiHng 
 him at a certain passage, he sat down' and 
 looked up the verse. It was beautiful. So 
 was the next and the following one, and in 
 the combat of Hector and Ajax he forgot 
 his errand, his wretched life, and the whole 
 world about him. Noticing presently that 
 the lines in his book were growing dim, he 
 looked up and saw to his dismay that it was 
 evening. He remembered that his master 
 had particularly urged him to hasten, as 
 the coat was for a fancy-dress ball which 
 the Count was to give that evening, and 
 the tailor had taken great pride in freshen- 
 ing it up for the occasion. Peretz snatched 
 up his parcel and ran at the top of his 
 speed. 
 
 Lamps were already twinkling on the 
 lawn when, frightened and panting, he ar- 
 rived at the palace. He delivered the par- 
 
 17 
 
A RENEGADE AND OTHER TALES 
 
 eel, and was about to steal away, when a 
 valet appeared and ordered Peretz to fol- 
 low him, as the Count wished to see the 
 messenger. 
 
 Peretz followed. Pale with fright, he 
 appeared in the door-way of the Count's 
 dressing-room. 
 
 " Thou damned rascally scoundrel ! " 
 roared the Count, a thick-set man, with a 
 round face, now red with rage. " I have 
 a mind to have thee flogged, thee and thy 
 master together. What does the man 
 mean by keeping me waiting? Tell thy 
 master that I'll have him run out of the 
 village. I'll ruin his trade. I won't pay 
 him a Kreuzer." Peretz trembled at sight 
 of the Count's rage. 
 
 "It isn't my master's fault," he stam- 
 mered. " He sent me early in the after- 
 noon. I forgot myself." 
 
 "So!" cried the Count. "Loafing in 
 the tavern ! Pitching pennies ! What ! " 
 
 Peretz's pride was stung. 
 "" 18 
 
A RENEGADE 
 
 " I was reading, your Highness," replied 
 he, quietly. 
 
 " What ! Reading ! Liar ! What wast 
 thou reading? Show it to me? Where is 
 the book? " 
 
 Peretz paled again. He had betrayed 
 his secret. He would lose his beloved 
 book, perhaps his place, and be again a 
 care and disgrace to his mother. He un- 
 did his ragged shirt, pulled out the tat- 
 tered volume, and two great tears welled 
 up under his lids as he reluctantly held it 
 forth to the Count. The Count glanced at 
 the book, then at Peretz, and shook his 
 head incredulously. 
 
 " Dost mean to say, boy, that thou canst 
 read this? " 
 
 All trace of anger had vanished from his 
 face, which now shone with interest and 
 ■curiosity. 
 
 " Here," continued he, " let me hear. 
 Read something," and he thrust the open 
 volume into the boy's hands. 
 19 
 
A RENEGADE aJi'd OTHER TALES 
 
 Peretz grasped the book joyfully. Per- 
 haps the Count would let him keep it, 
 after all. He began to read. Passage after 
 passage flowed glibly from his lips. 
 
 The Count listened, his face a mixture 
 of surprise, incredulity, and pleasure 
 
 His guests were surprised presently to 
 see him appear in earnest conversation 
 with a ragged, barefooted Jewish boy, 
 whom he shook by the hand at parting as 
 if he were his equal. 
 
 " You seem to have discovered a new 
 species of game. Count," remarked a guest, 
 laughingly. 
 
 " Hunting is not my pet vice, Madame," 
 returned the Count. "Am I not known 
 as an inveterate collector of gems? You 
 may congratulate me. I have just dis- 
 covered a rare diamond." 
 
 That same evening Schedel Neuer, with 
 Peretz beside her, stood within the rabbi's 
 house, crying eagerly: 
 20 
 
A RENEGADE 
 
 " Talk it out of him, Rebbe Leben ! He 
 wants to go to Vienna. The Count wants 
 to send him to the High School. Why 
 should he become a wise man? Will that 
 bring money into the house? If he learned 
 nothing out of our dear, holy books, will he 
 learn out of those without a word of Yid- 
 dish [Hebrew] in them? He dare not go, 
 Rebbe Leben. We dare not take it from the 
 Goy [Gentile]. There will no good come 
 of it. Why should he learn all the wicked- 
 ness that is written in those books? Not 
 my father, peace be with him, nor my 
 grandfather could read a word that was not 
 written in the Prayer-Book. They were 
 pious men, but he has it from his father. 
 God forgive me that I must confess it." 
 
 The rabbi, a young man, who had been 
 but two years in the village, and had what 
 the older people called " new notions in his 
 head," at once sided with Peretz. 
 
 " You may take my word for it, Frau 
 Neuer," said he, " there is much wisdom 
 
 21 
 
A RENEGADE AND OTHER TALES 
 
 contained in those books that you so des- 
 pise. It would be better if more in the 
 Gass would devote themselves to their 
 study." 
 
 But Schedel was firm in her opposition. 
 
 " There will no good come of it," she 
 insisted. " We dare not take it from the 
 Gentile." 
 
 The younger folks sided with Peretz. 
 
 " Wilt thou trample thy good fortune 
 under foot? Times have changed, and the 
 Jew and the Christian are now equal," they 
 urged. The old people shook their heads 
 wisely, and sighed : 
 
 " The Jew and the Christian can never 
 agree. There will no good come of it." 
 
 But the outcome was that Peretz went 
 to Vienna to study, under the protection 
 of Count Reichenberg. 
 
 His letters were full of hope and happi- 
 ness; everything was pleasant and easy; he 
 was already beginning to earn money, for 
 
 22 
 
A RENEGADE 
 
 he had formed a class of factory men and 
 women whom he was teaching to read and 
 write. He sent his mother all of his earn- 
 ings that he could spare, and begged her 
 not to work so hard. 
 
 In two years Peretz was admitted to the 
 University, and after this he was able to 
 support his mother in ease and comfort. 
 
 " Nu, Schedel," said her younger friends, 
 " dost still wish to have thy Peretz home 
 and minding the tailor's children? Thou 
 livest at thine ease like a countess." 
 
 But Schedel looked up sadly from her 
 knitting and complained, " What have I of 
 my son when he is in Vienna and I am 
 here? " 
 
 " Schedel is a discontented old grum- 
 bler," they said of her; but the old people 
 sighed, and said sympathetically, " She 
 has her cares." 
 
 One day the neighbors found Schedel 
 with a letter clasped tightly in her hand, 
 23 
 
A RENEGADE AND OTHER TALES 
 
 lying as if dead on the floor. They laid 
 her upon the bed, and sent for old Dr. 
 Pinkus, but in spite of all efforts she re- 
 mained unconscious. Then they sent for 
 the rabbi, who read the letter. It was as 
 follows : 
 
 My beloved Mother: 
 
 It near breaks my heart to write this, for I know 
 how it will grieve thee. Didst thou but know what 
 pain and struggle I have gone through, thou wouldst 
 pity and not condemn me. What I am about to do 
 must be, or all my striving all my life were in vain. 
 
 Mother, dear, it is only a form — an empty nothing. 
 My soul still clings to thee, to our dear Gass,"to the 
 beloved friends at home. But wouldst thou that I 
 come back and go to work for the tailor again; or at 
 best earn a scanty living by teaching at ten Kreu- 
 zers an hour? Shall I, like Dr. Pinkus, smother 
 my brain, my body, my soul, within the Ghetto 
 walls? Were he not a Jew he could to-day be Pro- 
 fessor at the medical college here. And poor Aaron 
 Silberstein — is he not gro-virn bent and gray and mis- 
 erable in his wretched little shop ? He might to-day 
 be upon the Supreme Bench of Austria, had he but 
 consented to be baptized. I tell thee it is obstinacy, 
 nothing but obstinacy! A short ceremony, a few 
 drops of water— can they change the soul? Or does 
 true religion consist in what one eats, or in the 
 strap one binds upon the forehead, or that one prays 
 24 
 
A RENEGADE 
 
 in Hebrew ? In the end they are alike, — Judaism and 
 Christianity, — ^both for the betterment, the happiness 
 of mankind. All the rest is trifling — empty form. 
 But we cannot transform the world. If the majority 
 have prejudices and insist that we become Chris- 
 tians, it is absurd to stand like petulant children. It 
 is madness to try to run our heads through a stone 
 wall. Obstinacy, I say, sheer obstinacy ! And I can- 
 not sacrifice position, ease, comfort, wealth, hope, 
 ambition — aye, fame (thou dost not dream of the 
 heights to which I may aspire) — for an empty form. 
 As a Jew in Vienna I cannot earn my salt. More- 
 over, my beloved friend and benefactor, Count Rei- 
 chenberg, is being constantly reproached for his pro- 
 tection of a Jew, and must leave me to my fate un- 
 less I change. A thousand times rather death than 
 back to the Ghetto ! It is useless to try to dissuade 
 me. The first steps are already taken. God help 
 thee to see it in the right light. We shall yet be 
 happy together, darling mother, till a hundred years. 
 Dost remember how thou didst laugh and wonder 
 that the Countess has her breakfast in bed? Thou 
 wilt live like the Countess, mother, with a maid to 
 save thy dear, tired feet every step, and silken 
 dresses, and a new Sabbath cap for every week in 
 the year. 
 
 Write that thou forgivest and still lovest thy affec- 
 tionate son till death. 
 
 Peretz. 
 
 P. S. — My letters are to be addressed to Father 
 Ignatius Becker, at the Brother House of St. Bene- 
 dict. 
 
 25 
 
A RENEGADE AND OTHER TALES 
 
 The news spread like wildfire through 
 the Gass. The younger folks shrugged 
 their shoulders, sighed, and looked wise. 
 
 " Wai ! " lamented the old folks, wring- 
 ing their hands. " A traitor in Israel. 
 PoorSchedel!" 
 
 The doctor said there was no hope for 
 the old woman. She would take neither 
 food nor drink, and lay for days in a deep 
 lethargy. On the seventh day of her ill- 
 ness another letter arrived. In fear and 
 apprehension, yet half hoping to arouse 
 her, the doctor took her hand and said : 
 
 " Frau Schedel, here is a letter for 
 you." 
 
 Schedel for the first time opened her 
 eyes. 
 
 " Isn't he done yet? " moaned she, feeb- 
 ly. " Read ! read ! " The doctor opened 
 the letter. It contained only a few lines 
 and a ten-Gulden gold piece. He laid them 
 both within her hand. Schedel slowly 
 lifted her hand and looked with dim, 
 26 
 
A RENEGADE 
 
 bleared eyes at the coin. Then suddenly, 
 with a cry, she sat up in bed. 
 
 " From him ! " she cried with a shrill 
 voice. " Does he think he can buy me 
 as they have bought him — ^with a piece 
 of gold? " And she flung the coin from 
 her with such force that it crashed through 
 the window and rolled on the pavement 
 outside. 
 
 The neighbors stood around awaiting 
 her death; the friends wept; the " pious 
 women " were in readiness; but toward 
 evening the wrinkle on the old doctor's 
 forehead began to smooth out, for Schedel 
 opened her eyes and said : 
 
 " Why do you sit here, Herr Doctor 
 Leben? Waiting for me to die? I shall 
 not die yet." 
 
 " It all lies with you," replied he. 
 
 " I tell you I will live ! " assured 
 Schedel. 
 
 " She will live," said the doctor, and 
 went home to his bed. He had hardly 
 
 27 
 
A RENEGADE AND OTHER TALES 
 
 closed the door when Schedel said to the 
 woman who was watching with her: 
 
 " Bele Leben, bring me that gold piece." 
 
 The woman gave her the coin, and Sche- 
 del placed it under her pillow. The next 
 morning she breakfasted on bread and 
 milk. 
 
 Every seventh day following this a letter 
 containing a gold piece arrived, and with 
 each new coin Schedel seemed to gain 
 strength. Yet she grew thinner and paler 
 every day; only her eyes seemed to live, 
 and they gleamed with a strange, wild 
 energy. She kept the coins carefully 
 wrapped in an old piece of silk, and, when 
 she looked at them, she would laugh a 
 low, mirthless laugh that terrified those 
 who heard her. She who had proudly re- 
 fused all their help during her days of bit- 
 terest poverty now lived upon the soups 
 and invalid dishes the neighbors sent 
 her. 
 
 " Let me buy thee a bit of roasting 
 
 28 
 
A RENEGADE 
 
 meat," urged her neighbor Bele one day. 
 " Thou needest it for thy strength." 
 
 "Have I money for roasting meat?" 
 replied Schedel, in surprise. Bele flushed 
 red with anger. 
 
 " Hast thou not thy pocket heaped full 
 of gold, so that one hears it jingle a mile 
 off? " she cried. 
 
 Schedel looked at her quietly for a mo- 
 ment, then said : 
 
 " If I were lying out on the street and 
 dying, and one should say, For a penny of 
 that gold thou canst buy a drop of water 
 ' to save thy life, I would not buy it." 
 
 " Would one believe," said the people, 
 contemptuously, " that Schedel would 
 turn out such a miser? " 
 
 " One does not become a miser over 
 night," said Dr. Pinkus. " There is some- 
 thing wrong with Schedel. She is plan- 
 ning something." 
 
 The morning after the sixth gold piece 
 had arrived, the Gass awoke to the as- 
 
 29 
 
A RENEGADE AND OTHER TALES 
 
 tounding news that Schedel was gone and 
 her house locked up 
 
 Two weeks later an old woman, hag- 
 gard, footsore, and travel-stained, joined 
 a great throng crowding into the portals 
 of St. Stephen's Cathedral in Vienna. 
 
 " Art sure," asked she of the Jewish lad 
 who was leading her by the hand, " that 
 he who is to be baptized to-day is the 
 young man Neuer? It must be a mis- 
 take." 
 
 " Shall I not know, when nothing else 
 has been talked about for a month? Think 
 not it is for him that all these people have'* 
 come. Only last month, when the old law 
 came in again, and we Jews were forbidden 
 to own land, three got baptized, but not 
 a cock crowed about them. The people 
 have come to see the Kaiser. He himself 
 is to be godfather on account of his friend 
 the Count. Such a thing has never been 
 before. My mother says she doesn't 
 know whether it is an honor or a disgrace 
 30 
 
A RENEGADE 
 
 for the Jews. Anyhow, it will be a fine 
 sight; " and the boy, stimulated by the 
 promise of ten Kreuzers, began to elbow 
 his way through the crowd, and dragged 
 the old woman with him into the Kaiser 
 Chapel, already crowded to suffocation, 
 where the ceremony was to take place. 
 
 In front, near the altar, on which a 
 thousand candles glittered, were invited 
 guests of the nobility, and, in a place of 
 honor. Count Reichenberg and his family. 
 Suddenly a glorious burst of organ music 
 shook the air, the chancel door opened, 
 and forth came the cardinal and bishops 
 and a procession of priests, followed by 
 choir-boys, some swinging censers. Then 
 came the convert, led by two acolytes. He 
 was covered from the neck to the ground 
 with a sweeping robe of white, his face pale 
 as death, his black eyes downcast. 
 
 When all were assembled, the chancel 
 door again opened; a handsome, pleasant- 
 faced young man entered and stood beside 
 31 
 
A RENEGADE AND OTHER TALES 
 
 the convert. The church was hushed with 
 awe. It was the Emperor Franz Josef of 
 Austria ! 
 
 Now the chant began, which the cardinal 
 himself intoned. Then all again was si- 
 lence, while the convert uttered the con- 
 fession of faith, bowed his head to receive 
 the holy water, raised a crucifix on high, 
 and pressed it to his lips. 
 
 It was done ! The people were about to 
 withdraw, when a shrill voice in the con- 
 gregation cried suddenly, " Wait ! " 
 
 An old woman, dishevelled, trembling, 
 and wild-eyed, scrambled over the low altar 
 rail. 
 
 "Wait!" she cried, with a low, mad 
 laugh. " I've a gift for the newly bap- 
 tized child. I've come afoot all the way 
 from Maritz to bring it. See," she added, 
 extending her tattered shoe, " not enough 
 leather there to cut a little patch." 
 
 " She is mad," whispered the priests, 
 and darted forward to seize her. But in 
 32 
 
A RENEGADE 
 
 a moment Peretz stood beside her with 
 uplifted hand. 
 
 " She is my mother," he murmured. 
 
 At sight of him the old woman uttered 
 a fearful shriek. 
 
 " Did you see him, all of you — did you 
 see him kiss the crucifix? Pfui! Thou 
 wretch ! Accursed Meshummed [rene- 
 gade] ! Here thou hast thy dirty gold," 
 and she flung a handful of coin full into the 
 young man's face. The blows seamed the 
 flesh with livid white, which in a moment 
 turned purple. The people stared. 
 
 " A maniac," " She raves," " Bind her," 
 buzzed the crowd. 
 
 But she had flung herself on her son's 
 neck, and was wailing, 
 
 " Have I hurt thee, Peretz, my life? I 
 did not mean it. O, the poor bruised 
 face," and she stroked the red spots gently 
 with her withered fingers. " God forgive 
 me! I am a wicked mother," she sobbed.. 
 Lifting her in his arms, Peretz carried her 
 33 
 
A RENEGADE AND OTHER TALES 
 
 out into the vestry, where she lost con- 
 sciousness. 
 
 When she again opened her eyes, she 
 looked around in stupid amazement at the 
 strangers, the priests, and the choir-boys. 
 
 " What are we doing here, Peretz? '' she 
 complained querulously. " Come, let's go 
 home. It seems to me," she whispered in 
 his ear with scorn, " these here are nothing 
 but Goyim [Gentiles]." 
 
 Two days later the Gass was in an ecsta- 
 sy of excitement, when a special coach from 
 Seldau brought Peretz Neuer and the 
 corpse of Schedel, his mother. 
 
 On the evening of the next day, when 
 they buried her beside her husband. Peretz 
 disappeared from the village. 
 
 For years he was never mentioned in 
 the Gass without a curse. " Matricide " 
 was the favorite name given him, and he 
 was held up as a warning example to all 
 unruly children. As time passed he was 
 34 
 
A RENEGADE 
 
 almost forgotten, and it was only his old- 
 time friend Yaikew Holzman, whose busi- 
 ness often brought him to Vienna, who 
 kept his memory alive. 
 
 Once he came home with the announce- 
 ment that Peretz, or rather Professor Doc- 
 tor Franz Josef Neuer, as he was now 
 called, being named after the Emperor, 
 was going to be married to the daughter of 
 Baron von Waldeck-Schleierbach. An- 
 other time, that he was acknowledged the 
 finest Greek scholar in all Europe. Then, 
 that his text-books were used in every 
 school in Austria, and that he was making 
 money " like hay." 
 
 Later this changed. He then reported 
 that Peretz had two daughters, but did not 
 live happily with his wife. Then they were 
 speaking of a separation. Then he 
 brought the exciting news that the Pro- 
 fessor had been wounded in a duel with 
 his brother-in-law, the young Baron, who 
 had called him " a damned Jew." Years 
 
 35 
 
A RENEGADE AND OTHER TALES 
 
 after they heard that he was separated 
 from his wife and family, and lived alone in 
 a great, stately mansion, with servants and 
 carriages and all manner of riches. 
 
 One day they read in a paper which Yai- 
 kew brought from Vienna that the eminent 
 Greek scholar Dr. Neuer was to spend 
 the coming Easter holidays with his old 
 friend Count Reichenberg at Schloss 
 Maritz. The excitement in the Gass was 
 great. 
 
 " So he is coming back ! " " To show 
 off his greatness ! " " To taunt us with his 
 riches ! " " The accursed apostate ! " were 
 the comments of the people. And Peretz 
 came. 
 
 The Jews listened eagerly for gossip 
 about him, but all they heard was that his 
 handkerchiefs were always spotted with 
 blood, and that he took pellets at night 
 to stop his cough. 
 
 " 'Tis the wasting disease," they said; 
 " God's judgment is upon him." 
 36 
 
A RENEGADE 
 
 One morning the children of the Gass 
 came running home with the cry that the 
 Count and his guests were riding through 
 the village on their way to the hunt. 
 
 The gay cavalcade, at its head Dr. 
 Neuer, came cantering down the street. 
 
 " Seest him, the wretch? " whispered the 
 Jewish women, pointing him out to their 
 children, on whom the moral of a familiar 
 story was lost, for they gazed with delight 
 at the wicked infidel. Indeed, never had 
 a nobler-looking man been seen in the 
 Gass. His hair was gray, his smoothly 
 shaven face lined with care and disease, 
 but he sat, a manly figure of perfect ele- 
 gance and grace, on a high-stepping, milk- 
 white horse, and the large black eyes 
 glanced with haughty indifference about 
 him. 
 
 " He is not even ashamed," cried the 
 people with rage, as the riders disappeared 
 in a cloud of dust. 
 
 37 
 
A RENEGADE AND OTHER TALES 
 
 The great Passover festival had arrived. 
 Through all the village, aye, even at the 
 princely Schloss Maritz, was its wide and 
 subtle influence manifest. Professor Neu- 
 er, his heart heavy with memories, fever- 
 ishly paced a long, dark corridor, when 
 suddenly the clear voice of the young 
 Countess Gisela reached his ear. 
 
 " That Jew girl," she cried angrily, 
 " sends me word that, on account of one 
 of their heathenish festivals, she cannot 
 mend my tunic. It is most exasperating! 
 She is the only lace-maker in the 
 village." 
 
 " We shall admire the fair penitent in 
 another gown," replied her husband, jest- 
 ingly. 
 
 " You know," pursued the Countess, 
 petulantly, " that I have vowed my Lenten 
 gowns shall be .only of black or gray. 'Tis 
 my long tunic of black Duchesse — only a 
 small tear — a few hours' work. The un- 
 grateful creature! I have given her no 
 38 
 
A RENEGADE 
 
 end of work, and now, for nothing at all — 
 O, they are all alike, these Jews ! I cannot 
 understand papa's infatuation for this Jew 
 — this Dr. Neuer. His haughtiness irri- 
 tates me. Haughtiness ! It is his Jewish 
 impudence." 
 
 " I had thought the baptismal waters 
 washed away that taint these twenty years 
 ago," interposed the young Count, laugh- 
 ingly. 
 
 " Absurd ! As if baptism could wash 
 it away. No. A Jew is a Jew, and 
 remains a Jew. 'Tis in the blood — Judas's 
 blood!" 
 
 Dr. Neuer smiled bitterly as he walked 
 on, and the voices died away behind the 
 heavy portieres. 
 
 But in the Gass, the despised, they of 
 the Judas blood, were seating themselves 
 joyfully at the snowy Seder tables, there 
 to celebrate symbolically and with praise 
 and song the redemption of the children of 
 Israel out of Egyptian bondage. 
 
 39 
 
A RENEGADE AND OTHER TALES 
 
 The festival in Yaikew Holzman's house 
 was particularly happy. 
 
 Old Holzman read the service, filling in 
 the intervals with merry jokes and reminis- 
 cences. The children crammed them- 
 selves with sweets, toyed with the sprigs 
 of horse-radish which they were bidden to 
 eat in commemoration of the bitterness of 
 their ancestors' lives in Egypt, and giggled 
 as they slyly threw the bitter herb under 
 the table. 
 
 " Granddaddy, dear," said Isserl, Yai- 
 kew's youngest, in the middle of the meal, 
 the resting-place in the service, " for whom 
 is that glass of wine there that no one. 
 drinks? " 
 
 " Listen to our little one," laughed old 
 Holzman, patting the child proudly; " he 
 questions like a Talmud scholar." 
 
 " That," he explained, " is for the 
 
 prophet ^ Elijjiih. After we have eaten 
 
 and said grace, We will throw wide open 
 
 the door, that Elijah may enter. If he 
 
 40 
 
A RENEGADE 
 
 conies, he will be the forerunner of the 
 Messiah; then next year we shall all be in 
 Jerusalem." 
 
 " Let me open the door for Elijah," cried 
 Isserl, leaping from his chair after grace 
 had been said. 
 
 He flung wide open the door. 
 
 " Here he is," he piped gleefully. 
 
 The company uttered a cry of terror, 
 for in the door-way stood a man; not the 
 long-haired, barefoot Tishbite, but an ele- 
 gant gentleman in faultless evening attire. 
 A sable-lined cloak hung upon his shoul- 
 ders, and around his neck on a ribbon hung 
 an imperial decoration — the Golden Cross 
 of the Legion of Honor. 
 
 " Pardon me," said he, entering the 
 room with a timid, hesitating step. " Did 
 I frighten you? Dost thou not know me, 
 Yaikew? " 
 
 " Peretz," gasped Yaikew, white to the 
 lips. 
 
 " Have you not room for an old friend 
 
 41 
 
A RENEGADE AND OTHER TALES 
 
 at your Seder table? " pleaded Neuer, with 
 a faint smile. 
 
 The company stared, with pale, troubled 
 faces, but old Holzman cried scornfully: 
 
 "This is a Jewish festival; it is not in- 
 tended for the Goy. Why do you come 
 and disturb my festival? " he added 
 roughly. 
 
 Neuer stood at the door, hat in hand, 
 meek as a beggar. His lips trembled 
 pitifully, his eyes roved large and plead- 
 ing over the happy family group and the 
 old familiar scene. 
 
 " I was — so homesick," he murmured 
 faintly, trembling in every limb. 
 
 " Father, let him remain," urged Yai- 
 kew. " Dost thou not see that the man is 
 sick? Surely he is penitent." 
 
 " Penitent ! " cried the old man, fiercely. 
 " See the sign of his penitence. See ! He 
 wears it on his bosom ! " and he pointed 
 with trembling finger at the cross on 
 Peretz's breast. 
 
 42 
 
A RENEGADE 
 
 For a moment the bitter smile which 
 the Countess's scorn had called forth hov- 
 ered again on Peretz's lips. It was quickly 
 replaced by his habitual haughtiness. 
 
 " Pardon my intrusion ! " he said coldly, 
 but he clutched the door-post and reeled 
 like a drunken man as he walked away and 
 disappeared in the darkness. 
 
 An hour later the Gass was disturbed by 
 breathless ejaculations and hurried foot- 
 steps on the quiet street. 
 
 "What has happened?" cried Yaikew 
 from his door-way. 
 
 " A corpse — they have found a corpse 
 in the cemetery," whispered a passer-by. 
 
 Yaikew seized a lantern and ran with the 
 rest. The joy of the festival was at an end. 
 The men hurried down the street with pale 
 faces, the terror-stricken women clasped 
 their children, and in every mind raged the 
 horrible memories of the " blood accusa- 
 tion." 
 
 All hearts failed when, arrived at the 
 
 43 
 
A RENEGADE AND OTHER TALES 
 
 cemetery, they saw the form of a man 
 stretched lifeless across a grave. 
 
 " The Meshummed ! " gasped a dozen 
 breaths. 
 
 The grave on which he lay was that of 
 his mother. Beside him was an old, black 
 prayer-book, bearing Schedel's name on 
 the fly-leaf. It lay open at the Kaddish, 
 the moumer^sgrayer for the dead, that 
 glorious exaltation of God, that deathless, 
 ancient cry, which, with mysterious power, 
 binds together all Israel as with imperish- 
 able bonds of steel. 
 
 Peretz the Renegade sleeps in the ceme- 
 tery of St. Benedict, under a massive mar- 
 ble cross; but every year, at the anniversary 
 of his death, that ancient Kaddish prayer 
 rises to heaven, and a death-light is kindled 
 in his memory, in the house of Yaikew 
 Holzman of the Gass. 
 
 44 
 
11 
 
 DOVID AND RESEL 
 
II 
 
 DOVID AND RESEL 
 
 I 
 
 HOW THEY MARRIED 
 
 Ever strange are the instruments of Fate. 
 Passing strange are the instruments of 
 Fate in the Gass, for there it may chance 
 that an awkward bar-maid spills a dish of 
 pickled herring, and lo! — thereupon, and 
 within the hour, a youth and maiden who 
 are unconscious of one another's existence 
 become betrothed. 
 
 yhus did it happen, indeed, and Anshel 
 Dorfgeher, instead of blessing gawky Pepi 
 as a bearer of joy, swore as he dodged the 
 acid drippings of her slopping platter, 
 leaped from his chair, and betook himself 
 with his pipe and mug to the other end of 
 the room. 
 
 Reb Joiness's tavern was well-filled with 
 
 47 
 
A RENEGADE AND OTHER TALES 
 
 Jewish tradespeople, acquaintances of 
 Anshel, but he chanced to find a vacant 
 place beside a stranger, a prosperous-look- 
 ing farmer, who after five minutes' conver- 
 sation turned out tO' be no other than his 
 old friend, Aarele Wolf, whom he had not 
 met for thirty years. 
 
 "Well, well," cried Anshel, "to think 
 that we two have been here at the fair all 
 week and never met, — and thou wast on 
 the point of returning home^ thou sayest. 
 Ai, ai, — and I came near missing thee, too ! 
 Nu, how goes it? Thou lookest prosper- 
 ous. — Pure silver, what? " he said, finger- 
 ing the buttons on Aarele's coat. 
 
 " Thou dost not look starved thyself," 
 laughed Aarele, good-humoredly. " How 
 goes it with thee? " 
 
 " Nu, there is always something," com- 
 plained Anshel with a shrug. " ' Little 
 children, little troubles; big children, big 
 troubles.' My eldest daughter is already 
 eighteen; but what can I do? — I can't find 
 48 
 
DOVID AND RESEL 
 
 her a husband. A world nowadays ! Who 
 looks for family or bringing up? Bah! 
 nothing but money, money, and again 
 money. She could have had a certain Kra- 
 kauer; the family are strangers, — ^have 
 been only twelve years in Maritz, — but can 
 I give her to the first run-about Polak who 
 asks and who comes from God-alone- 
 knows-where? She could also have had 
 Yossele Krummer's son — a first-class 
 Shlemiel and an ignoramus; usser does he 
 know the first page of the Pentateuch." 
 
 " I know it's not so easy to find a good 
 match nowadays," replied Aarele. " I've 
 been hunting a wife for my Dovid for half a 
 year." 
 
 Anshel started as though he had received 
 a blow in the back. 
 
 " Thou sayest not so ! " he cried. " Well, 
 well, — so thou hast a grown-up son, — hm, 
 hm, — ^who would think it? — and art hunt- 
 ing him a wife? — ^well, well ! " 
 
 "The Rodower Shadchen [marriage- 
 
 49 
 
A RENEGADE AND OTHER TALES 
 
 broker] runs my house out with offers," 
 said Aarele, " but what do I want with fine 
 city ladies ! Goyim, I give thee my word, 
 — not a Jewish drop left in them." 
 
 Anshel's eyes grew small, but they 
 twinkled, as when he held a good hand at 
 cards. 
 
 " 'Tis as thou sayest," he returned; 
 " these city girls, they are not worth spit- 
 ting at. Shall I not know, who live among 
 them? But, thank God, my Resel is of a 
 different kind. I don't want to brag, but 
 I tell thee thou couldst travel through the 
 length and breadth of Austria and not find 
 her like. Clever ! hm — diligent, — pious, — a 
 beauty ! " and then followed a speech, the 
 point of which was that Resel was a won- 
 der; combined the virtues of her ances- 
 tresses, Sarah, Rebekah, and Rachel, with 
 the more modern accomplishment of cook- 
 ing fish with raisin gravy, and the reason 
 she was still unmarried was because her 
 mate could not be found. 
 50 
 
DOVID AND RESEL 
 
 Aarele looked impressed. 
 
 " My Dovidl," he began; but at this 
 point Anshel judged it wise to begin play- 
 ing trumps. He ordered wine. And it was 
 a good play, for after the third glass Aarele 
 suddenly said warmly, — 
 
 " How would it be if we made a match of 
 them? " 
 
 " A yokel ! — he's easy," crow'ed Anshel, 
 inwardly, but his face took on an air of 
 great humility. 
 
 " How so, — a match? " he said. " I'm 
 a poor man and thou'lt be wanting a great 
 dowry. 
 
 " Nu, how much dost thou give? " 
 
 " She has a fine outfit, — a princess need 
 not be ashamed of it," said Anshel. 
 
 "Nu?" 
 
 " 'Tis worth no less than three hundred 
 Gulden," said Anshel. 
 
 " Nu, nu? " 
 
 " Nu, — two hundred." 
 
 "Two hundred!" cried Aarele. "My 
 51 
 
A RENEGADE AND OTHER TALES 
 
 son has but to stretch out his hands, and 
 he can have a girl hanging on each fijiger, 
 — not with two hundred, but with two 
 thousand ! Under three hundred he dare 
 not take her." 
 
 " Did I say I want thy son? " replied An- 
 shel, coolly. " Why should she bury her- 
 self in the country, a beautiful, pious 
 maiden? " 
 
 This also was a good play, for Aarele be- 
 came wroth, and thereby showed his weak- 
 ness. 
 
 " Hast du gesehn ! " he cried indignant- 
 ly, — " too elegant ! And I tell thee if she 
 lived a hundred years, she could not find 
 a better match. My Dovid is a boy in a 
 thousand. There is not a second head like 
 his to be found in all of scattered Israel, — 
 of iron, I tell thee," and so on crescendo, 
 leaving Dovid a marvel of gifts and graces, 
 in no wise out-distanced by Resel. 
 
 " Nu," replied Anshel, " if I haven't got 
 the money, I haven't got it, that's all." 
 52 
 
DOVID AND RESEL 
 
 " The money," cried Aarele. " What do 
 I care for the money ! That's the leasts But 
 if only for decency, — I can't let him take a 
 beggar into the house, — make it two-sev- 
 enty-five." 
 
 " There's no use talking, Aarele. When 
 I think of it, I don't see how I can drive up 
 more than one-seventy-five cash, not if I 
 scrape together my last Kreuzers. Finish 
 thy glass, — I must be going. Why need 
 she marry into the country? If I only men- 
 tioned it to her mother," — and now came 
 Anshel's best card, — " thou knowest she is 
 the great-grand-niece of a brother of the 
 famous and pious Rabbi Yecheskel Lan- 
 dau, — she would tear her hair out." 
 
 The game was won, for Aarele could not 
 withstand the bait of such distinguished 
 ancestry. 
 
 " Are we not a pair of fools ! " he now 
 
 cried in a conciliatory tone. " Shall we 
 
 make our children unhappy on account of 
 
 a few miserable Gulden? Say not another 
 
 53 
 
A RENEGADE AND OTHER TALES 
 
 ^ord; — ^we'll call it two hundred and done ! 
 
 What? " 
 
 " Nu,— Maseltow [good luck!] ! " 
 
 " Maseltow ! " and the friends clasped 
 
 hands across the table. 
 
 When Anshel returned from the coun- 
 try-fair next day, bringing with him a pros- 
 perous-looking stranger, all the Gass tip- 
 toed with curiosity. 
 
 The front door of his house had hardly 
 closed behind them when the back one 
 opened, and forth came little Isserl and 
 Herzl, promising twigs on Anshel's family- 
 tree. 
 
 Isserl trotted at break-neck speed in the 
 direction of Muhme Maryam's, and re- 
 turned with a roundish parcel. 
 
 " Ktichel [cookies]," cried the Gass. 
 
 Herzl flew at top-speed in the direction 
 of Shlome Edelstein's, and returned with a 
 longish parcel. 
 
 " Wine," gasped the Gass. 
 E4 
 
DOVID AND RESEL 
 
 Then a rumor went forth, mysterious in 
 its source as the one that scattered Sen- 
 nacherib, casting consternation into the 
 hearts of the matrons, envy into the hearts 
 of the maidens : 
 
 "Hast heard? — Resel, Anshel Dorfge- 
 her s, is a bride." 
 
 " No, — thou sayest not so ! — With 
 whom? " 
 
 " His name is not yet known, but the 
 father-in-law sits in their Stub [best room] 
 eating of Maryam's most expensive 
 cookies, and drinking red wine out of their 
 silver-plated cup." 
 
 And though the Gass walked past An- 
 shel's window with studiously averted head 
 or scanning an invisible landscape, it saw 
 aright, for within Aarele was lolling luxur- 
 iously in Anshel's best arm-chair, while 
 Resel tremblingly poured his wine, and 
 Leah, her mother, sang inward paeans. 
 
 The younger branches, from fifteen- 
 year-old Dordl to tiny Lebl, having been 
 55 
 
A RENEGADE AND OTHER TALES 
 
 duly presented, in a row, like a card of pins 
 in assorted sizes, now held post in the 
 kitchen, Dordl, as eldest, having undis- 
 puted right of the key-hole. 
 
 " The finest cakes I ever ate," said 
 Aarele, helping himself to another. 
 
 " His fifth ! " groaned Dordl at the key- 
 hole. 
 
 " The Fresser [glutton] ! " wailed the 
 twigs. 
 
 "Didst bake them thyself, Resel?" 
 asked the prospective father-in-law, smack- 
 ing his lips. 
 
 " Resel does all of our baking," equivo- 
 cated her mother with an inward prayer 
 of " God forgive me the lie." 
 
 Aarele laughed at the fib, for his well- 
 trained palate recognized the art of a spe- 
 cialist. 
 
 " Nu," he said with a wink, " she may 
 bake this kind once a week, when she's 
 my son's wife." 
 
 His wife! Ah, the bewitching word! 
 
DOVID AND RESEL 
 
 Resel thrilled at the sound, and soared at 
 its magic on roseate clouds. The silken 
 folds of her wedding-dress rustled divinely 
 in her ears; he was leaning fondly over 
 her, as it said in the precious, forbidden 
 books; he was whispering tenderly, " Sweet 
 wifie." Ah, dearest, sweetest he, — for she 
 did not yet know his name. 
 
 On the following Friday came Dovid to 
 make the acquaintance of his betrothed, 
 and, before the young couple had had a 
 good look at each other, the Gass already 
 knew that his stiff collars worry him, but 
 beyond that he is cultured, for not only 
 does he carry a white handkerchief, but he 
 uses it. 
 
 The Sabbath afternoon is the only time 
 for leisure and love-making in the Gass, 
 and the young people had awaited the hour 
 with anxiety, for much was expected of 
 them at their first private conversation. 
 Dovid had waxed eloquent on grain and 
 57 
 
A RENEGADE AND OTHER TALES 
 
 the price of wool at the dinner-table, but 
 to talk to a strange young woman, who 
 happens, moreover, to be one's betrothed, 
 is not such a simple matter as it sounds, 
 and he was nervous. Resel, eager and yet 
 timid, hoped he would do it as it says in 
 the books. 
 
 " You young people are perishing, no 
 doubt, to have a word together," said 
 Resel's mother, pushing two chairs to- 
 gether after the dinner-table was cleared, 
 the children disposed of, and Anshel spread 
 in his chair for his weekly nap. " Nu, sit 
 down, sit down, — what are you ashamed 
 of?" 
 
 Resel dropped upon the half of one, 
 Dovid slid on to the edge of the other 
 chair, both pink and miserable and sheep- 
 ish. 
 
 Dordl, who had been going about with a 
 glorified " my-turn-next " air, ^ and now 
 held post again at the key-hole, here 
 showed signs of agitation. 
 
 58 
 
DOVID AND RESEL 
 
 " What is it? " whispered the younger 
 twigs. 
 
 " Sh-sh— it's lovely! " said Dordl. 
 
 " I also was young once," laughed 
 Resel's mother, reminiscently. " Are you 
 not betrothed? — 'tis no more than proper; 
 you can even take hands if you wish. Why 
 not? — I'm not even looking." 
 
 At this Dovid put out a wooden hand, 
 into which Resel dropped three leaden fin- 
 gers, and Dordl, at the key-hole, took a 
 panic. 
 
 " They're already fond ! " she whispered 
 ecstatically. 
 
 "How canst tell?" 
 
 " They're holding hands ! " 
 
 And the younger branches pranced on 
 tip-toe, beat their hands in air, and giggled 
 frantically, — 
 
 " They're holding hands ! " 
 
 It was Dovid's business to begin. 
 
 Resel twisted her handkerchief and 
 
 59 
 
A RENEGADE AND OTHER TALES 
 
 waited, and Dovid g^rew warm and thought 
 of many things. 
 
 " The point is to begin right," thought 
 he. " To say something that's personal 
 and yet not indelicate, tender and yet not 
 forward, complimentary and yet not flat- 
 tering, — by Heaven, that's no easy mat- 
 ter!" 
 
 Sometimes, when he was ready to begin, 
 Anshel snored, and then it seemed senti- 
 mental; then, again, when he had an idea, 
 Resel would sigh, and it seemed coarse. 
 The afternoon was going; Dovid mopped 
 his face and thought that he had never 
 sweated so — not even at haying. 
 
 Resel had twisted her handkerchief into 
 a rag, the shadows on the pavement were 
 growing long, when a little child ran by 
 munching a cake, and Dovid had a happy 
 inspiration. Just the thing! Personal, 
 and yet not indelicate; tender, and yet not 
 forward; complimentary, and yet not 
 flattering. 
 
 60 
 
DOVID AND RESEL 
 
 He cleared his throat, grew pale, and 
 said in a hollow voice, — 
 
 " My father says thou makest very good 
 Kiichel." 
 
 " Wai ! " cried Resel in her heart, " what 
 sort of creature is this? He thinks of noth- 
 ing but eating ! " 
 
 Though Dovid remained all of the next 
 day, came again the following week form- 
 ally to celebrate the betrothal, and once 
 more to bring his mother, the young cou- 
 ple exchanged not another word in private 
 until the wedding-day. 
 
 n 
 
 HOW THEY FELL IN LOVE 
 
 When Dovid sat down to his breakfast 
 the morning after their wedding, and gazed 
 for the first time coolly and calmly at his 
 wife, he realized suddenly that the pale, 
 young face of the woman opposite him 
 was the face of a stranger, and his spirits 
 sank like lead. 
 
 61 
 
A RENEGADE AND OTHER TALES 
 
 " As long as life does last," he moaned. 
 " Suppose she is not good, — not loving. 
 Do I know? O, father has easy talking. 
 He doesn't have to live with her. Wai, 
 what have I done? Great God in Heaven, 
 give me strength to bear it ! " 
 
 Resel sat and sighed. 'Twas all so dif- 
 ferent from what she had thought. Yes, 
 the wedding had been grand; all the girls 
 had envied her; her silken gown had rus- 
 tled divinely; but he, — he whispered no 
 tender words; he was so cold and silent. 
 Alas, the dream had not come true, — it 
 was a stranger, — not he at all. 
 
 There was not much to do in their little 
 house, where everything was spotless and 
 new, and the days dragged on wearily. 
 Sometimes she went to the main farm- 
 house, but all were busy there with their 
 own affairs, and when she took a turn at 
 churning, they laughed at her small, white 
 hands, which blistered in a moment. 
 
 Her mother-in-law measured her with 
 62 
 
DOVID AND RESEL 
 
 jealous glances, and when Aarele, the old 
 farmer, caught sight of her, he would cry 
 out teasingly, — 
 
 " Nu, Resel, hast not baked those 
 Kiichel yet? " 
 
 Him she only saw at meal times, and 
 when the silence became too awkward, he 
 talked about the potato crop and the 
 young lambs. 
 
 Resel shrugged her shoulders and 
 thought, — 
 
 " What do I know about the potato crop 
 and young lambs ! " 
 
 On a morning in the second week of 
 their marriage came Dovid's mother, who, 
 since his marriage, had been burdened with 
 the idea that her beloved son was about to 
 be annihilated by a process of slow starva- 
 tion at the hands of this dainty-fingered 
 city lady. She carried a pan of fresh-baked 
 buns. 
 
 " Here," she said with a little sneer, 
 " I've brought you something to eat. 
 63 
 
A RENEGADE AND OTHER TALES 
 
 What art going to get for his dinner? " 
 she asked, peering at the stove inquisi- 
 tively. 
 
 " I don't know," said Resel. " I don't 
 know what he Hkes." 
 
 " If the wife don't know, who should? " 
 grumbled the old lady. " If one has a 
 tongue in one's head, one needs but ask. 
 Canst make noodle-soup? " she asked with 
 curling lip. 
 
 Resel flushed angrily. 
 
 " Am yet as clever as a lot of country 
 yokels," rushed to her lips, but the woman 
 in the door-way stooped under her black 
 shawl, and her face was worn and wrinkled, 
 so Resel bridled her tongue and said 
 meekly, — 
 
 " Then I'll make noodles." 
 
 " Do they think I'm an idiot? " she 
 scolded over her baking-board. " Pooh, 
 what a great thing to make cheese and mix 
 chicken-food. Any stable wench can milk 
 and churn. I should just like to see one of 
 64 
 
DOVID AND RESEL 
 
 them in town. What do they know of cul- 
 ture? Can any one of them set a table 
 that the knives and forks stand upright to- 
 gether and the napkins are folded into 
 hats? May I never stir from this spot if she 
 can make noodles any finer than these, — 
 fine as hair," and she looked with satisfac- 
 tion at a little yellow mound, like a tumbled 
 mass of thread, that was growing under her 
 knife. r-ym 
 
 The morning dragged on wearily; the 
 dinner was boiling on the stove, and Resel 
 sat at the window and moped, sat facing, 
 not the road by which her husband would 
 come, but northward, toward home and the 
 
 GaSS. _ I ; -:, 
 
 "What sort of life is this?" she mused 
 dejectedly. " Was I raised to such as this, 
 —-to sit here alone as in a prison? Who 
 can endure this? At home now, to-day, is 
 market, and the girls are all at the pump, 
 and Reb Noach's shop is full of new cali- 
 coes, and here — my God! what is here? 
 
 65 
 
A RENEGADE AND OTHER TALES 
 
 An ugly potato-field, a crooked barn, a 
 pasture full of dirty cows," she summed up 
 the landscape. " And he — he is so strange 
 and quiet — a lot of stupid farmers. Wai, 
 if mother were only here ! " Thus, till a 
 crunching on the walk sent her to her feet 
 and beside the stove. 
 
 Then, horrors, what a sight ! While she 
 had been sulking, the lid had slipped off 
 the pot and the soup — the soup was gone ! 
 Resel smelt its vapors, which were stealing 
 leisurely out of the window. The little 
 that was left looked sad and murky, and 
 the noodles lay, a discolored, sticky, evil- 
 smelling mass, at the bottom of the pot. 
 The soup was burnt, — hopelessly burnt, — 
 and her husband was at the door. 
 
 "I'll throw it into the slops, — it won't 
 hurt him to dine on potatoes once in 
 his life," she resolved with a defiant 
 sniff. 
 
 Dovid was hot and tired; the kitchen 
 seemed cool and restful, and Resel in her 
 
 66 
 
DOVID AND RESEL 
 
 long apron at the stove was good to look 
 at. He cast about in his mind for some- 
 thing pleasant to say. Noticing the evi- 
 dence of baking on her board he said : 
 
 " Hast made noodles? How didst know 
 I like noodle-soup? " 
 
 " God ! God ! " groaned Resel in her 
 heart, " what shall I do? Did I not always 
 say it — he thinks of nothing but eating? " 
 
 There was no help for it — she must 
 serve the soup. He was already at table 
 and waiting. 
 
 " He'll scream," she thought in agony. 
 " He should just scream. What do I care ! 
 He'll tell his mother. Wai, I'll never hear 
 the end of it. O, why did I ever leave 
 home? — why did I marry him? — O, my 
 God ! my God ! I wish I were dead ! " 
 
 Resel waited until grace was said, then 
 dished out a plateful for Dovid, and took a 
 little for herself. 
 
 "Why dost not eat?" asked Dovid, 
 waiting. 
 
 67 
 
A RENEGADE AND OTHER TALES 
 
 " I'm not hungry," sulked Resel. 
 
 Dovid said nothing, but took up his 
 spoon. 
 
 Resel's heart began to beat madly. He 
 dipped. He lifted. He took it in. He 
 
 swallowed, and then He dipped. He 
 
 lifted. He took it in, and swallowed again 
 and again and yet again without word or 
 sign. 
 
 Resel stared with amazement, until the 
 sulking upon her lips began to melt, and 
 fell as hot tears upon her folded hands in 
 her lap. 
 
 Dovid saw them fall, and his heart ached 
 within him. 
 
 " Poor little pigeon, she's troubled about 
 the soup," he thought, and choked over 
 his food. 
 
 " Art not well, Resel? " said he, when he 
 had finished, and Resel still sat motionless 
 and tearful. 
 
 " I'm well," faltered Resel. 
 
 " Shall I send mother or one of the chil- 
 es 
 
DOVID AND RESEL 
 
 dren to stay with thee? " he asked at the 
 door. 
 
 Resel shook her head mutely, but as the 
 door closed behind him she flung herself 
 forward on the table, sobbing. 
 
 " He ate it — the nasty, sticky, smelly 
 mess ! Not to grieve me, he ate it. Poor, 
 poor fellow, — works all day there in the hot 
 sun for me, and I — I give him burnt soup. 
 I am not fit to be his wife, — he should have 
 sent me packing, that's what ! Not a com- 
 plaint ! not a word ! Fie on thee, thou lazy 
 slut. If mother knew it, would she not 
 box my ears, and serve me right? " Thus, 
 full of self-reproach and penitence until 
 the winter in her heart was melted all away, 
 and in its place bloomed a new and 
 joyous springtime. " But he shall have a 
 supper better e^'en than his mother can 
 make," she resolved, drying her eyes. 
 " If he would only forgive me that soup. 
 He ^has a kind heart, my husband. 
 Another would have scolded and stormed. 
 
 69 
 
A RENEGADE AND OTHER TALES 
 
 How sweetly he said it, ' Art not well, 
 Resel?'" 
 
 Resel smiled and looked about her. It 
 was as if her tears had washed away a mist 
 from before her eyes, and she saw her new 
 home now for the first time. 
 
 " It is a pretty place," she thought, " if 
 one but looks at it right. 'Twas sweeter 
 than a song — ' Art not well, Resel? ' I 
 think he said 'my dear.' Has the Gass 
 the like of this? " she boasted while getting 
 her dishwater. " There one has to run half 
 a mile to the pump for a drop of water, but 
 we — w:e have a w'ell-full right before the 
 door ! Pooh, what are Reb Noach's cali- 
 coes to this? We have fields and chickens, 
 such a dear potato-field, such a sweet barn, 
 such darling cows ! Yes, I'm sure he said 
 ' my dear ' ! " 
 
 A meadow-lark on a fence-post cocked 
 
 its head and trilled a merry roulade. Resel 
 
 listened and laughed, she knew not, why, 
 
 and, as if not to be outdone, she lifted her 
 
 70 
 
DOVID AND RESEL 
 
 round chin and chirped a lively synagogue 
 tune. She entered the house with her 
 brimming pail. There in the corner hung 
 his house-coat, old, gray, and shabby, and 
 sagging at the pocket where bulged his 
 tobacco-pouch. Resel began to tremble 
 deliciously at sight of it, the hot blood 
 poured over neck and face, and with a little 
 cry she ran and hid her burning face in its 
 rough folds. 
 
 " Oh, my dear, darling Dovid," she 
 cried, " 'twas no mistake. 'Tis he — 'tis 
 he." 
 
 David had left the house with the pur- 
 pose of joining the potato-diggers, but sat 
 instead on a barrow chewing straws. 
 
 " How she wept, — poor little crumb," he 
 mused. " Am I such a brute, that she cries 
 for fear of me? No wonder; I go around 
 in the house like a growling bear and say 
 nothing. She burnt the soup; — nu, what of 
 it? can happen to anyone; such a young 
 
 71 
 
A RENEGADE AND OTHER TALES 
 
 little thing! Don't I remember the time 
 mother salted the potatoes till they were 
 like brine, and spilled the buttermilk, and 
 we had no supper at all? Perhaps, — it 
 can't be that she was sorry? " and Dovid's 
 eyes grew filmy with gazing at the little 
 brown house that was now his home. 
 " Perhaps she's homesick; perhaps — my 
 God! perhaps she's not well," and with a 
 new agony and a wild gripping at the heart 
 he leapt to his feet and started across the 
 field homeward. Just then Resel appeared 
 in the window shaking a table-cloth, and 
 Dovid had to lean with a sense of sudden 
 weakness. 
 
 Long before the supper hour he went 
 hurrying homeward, while Resel sat, pink, 
 neat, and tremulous, at the window; sat 
 looking down the road by which Dovid was 
 coming, and — alas, for woman's constancy 
 — with her back turned on Maritz and the 
 Gass, on the town-pump and Reb Noach's 
 calicoes. She saw him coming and hurried 
 
 72 
 
DOVID AND RESEL 
 
 to the stove, where the dumplings were 
 browning prettily. His step was on the 
 walk; Resel turned and saw him standing 
 in the door-way, self-conscious and awk- 
 ward as a school-boy on exhibition day. 
 In his hand he held a large bunch of 
 purple flowers, and his face was as red as 
 these. 
 
 " Asters," he said clumsily. 
 
 Resel took the flowers, and turned pale 
 with the sudden determination to get that 
 soup off her mind at once. 
 
 Dovid washed his face and hands and 
 turned to take his house-coat. Ah, that 
 coat ! Resel's courage rose. 
 
 " The soup," she blurted out, and there 
 were tears in her voice. 
 
 David turned in alarm. 
 
 " 'Twas fine ! " he cried. 
 
 " 'Twas burnt," said Resel. 
 
 " O, the least bit scorched," said Dovid. 
 
 " Scorched ! 'twas burnt to a cinder ! " 
 cried Resel. 
 
 73 
 
A RENEGADE AND OTHER TALES 
 
 " I — I like soup when it's burnt," said 
 Dovid. 
 
 " O-o-o-o-oh, thou dear, darling liar ! " 
 and Resel flung herself, laughing and sob- 
 bing, on her husband's neck. 
 
 Dovid strained her close to his heart. 
 Then he lifted her moist, glowing face, and 
 for the first time kissed his wife upon the 
 lips. 
 
 74 
 
Ill 
 
 LOEBELE SHLEMIEL 
 
Ill 
 
 LOEBELE SHLEMIEL 
 
 The trouble in telling the story of a 
 Shlemiel lies right in the beginning, for 
 immediately one asks : " What is a Shle- 
 miel?" That's the difficulty. What is a 
 Shlemiel? 
 
 Now Shlemiel can be neither translated 
 nor defined, and, pray, be it known right 
 here : the classic Shlemiel of story — one 
 Peter by name — was no Shlemiel at all. 
 He was rich, and as the saying goes: 
 " Riches make clever and handsome." A 
 rich man may at the worst be shlemielig, 
 but a Shlemiel — never! 
 
 It has been said that a Shlemiel is one 
 who is bound to have bad luck, but if you 
 will stop and analyze them, you will find 
 that his mishaps are not a matter of luck at 
 all. No, they are due solely to — well, to 
 his own Shlemielig'ness. 
 
 77 
 
A RENEGADE AND OTHER TALES 
 
 It has also been said that a Shlemiel is 
 one whose bread always falls on the but- 
 tered side (which really amounts to the 
 same thing), but this will not do at all, 
 for the simple reason that a real Shlemiel 
 rarely has any butter to his bread. 
 
 Perhaps the best way to learn what a 
 Shlemiel is would be to ask the people of 
 the Gass, the home of the true Shlemielim. 
 Well, let us ask. 
 
 " Wie haisst, — what is a Shlemiel? " 
 comes the incredulous reply. " Who is a 
 Shlemiel, you wish to ask. Loebele, he is 
 a Shlemiel that God have mercy ! " 
 
 And Loebele was a Shlemiel; of a pecu- 
 liar kind, too. His greatest misfortunes 
 were due mainly to his being always too 
 early; this in spite of the maxim in many 
 tongues to the effect that the early bird 
 gets the worm. 
 
 Only once was Loebele too late, and 
 then it cost him his life. 
 
 He began it by coming into the world 
 
 78 
 
LOEBELfe SHLEMIEL 
 
 full two months before his time, which cost 
 his mother her life, and left him a charity 
 child upon the community. Along with 
 two other orphans, he was given over to 
 the charge of Muhm [Aunt] Shmune, a 
 pious and melancholy widow, who taught 
 them, when they reached the years of dis- 
 cretion, — say four or thereabouts, — many 
 serious things. Foremost among them 
 this : that nothing is so bitter as the bread 
 of charity, and nothing so sweet as the 
 bread of one's own labor. 
 
 Loebele pondered this matter gravely, 
 and dreamed of the day when he should 
 taste the sweetness of the bread of his own 
 labor, but his two companions ate the 
 bread of charity with relish, and kicked 
 their heels in reckless glee when perchance 
 there was a scrap© of butter on it. 
 
 Loebele was nine years ol^ when he took 
 his first step toward independence. 
 
 One day he came home from school in 
 great excitement and announced : " Muhm 
 
 f9 
 
A RENEGADE AND OTHER TALES 
 
 Shmune, thou needst buy but a middling- 
 sized loaf hereafter." 
 
 " Wie haisst? " said Muhm Shmune. 
 
 " I have work," said Loebele, and waved 
 his hand as one would say, " Behold, a mil- 
 lionaire ! " 
 
 " Reb Chaim Melamed [the teacher] has 
 got the rheumatism," he went on, " and 
 when he is through giving us all our licks, 
 his arms are so weak that he cannot move 
 the benches. I am going to move them for 
 him." 
 
 In explanation be it said, that these 
 benches were the great, heavy ones upon 
 which the pupils " learned " all day long, 
 but which it was necessary to pile up on 
 one side of the room every evening, since 
 the floor-space they occupied was required 
 for sleeping and household purposes by 
 Reb Chaim and his family. 
 
 " Nu, 'tis time," said Muhm Shmune. 
 " When I was thy age I earned not only 
 my own clothes but also my grandmother's 
 SO 
 
LOEBELE SHLEMIEL 
 
 by knitting. And what dost get? " she 
 asked. 
 
 " My breakfast. Every day a thick slice 
 of bread, on Tuesdays and Thursdays flour- 
 soup, and on Sunday a piece of Barches 
 [Sabbath bread], if may-be there is any left 
 over," said Loebele. 
 
 Loebele soon became so eager in this 
 service and for the sweet bread that re- 
 warded it, that he was wont to come too 
 early in the morning to replace the 
 benches, long before Reb Chaim was up, in 
 fact. And one stormy winter day, he sat 
 so long on the door-step waiting for the 
 Melamed to arise, that he was taken with 
 a serious illness, which left him with a nar- 
 row chest and a bad cough for the rest of 
 his life. 
 
 Loebele did very well at his books, but 
 when he reached man's estate, — in other 
 words, when he was thirteen, — he had to 
 begin to earn his own living. This was 
 no simple matter, for he had no head for 
 81 
 
A RENEGADE AND OTHER TALES 
 
 business, and when they apprenticed him to 
 the tailor and to the cobbler, his masters 
 drove him away. 
 
 " A Shlemiel," they said, " he is not 
 worth his salt." 
 
 Not that Loebele was not faithful and 
 eager, but his fingers were all thumbs, as 
 the saying goes. No one would have him. 
 
 He remained longest with Moshe Sad- 
 dler, for Moshe was a patient man, and in a 
 few years' time Loebele could splice a 
 broken rein or put a patch on an old saddle 
 as deftly and neatly as anyone. 
 
 Then a great misfortune befell. 
 
 Herr Christian Vanek's daughter had 
 married a saddler who came to follow his 
 calling in the village. There, to his amaze- 
 ment and indignation, he found a Jew ply- 
 ing the same craft. Holy Mother Mary! 
 the impudence of the hound ! 
 
 In the province from which the young 
 bridegroom had come, no Jew was permit- 
 ted to work in new leather. Surely, his 
 82 
 
LOEBELE SHLEMIEL 
 
 Fatherland would not tolerate such an 
 abomination. There was no doubt but 
 that Moshe Saddler was a law-breaker. 
 The young man appealed to the courts. 
 They promised to investigate; and al- 
 though Moshe, and his father before him, 
 had made saddles in the village for thirty 
 years or more, this business was now for- 
 bidden him, until such time as the courts 
 should decide whether it was lawful or not. 
 
 So Moshe was reduced to working only 
 in old leather, mending harnesses and 
 whips. There was not work enough for 
 himself, let alone a helper, and Loebele 
 was in sorry straits. 
 
 Then Reb Chaim, the teacher, who re- 
 mained Loebele's life-long friend, had an 
 idea. 
 
 " Thou art now a man, Loeb," he said 
 one day. " Why dost not get married? " 
 
 " Married? " said Loebele, with a modest 
 shrug. " Who would take me for a son-in- 
 law? " 
 
 83 
 
A RENEGADE AND OTHER TALES 
 
 "Pah!" cried Reb Chaim. "Shtuss! 
 Thou art a whole man. I know a maiden 
 for thee. She is the daughter of my cousin, 
 Yitzchok Bauer. A fine girl, and she has a 
 dowry of three hundred Gulden. With the 
 money thou canst buy a little business, and 
 sit in a store the rest of thy days, and live 
 like the pious in Gan Eden [Paradise]." 
 
 Loebele rubbed his chin thoughtfully. 
 
 " I have heard of the maiden," he said, 
 " she is not so young." 
 
 " But what a housekeeper ! A pearl, I 
 tell thee ! " said Reb Chaim. 
 
 " Also, she is cross-eyed," said Loebele. 
 
 " The le-e-ast bit cross-eyed; otherwise, 
 a lily!" 
 
 " 'Tis said of her she has a bitter 
 tongue," said Loebele. 
 
 " Nu, and if ! " cried Reb Chaim, angrily. 
 " If she were a first-class match, would she 
 wait for such a Shlemiel as thou? " 
 
 Loebele was not insulted. 
 
 " What's true is true," he mused. 
 
 84 
 
LOEBELE SHLEMIEL 
 
 He visited Yitzchok Bauer. The match 
 was soon made. On the whole, he felt 
 flattered that a solid Balbos [householder] 
 should accept him as a son-in-law; and So- 
 rel, the maiden, was very willing. 
 
 Then, on a pleasant day in autumn, 
 Loebele started off for the farm, where 
 dwelt that solid Balbos, Yitzchok Bauer, 
 and Sorel his daughter, for the next day 
 was the wedding. When he arrived, his 
 betrothed greeted him with a surprised, 
 " Nu? " 
 
 " Sorel, my life," said Loebele, " to-mor- 
 row ! — Is it not our wedding day? " 
 
 Sorel clasped her hands in utter dis- 
 gust. 
 
 " Shlemiel " she cried. " Not to-morrow 
 — next Tuesday." 
 
 Loebele was abashed. He had come a 
 week too soon. Yitzchok Bauer tore his 
 hair at the thought of his future 
 son-in-law. 
 
 "Not one Behemah [animal]," he 
 
 85 
 
A RENEGADE AND OTHER TALES 
 
 growled to himself, " nay, he is a whole 
 menagerie." 
 
 Loebele offered to go home and return 
 again in a week, but Yitzchok Bauer sud- 
 denly became afraid. 
 
 " The Lord only knows what new Shle- 
 mieligness he will commit between now 
 and then," he thought; " perhaps, God for- 
 bid, he will not turn up at all." 
 
 It had been a long hunt to find Sorel a 
 husband and — " This Tuesday is as good as 
 next," said Yitzchok. " Why need you 
 wait? Sorel will bake a Barches, and I'll 
 go for the rabbi." 
 
 So they were married next day. 
 
 Two days later Yitzchok Bauer's barns 
 burned down, and with them went his stock 
 and his whole harvest. He was a ruined 
 man. He could not pay his lease money, 
 much less a dowry; so Loebele had an old, 
 cross-eyed, ill-tempered wife, and was 
 poorer than ever. 
 
 Moreover the people laughed at him. 
 
 86 
 
LOEBELE SHLEMIEL 
 
 " A Shlemiel ! " they said, " why is he al- 
 ways in such a hurry? " 
 
 But Loebele let them laugh. He carried 
 his round shoulders straighter than ever 
 before. Was he not himself now a Balbos? 
 As to Sorel, " Though without a dower, 
 though a little old and a little sour and a 
 little cross-eyed, she is like unto her of 
 whom it is written, ' Her candle goeth not 
 out by night,' " he mused. Nor had he any 
 fear for the future, for Loebele's strength' 
 was his faith. 
 
 " ' Though I am poor and needy, yet the 
 Lord thinketh on me,' as it is written," he 
 said, and was a happy man, 
 
 Time went by. The little ones came 
 thick and fast. Loebele worked faithfully 
 at everything he could find to do, yet he 
 could not earn enough to feed their ever 
 hungry mouths. 
 
 One bitter winter Loebele's distress be- 
 came so keen that the Gass felt it time to 
 interfere. 
 
 87 
 
A RENEGADE AND OTHER TALES 
 
 " Shema, the misery of it ! One cannot 
 sleep at night for hearing his little ones 
 wail with hunger," said the neighbors. 
 
 There were those who said that Loebele 
 burned twigs in his stove, that the people, 
 seeing the smoke arise, might think they 
 were cooking dinner. Something must be 
 done, the Gass decided — but what? Loe- 
 bele would not borrow, and when they left 
 a loaf or a pot of meal on his door-step, he 
 would carry it to the poor-authorities, say- 
 ing gravely; " Someone must have lost it. 
 If the owner cannot be found, let it be 
 given to the poor." 
 
 It was Anshel the peddler who finally 
 had an idea. 
 
 " People," he said one day, " I have it ! 
 We will make Loebele's fortune, please 
 God, and yet not hurt his pride. There is 
 to be a sale of old Government leather at 
 the garrison next week. I have looked it 
 over, a nice lot of leather;— and I know the 
 quartermaster; — a golden quartermaster; 
 sg 
 
LOEBELE SHLEMIEL 
 
 — for one hundred Gulden cash he will let 
 me have it. What think you, can we get 
 together one hundred Gulden? " 
 
 " Why can we not? " said the men. 
 
 " Good ! We will buy the leather, and 
 give it to Loebele — as a loan, of course. 
 He can pay it back as he pleases. There is 
 enough leather there to make harnesses 
 for a whole province. If he handles it 
 right, his fortune is made." 
 
 Reb Chaim, as Loebele's closest friend, 
 was delegated to make him the offer, and 
 Loebele accepted with tears of gratitude. 
 And that he might be put at once in the 
 way of earning something, they planned to 
 make purchases as soon as he should be 
 in possession of the leather. 
 
 " I know two farmers who wiU buy old 
 saddles," said Anshel. 
 
 " I shall order a harness," said Yermah, 
 the teamster. 
 
 " I can use some of the leather in my 
 shop," said Mendel, the cobbler. 
 
 89 
 
A RENEGADE AND OTHER TALES 
 
 " I also," said Shmul, the book-binder, 
 
 The Gass rejoiced, for at last Loebele 
 was in a fair way to become prosperous and 
 everyone was happy; — that is, everyone 
 save Loebele. From the day that he had 
 taken the one hundred Gulden debt upon 
 himself, peace had fled him. 
 
 " Was iss der Mahr? " said the people. 
 " He goes about with a face like seven 
 days' rainy weather." 
 
 Loebele could not eat, and he could not 
 sleep. Like a huge mountain the weight 
 of the debt lay upon him, and threatened 
 to crush him. 
 
 " Woe is me ! — one hundred Gulden ! " 
 he moaned. "And what if I cannot sell the 
 leather? And if perchance I fall sick and 
 die, — to leave my poor family with such a 
 debt. Woe is me ! " 
 
 Early in the morning, before yet the 
 leather had been delivered to Loebele, 
 Reb Chaim found him standing outside his 
 
 90 
 
LOEBELfe SHLEMIEL 
 
 door, clutching something tightly in his 
 hand. 
 
 " I've got it," said Loebele, delightedly. 
 
 " What? " 
 
 " The money." 
 
 " The money? " gasped Reb Chaim. 
 
 " I have made a good business, thank 
 God," said Loebele. " I have sold the 
 leather; — here is the money, and I have a 
 nice little profit beside." 
 
 " Thou hast sold it? " cried Reb Chaim. 
 
 " For one hundred and six Gulden," said 
 Lioebele, proudly. 
 
 " Chammer [ass] ! " shrieked Reb 
 Chaim. " It was worth three times the 
 money." 
 
 Loebele threw out his hands in protest. 
 
 " Reb Chaim," he said, " would you have 
 me be a usurer? Six per cent is all that is 
 allowed. I have often heard our old Rav — 
 peace be to him — say it; — more than six 
 per cent is usury." 
 
 91 
 
A RENEGADE AND OTHER TALES 
 
 The Gass was disgusted and enraged be- 
 side. 
 
 " The Shlemiel ! " they said. " Now we 
 are done with him." 
 
 But Loebele was at peace with himself in 
 the thought of having done righteously. 
 Three times every day he went to the syna- 
 gogue, and when he sang, " The righteous 
 shall inherit the land," his heart grew light. 
 In his mind's eye he already saw himself 
 owner of a little shop and earning three 
 Gulden a week; which was Loebele's in- 
 terpretation of the text. But he was a long 
 time coming into his inheritance, even into 
 the smallest part thereof. In fact, things 
 grew even worse. 
 
 There was no errand so wearisome that 
 he would not undertake it; there was no 
 load so heavy that he would not carry it. 
 He hurried about with frantic eagerness 
 from morning until night, yet hunger al- 
 ways kept many paces ahead. But Loe- 
 bele's faith did not waver. 
 
 92 
 
LOEBELE SHLEMIEL 
 
 " The Lord will help, in His own good 
 time," he said. 
 
 Thus another year went by, and then 
 came the day of his reward. 
 
 One hot summer afternoon, as Loebele 
 was tramping the streets in search of work, 
 he came upon a stranger who asked to be 
 directed to the rabbi, since he was ill and in 
 need of help. Loebele took him to the 
 Schlafstatt [the shelter for poor travellers], 
 and there they made him comfortable. 
 The stranger then laid bare to Loebele all 
 his distress. He was on his way to the 
 Great Annual Fair in Rodow, whither he 
 was going on business. He had come a 
 great distance, but now, al»s, he was sick. 
 He had not enough money to take hiin 
 back home. If he could but sell his wares, 
 he would return home, and all would be 
 well. And what had he to sell? See! — 
 and he opened a large paste-board box and 
 disclosed to Loebele's delighted gaze two 
 hundred or more toy watches. 
 93 
 
A RENEGADE AND OTHER TALES 
 
 " Behold ! " said the stranger. " At ten 
 paces one would swear they are of real 
 silver. With this little key one can effect 
 that these little hands leap about the face — 
 quite like a real watch, thus; — and do but 
 hear how delightfully it screeches thereto." 
 
 Loebele was entranced. Never had he 
 seen anything so charming. 
 
 " How much do you get for them? " he 
 asked. 
 
 " One asks twenty-five Kreuzers; — one 
 takes what one can get," said the stranger. 
 " Their real value I do not know. They 
 fell to my father-in-law with a mortgage. 
 I would sell them gladly, the whole job lot, 
 for ten Gulden; — moreover, he who would 
 buy them would be doing a great Mitzwah 
 [pious deed], for then I could return home 
 to my family." 
 
 Loebele fairly thrilled with the great idea 
 
 that possessed him. Why should not he 
 
 borrow ten Gulden, — it would be but for 
 
 a few days, — buy the toy watches, and sell 
 
 94 
 
LOEBELi SHLEMIEL 
 
 them at the Fair? At ten Kreuzers a piece 
 it would be a fine business. At twenty-five, 
 — and Loebele's thoughts fairly reeled at 
 the grandeur of the prospect. Moreover 
 he need have no scruples about per cents. 
 
 " One takes what one can get; — the real 
 value is not known." As to the stranger, 
 he himself said it would be a Mitzwah to 
 relieve him of them. 
 
 Loebele hurried to Reb Chaim to unfold 
 his plan and borrow ten Gulden. Then he 
 bought the watches, and hurried home in 
 high spirits. 
 
 " When I return," said he to his wife, 
 ' I shall buy thee a new cooking-pot that 
 thou mayest at last be done with thy com- 
 plaining." 
 
 " And thou, Mirl," he said to his daugh- 
 ter, " thee I shall buy flannel for a petti- 
 coat. And thee, Yossel, I shall buy a pair 
 of shoes, — the best second-hand shoes in 
 the market, — that thou mayest go to 
 school even in the coldest weather. And 
 95 
 
A RENEGADE AND OTHER TALES 
 
 we shall have baked potatoes every night 
 for supper — " 
 
 " With butter? " gasped little Hirshele, 
 who was a fanciful child. 
 
 " Ha," laughed Loebele, " hear the little 
 impudence ! He has not yet the potatoes, 
 and wishes already butter thereto." 
 
 It was yet three days until the opening 
 of the Fair, but Loebele started ofif early 
 next morning, for he was going to walk, 
 and moreover he was always on time. 
 
 The sun was hot, and the roads lay deep 
 in dust, but he trudged on in great content. 
 
 " The Lord helps, — I have always said 
 it, — a little patience only," he mused. 
 
 Pictures of the future loomed bright be- 
 fore him, and the fairest one was his son 
 Yossel with shoes on, that he might go to 
 school even in the coldest weather, and be- 
 come some day — who knows? — chief-rabbi 
 of Prague. 
 
 It was the day of the opening of the Fair 
 when Loebele with a great crow'd of people 
 96 
 
LOEBELE SHLEMIEL 
 
 arrived at its gates. He was crowding in 
 with the rest, when he felt himself thrust 
 violently in the side. It was the butt end 
 of a gensdarme's gun, and the gensdarrae 
 himself was crying roughly, " Can't he 
 read?" and pointing to a placard. There, 
 at the foot of a list of admonitions to the 
 public, Loebele read in large letters : 
 
 Dogs and Jews are Not Allowed Within. 
 
 Loebele stared open-mouthed. For a 
 moment he thought he should fall. He 
 stepped aside and sat down by the road- 
 side. What had happened? His mind was 
 dazed with the suddenness of the shock. 
 He could not go within; he dared not ped- 
 dle without; he could not sell his watches. 
 He gazed at the throngs of people passing 
 in at the gates, all laughing, joking, happy. 
 None worried them; none hindered them; 
 and slowly the misery of his plight dawned 
 upon him. They worked and earned un- 
 hindered. He was barred out like a dog. 
 97 
 
A RENEGADE AND OTHER TALES 
 
 Their children need not go hungry and 
 barefoot. He also had little ones, and they 
 were waiting for him and watching, — but 
 he would bring no petticoat for Mirl; no 
 shoes for Yossel; — and Hirshele, hungry 
 little Hirshele, no potatoes with butter for 
 him, — nay, nothing, not even dry bread. 
 
 " Why is it thus, O Lord? " he moaned. 
 Had he not ever striven to do righteously? 
 Had he ever wittingly wronged God or 
 man? His heart was full of bitterness, and 
 for the first time in his life his faith, even 
 Loebele Shlemiel's faith, grew weak. 
 
 " Perchance the Lord has forgotten 
 me," he mourned. " Perchance He has 
 grown tired of helping me. Can one blame 
 Him? Such a Shlemiel ! For thirty years 
 we Jews have been doing business at the 
 Fair, and when I come — it is forbidden ! " 
 
 And then he laid his tired head upon his 
 knees, and bitter tears ran down his cheeks 
 and into his grizzled beard. 
 
 It was evening when he roused himself 
 98 
 
LOEBELE SHLEMIEL 
 
 and began his homeward journey. He had 
 eaten nothing that day. There was noth- 
 ing left of the bread and cheese which he 
 had brought from home, and he had not 
 a single Kreuzer; but this did not alarm 
 him. He was used to fasting, and he would 
 probably get along very well until he 
 reached home. 
 
 He did not go far that evening, for he 
 was weary and sore and heartsick, so he lay 
 down in a hedge to sleep. When he awoke 
 it was morning, and the hot sun was beat- 
 ing fiercely down upon him. Loebele said 
 his prayers, drank at a brook, and started 
 again on his journey, but the constant 
 walking and the nights in the open air had 
 greatly sharpened his appetite. He could 
 not conceal from himself that he was very 
 hungry. He had no money, and if he had 
 had any it would have availed him nothing. 
 The town lay several miles behind him. He 
 knew of no Jewish house in that neighbor- 
 hood, and food from a Gentile was forbid- 
 99 
 
A RENEGADE AND OTHER TALES 
 
 den. It occurred to him presently that per- 
 haps he could exchange one of his toy 
 watches for a couple of eggs, which he 
 dared eat. 
 
 At the first farm where he asked, they 
 laughed and told him they had no use for 
 toy watches. At the next the woman said 
 she had no eggs, but when she saw how 
 pallid and weary he looked, she brought 
 him a piece of bread. Loebele devoured 
 the bread with his hungry eyes, but he 
 shook his head; — he dared not eat it. Who 
 knows but that it was made with pig's 
 fat? It was Trefa [forbidden]. He 
 thanked the woman and went on. At the 
 next farm a man cursed him, and said that 
 no doubt he had stolen the watches. Loe- 
 bele hurried on frightened and abashed. 
 He had no spirit left to try again. 
 
 Night was again approaching. Another 
 
 day gone, and he had not yet broken his 
 
 fast. His thoughts went back constantly 
 
 to the piece of bread he had refused in the 
 
 100 
 
LOEBELE SHLEMIEL 
 
 morning. He remembered that once a 
 poor peddler had come to the rabbi in great 
 distress, and told him that some soldiers 
 had made him eat pork at the point of the 
 sword. The peddler was in great distress 
 of soul, but the rabbi said that this sin 
 would not be counted against him, since it 
 is written that when in danger of death, it 
 is permitted even to eat Trefa. 
 
 Loebele quite made up his mind to go 
 back and ask for that piece of bread. Was 
 not he also in danger of death? Then he 
 smiled to himself more confidently. Nay, 
 one does not die so easily. It is said of one 
 of the pious of olden times, that he ate but 
 two dates and one olive daily, and he, 
 Loebele, had eaten bread but two days ago. 
 No, he would wait until morning; per- 
 chance something would turn up, and 
 again he slept in the open. 
 
 When he arose next day to resume his 
 journey, he found his legs grown so heavy 
 that he could hardly drag them. His head 
 101 
 
A RENEGADE AND OTHER TALES 
 
 throbbed madly; and when he walked, all 
 the world seemed to reel. There was no 
 house in sight, but not far down the road 
 was the beginning of a forest. Loebele 
 thought he might find berries there, and he 
 dragged himself to it; but the forest ground 
 was bare as an empty threshing floor. The 
 coolness of it was pleasant however, and he 
 rested there awhile. When he arose to go, 
 he could not remember which way he had 
 come. No opening was visible anywhere. 
 He wandered about hither and thither. 
 Often he stopped to rest. As soon as he 
 was seated, he slept and dreamed of moun- 
 tains of bread and rivers of clear, cool wa- 
 ter. 
 
 " This will never do," he thought, rous- 
 ing himself. " I must get home and to 
 work — else how pay that debt? " 
 
 He took up his box and walked furious- 
 ly, — for miles and miles it seemed. Then 
 it occurred to him that perhaps he was 
 dreaming, and he opened his eyes to find 
 
 102 
 
LOEBELE SHLEMIEL 
 
 that he had been standing quite still, and 
 was leaning heavily against a tree. 
 
 It was late in an afternoon, but he 
 
 knew not of what day, when he at last saw 
 a clearing, and found himself on the road. 
 But all was strange to him. It was not the 
 road by which he had come. About a 
 quarter of a mile away was a farm-house. 
 Loebele determined to go there and beg 
 for food. 
 
 " ' When in danger of death,' as it is 
 written. I can no longer, O Lord," he 
 cried in his heart; " it is time now, — it is 
 time." 
 
 As he reached the gate of the house his 
 foot struck a root. He staggered and 
 fell — and suddenly a great peace came 
 upon him; — hunger and thirst and weari- 
 ness, all were fled. 
 
 " It is pleasant here," thought Loebele, 
 " I think I'll sleep a little." 
 
 It was Yitzchok Bauer's gate at which 
 103 
 
A RENEGADE AND OTHER TALES 
 
 he had fallen down, and in the morning 
 they found him. 
 
 "A Shlemiel, nebbich [poor fellow]," 
 said the people, " to die of starvation at his 
 own father-in-law's door-step." 
 
 " He was gone only six hours when the 
 notice came that we Jews would no longer 
 be allowed to do business at the Fair. Such 
 a Shlemiel, nebbich — always too early ! " 
 
 " Nay, this time for once he was too 
 late," said Reb Chaim. " For thirty years 
 we Jews have been doing business there, 
 and when Loebele came, it was forbidden. 
 A Shlemiel, nebbich ! " 
 
 But it was foolish to pity him, for Loe- 
 bele was at rest. The Lord had not for- 
 gotten him. The Lord had looked down, 
 and had had compassion on him. Yes, he 
 had his reward. His troubles now were 
 over. Loebele slept. 
 
 104 
 
IV 
 A SINNER IN ISRAEL 
 
 There are various ways of gaining 
 prominence in the Gass, and a good way 
 is to die. If you cannot be a dead man, be 
 a sick one; faihng in that, be his nurse. 
 
 Now prominence had come unto the 
 house of Hendel the feather-woman in two 
 of these excellent forms. Shaye Soldat, 
 her lodger, was a sick man, and Hendel 
 herself was his nurse. And Hendel had 
 the better of it, too, for when one is sick, 
 one must lie abed, and the doctor forbids 
 all visitors, as is the new-fangled notion, 
 though it is well known that not only is it 
 a pious deed, but a religious duty, to visit 
 the sick. So Shaye was alone, — and where, 
 pray, is the joy of fame if one may not 
 strut? — but Hendel walked abroad, and, 
 107 
 
A RENEGADE AND OTHER TALES 
 
 when she did so, all the Gass rushed forth 
 to greet her. 
 
 " Good morning, Hendel. Nu, what 
 does the Doctor say? " 
 
 " How's business, Hendel? What 
 thinkest thou, will he live? " 
 
 Hendel's chin sought the air. Not that 
 she was proud. Nay, God forbid ! None 
 can say that Hendel Federschleisserin, 
 who lived by stripping feathers for the 
 beds of the rich, was proud, but she was hu- 
 man. Ordinarily of no more consequence 
 in Maritz than a stray kitten, on this par- 
 ticular Sunday morning her progress to the 
 butcher shop was as marked by polite at- 
 tentions as if she had been the Rav [rabbi] 
 himself. 
 
 " See how grossartig ! " 
 
 " Has Hendel won the grand prize? " 
 
 " Why dost not answer when one 
 speaks? " 
 
 " Esoi," said Hendel, languidly, and 
 shook them off like flies — all save one small 
 108 
 
A SINNER IN ISRAEL 
 
 boy named Shimmele, who glued himself 
 fast to her heels, for Shimmele was his 
 grandmother's news-bearer, — and a soldier, 
 a sick one, was a tasty bit, not to be 
 dropped so Hghtly. 
 
 Hendel entered Machel Katzev's shop, 
 Shimmele close behind. 
 
 " A nice marrow-bone," said Hendel. 
 
 " For soup? " growled Machel. 
 
 " Nay, broth." 
 
 Now, Machel was a man not to be 
 treated with scorn, one with a habit of 
 dropping absently bits of liver and nibs of 
 sausage into poor women's baskets. So 
 when he asked, — 
 
 " Nu, how is he? " Hendel replied polite- 
 ly by rolling her eyes toward the rafters, 
 throwing out her hands, and groaning dis- 
 mally, whereat Machel said " Ai, wai ! — 
 hm — hm ! " and Shimmele rushed home to 
 tell his granny the worst. 
 
 And Shimmele's report was a true one. 
 Shaye Soldat — sometime soldier, all-time 
 
 109 
 
A RENEGADE AND OTHER TALES 
 
 sinner, fourteen years' service, two cam- 
 paigns, a leather medal, and a wooden leg 
 — lay a-dying. This Hendel fully corrobor- 
 ated as, on her homeward way, she stopped 
 in Mendel the cobbler's shop. And the 
 Gass saw the justice of Hendel's preference 
 in the matter. 
 
 " Mendel has a right to know," said they, 
 for though the sick man owed Hendel five 
 Gulden twenty for lodging, he owed Men- 
 del two Gulden fifty for Sabbath dinners, 
 and Mendel was thus counted next of kin. 
 
 " Up to here the water is already," Hen- 
 del was saying, indicating her own thick 
 waist. "When it will have reached the 
 heart, then is the end. Eisak Schulklopfer 
 sits with him — one leg he has out of the 
 door ready to run for the Chevra [Holy 
 Brotherhood, a society which attends the 
 dying] at any moment. The Kelef [hound] ! 
 'Tis out of pure wickedness he is dying. Not 
 one Kreuzer has he paid me in half a year. 
 Does he think I find money on the street? 
 110 
 
A SINNER IN ISRAEL 
 
 A disease in his bones, the Ganef [rascal] !" 
 with which pious though superfluous wish 
 she betook herself homeward, there to con- 
 vert her nice marrow-bone into broth for 
 her sick lodger, who, though a great sin- 
 ner, was, after all, a " Jewish child," whom 
 one cannot allow to go to destruction. 
 
 At the angle of the street, where the 
 Gass tries for a moment to close upon itself 
 like a jack-knife, she was run into by a hur- 
 ricane, of which, as it whirled around the 
 comer, she recognized Eisak Schulklopfer's 
 brown coat-tails and green pantofles. 
 
 Hendel stood still and held her breath, 
 and in a moment they were upon her, — 
 Reb Noach Fingerhut and Loser Pereles, 
 Reb Shlome Wineseller and Loebele 
 Shlemiel, — all pacing down the street as 
 though it were a footrace, the goal a cer- 
 tain cleft in a wall, down which they briskly 
 dodged. 
 
 " The Chevra ! " gasped Hendel at sight 
 of this, for the cleft in the wall led to one 
 111 
 
A RENEGADE AND OTHER TALES 
 
 place only, and that was Hendel's house. 
 Then she made after them at the top of her 
 speed. 
 
 When she reached home, the Holy 
 Brotherhood was already busied with prep- 
 arations for the prayers for the dying, 
 though Shlome Wineseller, a death-bed ex- 
 pert, grumbled skeptically as he lit a can- 
 dle, " He groans me too strong for a dy- 
 ing man." 
 
 The sick man, indeed, lay uttering pitiful 
 groans, while streams of tears ran down his 
 cheeks. At sight of Hendel he brightened, 
 and began to mutter something. Hendel 
 hurried to his side. 
 
 " Why dost thou weep, Shaye Leben? " 
 she soothed. " Wouldst not like a bit of 
 something to eat? " 
 
 The sick man nodded vigorously. 
 
 "A spoonful of gruel! No? I have a 
 beautiful bone for broth. Not that, either? 
 What then?" 
 
 Shaye spoke, but so feebly that Hendel 
 
 112 
 
A SINNER IN ISRAEL 
 
 had to bend low to hear. Then suddenly 
 she started up, her eyes glaring wildly, 
 and began to back nervously toward the 
 door. 
 
 " What is the matter? " cried the Chevra. 
 " Shema ! — Wai geschrieen ! — Help, peo- 
 ple ! " was all that Hendel could gasp. 
 
 Reb Noach, as president of the Holy 
 Brotherhood, felt it his duty to investigate. 
 He hurried to the bedside. 
 
 " What is it, Shaye Soldat? " he asked. 
 
 Again the sick man spoke, and Reb 
 Noach bent over him to hear. 
 
 Now it is known of Reb Noach that he 
 weighs two hundred odd pounds, also that 
 he has a club-foot, yet all the Chevra is 
 witness that at this moment he leapt nimb- 
 ly as any ballet girl clear across the room 
 to the door, out of which he dashed as 
 briskly as a young goat. The Holy Broth- 
 erhood followed at his heels. 
 
 " What has happened? What is the 
 matter? " 
 
 113 
 
A RENEGADE AND OTHER TALES 
 
 " Meshugge [crazy] ! " gasped Reb 
 Noach, striking his forehead — " stark, star- 
 ing mad ! He desires to eat — hear, Jewish 
 children ! — what do you think he desires to 
 eat? " 
 
 " What? " 
 
 " A piece of salt pork ! " 
 
 The panic flashed to the four winds of 
 heaven. In a moment the horrible rumor 
 was through the Gass. 
 
 " God have mercy ! Thus dies a sinner. 
 Have you not heard? Wholly, entirely 
 meshugge. He lies on his bed and is 
 shrieking that he desires to eat a pig ! " 
 
 What was to be done? In such an ex- 
 tremity there is but one can help, and that 
 is the doctor. And Doctor Pinkus was just 
 the man — though small of body yet in- 
 trepid of soul — as witness : not only did he 
 walk boldly into the madman's room, but, 
 having held his pulse and felt his legs, he 
 said as calmly as one would say " Gut 
 Shabbes," " Let him have his bit of salt 
 
 114 
 
A SINNER IN ISRAEL 
 
 pork," — for Shaye still lay wailing and 
 moaning : " A bit — a morsel — ^just a taste 
 of salt pork." 
 
 The Holy Brotherhood was petrified 
 with horror. 
 
 " What! Aid and abet him in his sin? " 
 
 " You see he is not responsible," said the 
 Doctor. 
 
 " So much the worse — the sin would 
 then be on us." 
 
 " Let that be my care. The sin I take 
 upon myself," said the Doctor. 
 
 " He would never forgive us if he knew." 
 
 The Doctor only laughed. "He has 
 been such a big Trefa-Fresser [eater of 
 the unclean] all his life that the Lord will 
 not even notice this little bit in the pile." 
 
 "Never!" cried the Chevra: "No!" 
 and "Never!" 
 
 "Then good-by — and to-morrow you 
 can bury him. He cannot last long if he 
 keeps up this racket. Give him but a little 
 peace, and he may yet pull through. So 
 
 115 
 
A RENEGADE AND OTHER TALES 
 
 long as there is life there is hope," said the 
 Doctor, for of such is the wisdom of men of 
 science. 
 
 So the voice of authority prevailed. It 
 was decided to let the madman have his de- 
 sire. On Eisak Schulklopfer — unwilling a- 
 gent for all the disagreeable errands of the 
 Gass — was put the awful task, and amidst 
 groans and tears he repaired to the Chris- 
 tian inn, there to procure the disgusting 
 morsel, while the Gass waited with bated 
 breath for the earth to open and swallow 
 them. 
 
 " He is bringing It," went the rumor. 
 
 " In Hendel's broken Sabbath pot." 
 
 " The milchig one? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 "Woe is me!" 
 
 " He has taken It into the house." 
 
 " The Doctor has handed It to Shaye." 
 
 " He has eaten of It." 
 
 " Shema ! — and is dead? " 
 
 " Usser," reported Eisak, " not he — on 
 116 
 
A SINNER IN ISRAEL 
 
 the contrary, he is sleeping, and very well, 
 too. Let him who doubts it listen at the 
 door, and he will hear him snoring." 
 
 This, in fact, was the truth of the matter. 
 Shaye, having eaten of the salt pork, be- 
 came filled with a great calm, and, curling 
 himself up in his bed, went peacefully to 
 sleep. And not only did he survive, but he 
 grew rapidly better, until in a month's time 
 he was fully recovered, and was loafing 
 again in his favorite spot — the bench in 
 front of Mendel Schuster's shop. 
 
 But Shaye was now a man to blink at — 
 one of whom the Gass said in horror, " May 
 God defend everyone from the Makkes 
 [beating] which will be his portion in the 
 Hereafter." 
 
 " Trefa-Fresser ! " they called him. 
 
 " Poshe Yisroel [sinner in Israel] ! " said 
 the pious, and spat at the mention of his 
 name. But the sage ones merely shrugged 
 their shoulders, and said, " A meshuggener 
 Ytid [crazy Jew]." 
 
 117 
 
A RENEGADE AND OTHER TALES 
 
 For weeks Shaye's strange fit of madness 
 remained a favorite topic and a tantalizing 
 mystery, yet was there not an intrepid soul 
 that dared broach the subject to him. In- 
 deed, there was a strong prohibition 
 against it, and even the school-boys were 
 admonished not to linger about him 
 listening to his war yarns, as had been 
 their pleasure, lest at any moment the 
 madness might, God forbid! break out 
 again. 
 
 Now, there was an inquiring spirit in the 
 Gass, lodged in the small person of one 
 named Shimmele, aged six, known also 
 as the Bochurle [little scholar], and it was 
 this inquisitive spirit which at last pried 
 open the seal of that fast-bound mystery. 
 Not that Shimmele meant wilfully to diso- 
 bey. No, he was a pearl of a child (let him 
 who doubts it ask his granny), but when on 
 that sunny day he lingered — not to speak 
 to Shaye — nay, God forbid! only to have 
 one good look at him^ — Bang! before. he 
 
 118 
 
A SINNER IN ISRAEL 
 
 could clap his hand over his mouth, a ques- 
 tion had popped out. 
 
 " Did it hurt? " was what Shimmele 
 asked. 
 
 Shaye smiled, for an attention to his 
 wooden leg was a tacit compliment to 
 Shaye himself, so he replied politely by 
 heaving his shoulders, throwing out his 
 hands, and making a frightful face to indi- 
 cate the extent of the hurt. 
 
 " And yet brokest no bones ! " cried 
 Shimmele, admiringly. 
 
 " Did I not ! " said Shaye as he patted his 
 stump; " 'twas shivered into bits like so 
 much glass." Then, scenting an audience 
 for his favorite one, which began, " In the 
 year '31, when we were campaigning under 
 my General Boom," he took his pipe from 
 his mouth, cleared his throat, and- began, — 
 
 " In the year '31 " 
 
 " Yes, I know," interrupted Shimmele, 
 " it was then so cold that you soldiers had 
 to walk one close behind the other, to pull 
 119 
 
A RENEGADE AND OTHER TALES 
 
 one another's legs out, as at every step they 
 froze fast in the snow. That's not what I 
 mean." 
 
 Shaye grunted his disgust, and resumed 
 his pipe. 
 
 " When I stand by the pump I can spit 
 way across the cobbles, Maierle can spit to 
 the walk, and Yainkele, though he is a big 
 blockhead, can spit clean into the door 
 of the Cheder [school]," said Shimmele 
 then. 
 
 Shaye received this information with 
 contemptuous silence, but Shimmele con- 
 tinued to stare wistfully. Then he heaved 
 a sigh, and said musingly, — 
 
 " It must have been a strong spit." 
 
 Shaye puffed in silence. 
 
 " How far didst thou fly, Shaye? " burst 
 from Shimmele next. 
 
 " Fly? " roared Shaye. " Dost think be- 
 cause I have but one leg that I am a stork? 
 Thou hadst better go home and lick out 
 granny's sugar-pots instead of talking im- 
 120 ■ 
 
A SINNER IN ISRAEL 
 
 pudence to thy elders, thou Omhoretz [ig- 
 noramus] ! " 
 
 Shimmele was stung in his tenderest 
 spot! An ignoramus, he! Was not his 
 " iron head " the pride of the Gass ! 
 
 " Am no Omhoretz," he said with dig- 
 nity, " and where is the impudence, if I but 
 ask thee a poHte question? " 
 
 Shaye was perplexed. 
 
 " What question? " he growled. 
 
 " 'Tis said of thee that the reason why 
 thou didst not die in thy great sickness is 
 because thou couldst not, for even Gehin- 
 nom [hell] spat thee out, and I did but 
 wish to know, when thou wast spat out how 
 far thou fliewest, and whether it hurt, and 
 
 where " but there he stopped, for a 
 
 huge hand was making straight for his ear. 
 Shimmele dodged and fled. 
 
 It then happened that Yainkele, the om- 
 nipresent, seeing his enemy Shimmele in 
 distress, was so filled with joy thereat that 
 he could not contain it, and fell to slapping 
 121 
 
A RENEGADE AND OTHER TALES 
 
 his knees and yelling delightedly, "The 
 meshuggener Ytid is after him — the me- 
 shuggener Yiid " 
 
 In all his short life Yainkele had never 
 come across a good thing that he did not 
 spoil it, and, to his dismay, he suddenly 
 found the lame man's wrath turned upon 
 himself. He turned and fled shrieking after 
 Shimmele, while Shaye stumped in pursuit, 
 roaring frightful oaths and brandishing his 
 stick in the air. 
 
 The news rushed through the Gass like 
 wildfire. In a moment the street was full 
 of frightened mothers. 
 
 " Wai geschrieen ! Where is my Fish- 
 ele? — my Baerele? — my Hirshele? Have 
 you not heard? The madness is again upon 
 him. He is pursuing little children and 
 rending them in pieces ! " 
 
 It was his good friend Mendel Schuster 
 
 who captured Shaye, and brought him to 
 
 his house. There he forced him upon a 
 
 bed. Then he gave him a drink of brandy. 
 
 122 
 
A SINNER IN ISRAEL 
 
 This latter unwonted munificence so dazed 
 Shaye that he lay quite still with wonder; 
 nor could he arise when he would, for no 
 sooner did he stir than both Mendel and 
 his wife Gitel waved their hands frantically 
 at him, hissing, " Sh — sh ! " 
 
 Shaye stared with utter amazement. 
 
 " Mendel Schuster," said he, at length, 
 "wilt thou please tell me what means all 
 this nonsense? " 
 
 The good pair stared at him with fright- 
 ened faces, but said nothing. 
 
 " Have you two and all the Gass gone 
 mad? " cried Shaye then. 
 
 At this Mendel began to back toward 
 the door with every sign of terror, while 
 Gitel burst into tears, and cried in a hoarse 
 whisper, " For God's sake, Mendel, why 
 does Eisak not come with the Doctor? " 
 
 This broke the last strand of Shaye's pa- 
 tience. He sprang from the bed, and burst 
 into a storm of abuse, stumping about the 
 room, and rapping out oaths at lightning 
 
 123 
 
A RENEGADE AND OTHER TALES 
 
 speed. Gitel fled, but as for Mendel, a 
 great calm began to spread over his face. 
 
 " As I live," he faltered, " I begin to mis- 
 doubt — thou speakest so — so like thy nat- 
 ural self " 
 
 "What! natural self! Ass's-head, I'll 
 break every bone in thy crooked old car- 
 cass if thou speakest not at once ! " roared 
 Shaye. 
 
 Then Mendel smiled. " Thank God," he 
 said, and sighed comfortably. " Forgive 
 me, Shaye, my friend; I see now we have 
 made a great mistake. Thou art, unbe- 
 schrieen, healthy and well — very healthy 
 and well." 
 
 But Shaye was by no means calmed. 
 
 "Why should I not be healthy?" he 
 shouted. 
 
 Mendel looked embarrassed. 
 
 " Sit ! " cried Shaye then, forcing Men- 
 del into a chair, " and there thou sittest 
 until thou tellest me, once for all, what 
 means all this Meshuggas [craziness]. 
 124 
 
A SINNER IN ISRAEL 
 
 Thinkest thou I see not that things are not 
 as they used to be? The people shun me 
 like the pest. When I come, all stand 
 aside with a to-do as if I were a field- 
 marshal. I have thought, ' Someone has 
 again spread an evil report about thee; 
 wait, it will pass over,' but it does not pass 
 over. Now I will know why." 
 
 " It is because they fear thee," ventured 
 Mendel, timidly. 
 
 " Yes, that I see, that they fear me. 
 They fled before me, and barred their 
 doors as before the enemy, but why, I ask 
 thee — why? " 
 
 Mendel wavered. Shaye insisted, and at 
 last he wormed it out of him. 
 
 " It is because of what happened in thy 
 great sickness," began Mendel with much 
 hesitation. " Thou wast then so bad — my 
 worst enemy I do not wish to be as thou 
 wast. And in the end yet thou didst be- 
 come possessed of a frightful desire. God 
 have mercy! — what thinkest thou, Shaye? 
 125 
 
A RENEGADE AND OTHER TALES 
 
 — Chazer [pig] thou didst wish to eat — salt 
 pork and just salt pork. Bitter tears didst 
 thou weep over it, until at last the Doctor 
 said one should give it thee, lest thou die. 
 What was to be done? So Eisak Schul- 
 klopfer brought thee a bit from the inn and 
 thou — thou didst eat it." 
 
 " It was not even good pork — rancid as 
 an old boot," said Shaye. 
 
 Mendel stared. 
 
 " What ! " he cried, " thou knewest what 
 thou didst? " 
 
 " Why should I not have known ? " said 
 Shaye. 
 
 " And wast not meshugge? " 
 
 " Wie haisst, meshugge? " said Shaye. 
 
 Mendel clasped his hands, and shook his 
 head in utter amazement and disgust. 
 
 " That thou art a big Poshe [sinner] I 
 have always known," he said, " but what i 
 big rascal thou art, that I see now first ! " 
 
 " Nu, nu," said Shaye, " I am not the 
 worst by a long shot, and the Almighty 
 126 
 
A SINNER IN ISRAEL 
 
 will not be too hard on me for that bit 
 of pork, for He saw it was in my great 
 despair I ate it. And so the people 
 thought I was crazy — hm — a pack of 
 sheep's-heads! — but thou, Mendel, that 
 thou shouldst be such a fool — that I won- 
 der at. Canst not see why I wished to eat 
 that pork? " 
 
 " May the lightning strike me if I can 
 see it ! " 
 
 " Nu, so I will tell thee," said Shaye. 
 " Seest thou, as I was lying there in my 
 great sickness, and it was already time to 
 call the Chevra, I began to bethink me of 
 my past life, and how I would soon stand 
 in the presence of the Most High, His 
 Name be praised! I have my little fail- 
 ings, — I do not deny it, — and when I re- 
 membered the sins I had committed, I tell 
 thee I became afraid. Then all at once I 
 seemed to see myself in the Hereafter, and 
 I was led in at the door. There sat the 
 Most High. What thinkest thou, .Men- 
 
 127 
 
A RENEGADE AND OTHER TALES 
 
 del? — He looked just like the chief-rabbi of 
 Prague, whom I once saw when I was a 
 boy. There He sat in His big arm-chair, 
 reading out of a thick book, and stroking 
 His long white beard. ' Aha,' He cried 
 when He saw me, ' here comes my Shaye 
 Leben — a nice little Ganef [rascal] — here, 
 bring me my book once,' and they brought 
 Him the book wherein are written down 
 all the sins of the people. He turned over 
 the pages, and when He came to my name 
 He stopped. ' Pfui ! ' He said when He 
 saw the long list of my sins, " may I live 
 but that is a sinner — such a rascal we have 
 not had up here in a long time. Wait, he 
 will get his Makkes [beating] . Here, fetch 
 thou thy Steckel [stick],' He cried, and a 
 big angel came forth — an arm he had like 
 a blacksmith and a stick as thick as a fist. 
 I tell thee, my hair stood on end when I 
 saw it. And then the Most High, His 
 Name be praised! began to read off the 
 sins — sins that I usser remembered even in 
 128 
 
A SINNER IN ISRAEL 
 
 my dreams. Right at the beginning He 
 bega,n : ' Fifty licks because he ran away 
 from home; his parents, nebbich, worried 
 their hearts out over him — ^usser was he 
 worth it,' said the Most High, and klup! 
 klup ! — down came the stick of the big an- 
 gel on my back. And so it went — twenty 
 licks for this, and thirty licks for that. For- 
 ty licks for the debt he owes Hendel Feder- 
 schleisserin, who is, God knows, a pious 
 and hard-working woman,' said the Most 
 High, and ' twenty licks for the lard cakes 
 he ate,' and so on and so on, page after 
 page, until the cold sweat broke out on me 
 with terror. And every time when I 
 thought, now He is done. He turned an- 
 other page and began anew. ' Woe is me,' 
 I cried in my heart, ' I cannot bear this. 
 When will this end? When will this end? 
 But it did not end. Now see, Mendel, I 
 have eaten much Trefa [unclean] in my 
 life, — stewed rabbits, and beef fried in but- 
 ter, bacon and roast pork, and all kinds of 
 
 129 
 
A RENEGADE AND OTHER TALES 
 
 Chazer, but — 'tis the truth I'm telling thee 
 — never in my life had I tasted one bit of 
 salt pork; so, as I lay there in my agony, I 
 thought, ' Wait, before I die I will yet eat 
 a bit of salt pork; then, when the Most 
 High, His Name be praised! will cry out, 
 ' Ten licks for the salt pork he ate ' — then 
 I will know — at last ! thank God ! at last it 
 is the end ! ' " 
 
 130 
 
V 
 
 >JITTEL-"NACHT 
 
V 
 NITTEL-NACHT 
 
 A dark and biting winter afternoon, and 
 yet the streets are swarming with people. 
 Shops are bright with gilded sweets and 
 holiday wares; from every chimney rises 
 the sweet smell of holiday dishes; — Christ- 
 mas, the great festival of the nations is at 
 hand, and everywhere there is light and 
 life and merry, bustling preparation. 
 Everywhere? — no, not quite everywhere. 
 There is one street — a narrow, dingy one, 
 so dark and dull that it would appear as if 
 all the gloom crowded out of the town by 
 the holiday spirit had sought and found 
 shelter there. 
 
 Within the tall, crooked houses, the 
 
 women go about with troubled faces; the 
 
 men are still in the streets hawking their 
 
 small wares. Now and then the musical 
 
 133 
 
A RENEGADE AND OTHER TALES 
 
 drone of prayers breaks through the still- 
 ness; all else is silent and gloomy. 
 
 From a poor room of one of the houses 
 comes the sound of weeping. It is Veitel 
 Packeltrager's home, and within, Veitel 
 himself, — the patient, the diligent, — is ly- 
 ing on his bed by day, while Rochel, his 
 wife, with two children dragging at her 
 skirts and one at the breast, goes about 
 complaining : 
 
 " Who will earn bread for the little ones, 
 when thou liest there with an injured foot? 
 How couldst be such a Shlemiel, Veitel ! " 
 
 " God has helped thus far — He will help 
 further," replies the more optimistic Veitel. 
 " Do thou but tend to thine own affairs, 
 and send at last that gift to Herr Biirger- 
 meister." 
 
 " Shema ! — now he would lay this blame 
 also on my head," cries Rochel, and falls 
 to weeping silently. 
 
 Alas, the spirit of gloom is lodging 
 in Veitel Packeltrager's home. The 
 
 134 
 
NITTEL-NACHT 
 
 sources of his troubles are twofold. One 
 lies in the circumstance which Veitel's 
 name indicates; namely, that he is a Pack- 
 eltrager [pack-carrier], a bearer of bur- 
 dens, whose business in life it is to carry 
 heavy loads from morning till night. On 
 a recent day, when, as often before, his zeal 
 outran his strength, he had stumbled, and 
 dropped one of the iron bars with which 
 he was laden on his foot, and now he lay a 
 helpless sufferer, and there' was none to 
 earn bread. 
 
 The source of the other trouble is a 
 deeper and more permanent one. It lies 
 in no less a circumstance than this: that 
 Prodow, the town in which Veitel lives, is 
 a " Trefa-Mokum " [literally, unclean 
 place]; in other words, a place forbidden 
 to Jews. 
 
 Sixty-three so-called " tolerated Jews " 
 are lawful residents therein, much to the in- 
 dignation of its pious Gentile burghers; but 
 since these sixty-three are the fertile source 
 
 135 
 
A RENEGADE AND OTHER TALES 
 
 of the city's funds, their presence must 
 needs be endured. 
 
 Veitel Packeltrager is not of the toler- 
 ated. He is too poor; for " toleration " 
 is a high-priced privilege. His presence in 
 the town is a breach of the law; yet he is 
 there, and like him many others, for in 
 those places where it is lawful for Jews to 
 live, the crowding is too dense, the compe- 
 tition too keen, and only the sharpest wits 
 can there survive. Veitel, alas, has little 
 wit; only a pair of strong shoulders. He 
 asks nothing but to be allowed to make a 
 beast of burden of himself for a pittance, 
 to labor in peace; but he may not. Three 
 times with the others not tolerated has he 
 been driven out of the town; but the cry of 
 hungry children was stronger than the arm 
 of the law, and three times did he come 
 crawling back. 
 
 For the last few years he has had com- 
 parative peace, — if peace it may be called, 
 to rise at morn in trembling and go to bed 
 136 
 
NITTEL-NACHT 
 
 in fear, — yet let none suppose the law had 
 gone suddenly blind, or that it slept. No, 
 it was wide awake; its eyes dosed de- 
 signedly, but not so tight that they did 
 not blink with greedy desire at the tribute 
 of purses of coin and tubs of butter, 0f 
 casks of wine and fat geese, which t^e 
 Jews laid yearly upon the altar of its good- 
 will. 
 
 Veitel Packeltrager's annual offering to 
 the law, whose tangible form was Herr 
 Burgermeister, was the product of one fat 
 goose, his only wealth, which Rochel 
 tended and fed with pious ardor, for there- 
 by hung the family weal or woe. Now 
 Christmas eve, the time of the sacrifice, was 
 at hand, and Veitel's offering was not yet 
 placed. 
 
 " Now get the Yiingel [little boy] ready; 
 He must carry the gift there at once," Vei- 
 tel was crying from his bed. 
 
 "Shema," cried his wife, "the child I 
 should send ! " 
 
 137 
 
A RENEGADE AND OTHER TALES 
 
 " Who then? Me, perhaps? No one 
 will eat him." 
 
 " Nay, nay, — rather I will go myself." 
 
 " Shah — nonsense ! thou talkest like a 
 Goyah [Christian woman]," cried Veitel, 
 and gazed with some alarm at his pretty 
 wife, whose twenty-five years, in spite of 
 poverty and care and child-bearing, lay 
 but lightly on her graceful head. 
 
 " Veitel, — hast forgotten — Nittel-Nacht ! 
 Wait — perhaps grandfather will soon be 
 home from Schul. Thou wouldst not send 
 the child out alone among them — and just 
 to-night? 
 
 " Grandfather ! — Grandfather is himself 
 a child. Why didst not have our gift ready 
 in time?" cried Veitel. 
 
 " Must I tell thee again? Two hours I 
 waited in Nossen Schochet's [Nathan the 
 slaughterer's] house. Nu, certainly; — first 
 comes Frau Parnassin, then Frau Wool 
 Merchant — anybody first — Rochel the wife 
 of a Packeltrager can wait ! " 
 
 138 
 
NITTEL-NACHT 
 
 " Dost think I have no heart in my 
 body? But what's to be done? Hirshl 
 must go, — have I money for a messenger? 
 With thy hngering about thou wilt yet 
 bring us and the whole Kille [community] 
 to destruction." 
 
 Rochel wrung her hands in fear for her 
 child, but her husband's last argument was 
 too fully convincing. Did they not exist 
 at the mere whim and pleasure of the 
 Biirgermeister? His displeasure might 
 mean sufifering for the whole community. 
 With an aching heart she placed the pot 
 of white goose-oil and the large creamy 
 liver, wrapped in many cloths, into a bas- 
 ket, and hung it upon Hirshl's arm, forti- 
 fying him the while with advice and warn- 
 ings. 
 
 " Of all things, Hirshl, my life, do not 
 pass the church. Thou knowest how they 
 are. They might think thou wert trying 
 to peep in, and might, God forbid, do thee 
 an injury — and if thou meetest anyone, 
 
 139 
 
A RENEGADE AND OTHER TALES 
 
 hide in the shadow, or if they notice thee, 
 step aside into the gutter, and pull thy cap 
 politely, and if anyone asks thee what thou 
 earnest, say they are old shoes from the 
 cobblers, and if they would molest thee, — 
 run, run as fast as thou canst." 
 
 Hirshl was a little, thin boy with a soft 
 child's face, out of which shone strangely 
 wide, dark, half-shrewd, half-melancholy 
 eyes. He knew that his errand was not 
 void of dangers; for Christmas eve, 
 Nittel-Nacht [St. Nicholas night], as it 
 was called, had always been a favorite time 
 for Jew-raids, when the people fresh from 
 church, where the priests had fired them 
 with religious zeal, delighted in plundering 
 and murdering the Jews in the name of 
 Christ, their Lord. 
 
 He knew that his father and the other 
 men in the Gass always remained awake on 
 this night, that they might be prepared in 
 case of danger; but he also knew all the 
 good hiding-places, all the dark windings 
 140 
 
NITTEL-NACHT 
 
 and alley-ways of the town. So, grasping 
 his basket firmly, he set out on his 
 errand. 
 
 Up to the end of the Jews' street he 
 walked at ease, but at the corner, where be- 
 gan the enemy's world, he stopped like a 
 frightened hare, scenting the hunter's 
 hounds. The street seemed peaceful and 
 empty; and swiftly, noiselessly he hurried 
 on. He passed the cemetery without a 
 tremor; on that night it was but the living 
 he feared. The next turning brought him 
 to the church. He remembered his moth- 
 er's warning not to pass it, but just beyond 
 shone a bake-shop window sparkling with 
 Christmas splendor. He longed to have 
 a peep at all that glory. No one was 
 stirring, — he would risk it. 
 
 Just as he came opposite the church 
 door, it opened, and forth came a group of 
 laughing men and girls who hurried away, 
 the last one leaving the door ajar. From 
 the shadow into which he had crept, 
 
 141 
 
A RENEGADE AND OTHER TALES 
 
 Hirshl could look within, down to the shin- 
 ing altar, where hung a half-naked, blood- 
 stained effigy of Jesus of Nazareth. 
 
 " It is their God," he thought, and gazed 
 with fear and loathing at the ghastly figure. 
 In his mind there loomed mystically, 
 vaguely but fearfully, the consciousness 
 that the source of all their troubles lay in 
 that horrible figure. 
 
 How spectral the gloom of those shad- 
 owy naves! What harrowing mysteries 
 hid behind those dark chancel doors ! Was 
 it there they kept that awful host, on ac- 
 count of which the Jews had to stay in their 
 houses during Passion Week, and which 
 bled — so the Christians said — when a Jew 
 looked upon it? Then a chancel door be- 
 gan slowly and noiselessly to slide ajar, 
 and Hirshl turned, and fled in terror. 
 
 The next turning brought him to the 
 
 Rathhaus Square, which he dared not 
 
 cross, for it was forbidden to Jews. As he 
 
 was about to go another way, his foot- 
 
 142 
 
NITTEL-NACHT 
 
 Steps were arrested by the sound of shout- 
 ing voices, crying : 
 
 " Jew dog, damned hound ! " 
 
 He knew these sounds but too well. It 
 was one of the Gass in trouble. Creeping 
 swiftly to the comer, he saw a pack of 
 rowdy boys pursuing an old, feeble man, 
 who, gasping and trembling, stumbled 
 painfully along, dodging their missiles, and 
 looking about with wild, hunted eyes. 
 
 " Dede [grandfather] !" shrieked Hirshl. 
 He had recognized his grandfather. With 
 a bound he was at the old man's side, drag- 
 ging him to the corner and into a dark 
 door-way. The old man was panting hard 
 and trembling like a leaf. Hirshl, too, was 
 trembling, but it was with impotent hate 
 and fear and deep, deep pity. He soothed 
 the old man's hand lovingly, and his tears 
 fell hot and fast upon it. 
 
 " What art doing out so late alone, 
 Hirshl Leben?" said his grandfather at 
 last. 
 
 148 
 
A RENEGADE AND OTHER TALES 
 
 "Did they hurt thee, Dede?" sobbed 
 Hirshl. 
 
 " Nay, nay, — do not weep — 'twas only a 
 little dirt," and patiently and stolidly the 
 old man wiped the mud off his wrinkled 
 face and white beard. 
 
 " Why, O why didst thou go on the 
 Rathhaus Square! Dost not know it is 
 forbidden?" cried Hirshl. 
 
 " Why should I not know? But it was 
 dark, and with all the people and noi^e 
 my head went like a mill-wheel, — I must 
 have lost the way." 
 
 " Why wast not in Schul? — Where didst 
 get that basketful of apples? — Why wast 
 walking in the street? " questioned Hirshl. 
 
 " Esoi ! " said the old man, for he could 
 not tell Hirshl how he had sat behind the 
 stove, until the thought that his son-in-law 
 Veitel was lying ill, and there was none to 
 earn anything, and he himself was ever eat- 
 ing the bread of idleness, became more 
 painful than he could endure; and how, in- 
 
 144 
 
NITTEL-NACHT 
 
 Stead of going to Schul, he had bought a 
 basket of apples, and had gone to peddle 
 among the school-children. 
 
 " Esoi ! " repeated the grandfather, " a 
 Ytingel [little boy] does not need to know 
 everything," and Hirshl questioned no 
 more. He knew that his grandfather was 
 very old, and sometimes childish, when he 
 did foolish things. He started again on 
 his errand, but his progress now was slow, 
 for he had to lead the old man, whose feet 
 were stiff with cold. At length they ar- 
 rived at the Biirgermeister's house. Hirshl 
 delivered his basket, and received as re- 
 ward a gilded cake, but, knowing it to be 
 Trtfa [unclean], he dropped it into the 
 gutter. Then they mended their pace and 
 arrived at home unmolested. 
 
 It was the custom of the men to spend 
 the night in groups, playing cards, that in 
 case of a raid they might not be taken in 
 their sleep, and even the most pious did not 
 condemn a game on this occasion. On ac- 
 
 145 
 
A RENEGADE AND OTHER TALES 
 
 count of Veitel's injured foot, his neigh- 
 bors agreed to meet in his room, and soon 
 after supper they began to arrive. 
 
 Rochel had put the younger children to 
 bed, but fully dressed, that no time might 
 be lost in case of danger. Hirshl as the 
 eldest had permission to remain awake. 
 He now sat at the corner of the table where 
 the men were playing, watching the game 
 and listening to their conversation. 
 
 They spoke of many things; but through 
 it all, like the warp of a cloth upon which 
 the rest is woven, ran the complaining a- 
 bout the Gentiles; but Joel Wineseller, who 
 was a great wit, cracked jokes continually. 
 
 The grandfather, who had been praying 
 all the evening, now closed his prayer- 
 book, and then he rehearsed again the piti- 
 ftfl tale of his street encounter. 
 
 " If I were a man, I would kill them," 
 cried Hirshl, his eyes flashing rage. 
 
 " Still, still," cried the grandfather, " do 
 not add to thy sins. It is on account of 
 146 
 
NITTEL NACHT 
 
 our iniquities that we are punished and in 
 Golus [exile]." 
 
 Jacob Sofer now began to tell a harrow- 
 ing tale of Polish persecutions, when, on a 
 certain Christmas eve, a whole congrega- 
 tion had taken refuge in their synagogue ; 
 how there they had fought for their lives, 
 and how, with their own hands, they had 
 killed their wives and daughters rather 
 than let them fall alive into the hands of the 
 Christians. Others told similar tales, and 
 Hirshl listened, white with horror. 
 
 " Why, O why are the people so 
 wicked? " he mused. " When I am a man 
 I will be so good, so pious that the Lord 
 will let us return to Yerushelaim where 
 there are no wicked Goyim." 
 
 Suddenly he was startled out of his 
 musings by a cry of alarm. 
 
 " A knock," gasped his mother, " did 
 you not hear a knock? " 
 
 The company listened, with white, 
 strained faces. They started ; — they had 
 
 147 
 
A RENEGADE AND OTHER TALES 
 
 heard it clearly now — it was a knock. Some 
 one blew out the light; Rochel fled to the 
 bedside of her children. In Hirshl's short 
 life there lay the memory of a time of 
 terror, when, clinging to his father's neck, 
 they had fled in the night, and hidden in 
 a cold, black forest. He clutched his 
 grandfather's arm in agony, and they 
 waited with bated breath for what would 
 follow. But all remained still; only the 
 wind moaned, and the shutters creaked. 
 Some one took courage to look outside. 
 The knock came again; then they saw that 
 it was but a broken latch tapping in the 
 wind. 
 
 They relit their candle, and sat down to 
 renew their game. Rochel was weeping 
 softly at her baby's cradle. 
 
 " My God," she wailed, " why did we not 
 remain in Fishow? They have it good — 
 they live behind strong Ghetto gates." 
 
 The men were playing as before, but 
 they told no more harrowing tales. Joel 
 148 
 
NITTEL-NACHT 
 
 Wineseller's jokes fell on deaf ears; his 
 laughter, too, was hollow. At every sound 
 they started; they trembled at their own 
 heart-beats. 
 
 The grandfather was busily praying a- 
 gain, shaking himself with pious ardor, and 
 when he ceased, it was but to comfort 
 Hirshl, and tell him of that glorious time 
 when the Messiah would come; when all 
 Israel would dwell at peace in Zion, each 
 man under his own vine and fig-tree, in a 
 land flowing with milk and honey, as the 
 Lord has promised. 
 
 And the long night dragged wearily on; 
 the wind sighed and moaned; the feeble 
 candle blinked and sputtered; and little 
 Hirshl's soul was heavy with trouble and 
 weariness. Then slowly and strangely the 
 room waxed wide and bright, the murmur- 
 ing voices came faint and distant, the wall 
 of the house swelled like a mist, and Hirshl 
 found himself standing in a large, fine 
 square, just like the Rathhaus Square. Be- 
 
 149 
 
A RENEGADE AND OTHER TALES 
 
 fore him stood a beautiful building with a 
 golden dome. The Holy of Holies shone 
 at the top of a wide stair, and before it 
 stood grandfather in a white robe as at the 
 Seder; below were crowds of people all 
 singing joyfully, and over all shone a bright 
 golden light. 
 
 " It is Jerusalem," cried Hirshl, and 
 clapped his hands, " and the light that 
 shines over all, that is the Shechinah." 
 
 " Adon olom asher molach," sang the 
 people, and Hirshl's heart leaped high with 
 joy. He, too, would sing, " B'terem kol 
 yezir nibro," and as he opened his lips — he 
 awoke. 
 
 Alas, the glory of Zion was fled, — he was 
 only at home in the Gass; but it was morn- 
 ing, and the terrors of the night were past. 
 
 How sweet the white light of day ! How 
 sweet the smell of the simmering soup-pot! 
 How sweetest of all the strong comfort of 
 his father's voice chanting the old familiar 
 morning prayers ! 
 
 150 
 
VI 
 A JUDGMENT OF SOLOMON 
 
VI 
 A JUDGMENT OF SOLOMON 
 
 One fine day in spring, young Stephan 
 came tearing from town on horseback, 
 burst into the farmhouse kitchen, crying 
 desperately : 
 
 " Uncle Pawel, Uncle Pawel, I'm un- 
 done! I must have a hundred Gulden at 
 once, or be thrown into prison, and left 
 there to rot." 
 
 " One hundred Gulden ! Whui ! " cried 
 Pawel Bauer. " It is all I have in the 
 world, and my Anushka's dowry at that. 
 What mischief hast got into again? " 
 
 " So thou refusest? " cried Stephan. 
 
 " I need only twenty-five more, for 
 Christoph says the day I lay him down one 
 hundred and twenty-five, he marries my 
 Anushka." 
 
 162 
 
A RENEGADE AND OTHER TALES 
 
 " Well, then, good-bye, and say a mass 
 for my soul," cried Stephan, hotly, and 
 made for the door. 
 
 " Wait, wait, — where goest in such a 
 hurry? " 
 
 " To the devil ! To throw myself into 
 the well!" 
 
 " Wait, Stephanko, my boy," pleaded 
 Pawel, clutching his nephew's coat-tails 
 frantically. " How can I know thou'lt pay 
 me back? " 
 
 " Nothing easier," said Stephan, in- 
 stantly calm. " I simply write thee a note, 
 promising to pay on such and such a day. 
 'Tis as good as gold." 
 
 In half an hour, young Stephan, chirp- 
 ing like a bird, was tearing townward, and 
 Pawel stood spelling over a large scrawl, 
 which read : 
 
 I promise to pay one hundred Gulden to Pawel 
 Bauer on St. Pagnoocius Day. 
 
 Signed, Stephan Stadter, the Younger. 
 
 154 
 
A JUDGMENT OF SOLOMON 
 
 Pawel put the note into the stocking, 
 empty of the best part of Anna's dowry, 
 and each Sunday took down his calendar 
 to see whether Pagnoocius were not due 
 that week; but spring waxed into summer, 
 and summer waned into autumn, the har- 
 vest was in, and the twenty-five Gulden 
 necessary to the consummation of Anna's 
 matrimonial hopes lay beside the note, but 
 Pagnoocius had not arrived. 
 
 " Anushka is not so young that she can 
 wait ! " scolded Buzhinka, her mother. 
 
 " Perhaps I've skipped him," mused 
 Pawel, scratching under his cap. " I'm 
 not so strong on print as I used to be." 
 
 " I'll gO' ask the priest," he decided. 
 
 The priest did not take down his calen- 
 dar as Pawel expected, but, after a single 
 glance at the note, threw himself into a 
 chair, laughing uproariously. 
 
 " Pag-noo-oo-cius," he roared. " Ho, — 
 ho — a comical rogue! I don't wonder 
 thou foundest him not in the calendar; 
 
 165 
 
A RENEGADE AND OTHER TALES 
 
 truly 'tis the first time I ever heard of the 
 gentleman. By all the saints, he has done 
 thee, Pawel ! " 
 
 Pawel looked blank. 
 
 " Thou hadst best consult a lawyer," ad- 
 vised the priest. 
 
 Advocat Hummel, grown old and wise in 
 village practice, took the matter more 
 gravely. 
 
 " Hm, — the note is good, but you can- 
 not collect it," he said with fine logic. 
 " He promises to pay, but there is no 
 Pagnoocius." 
 
 "What's to be done? My Anushka's 
 dowry ! " lamented Pawel. 
 
 " My advice to you is to wait," said the 
 lawyer, pocketing his fee. " Wait ! Who 
 knows, perhaps there may some day be 
 such a saint." 
 
 Pawel went home in despair. Buzhinka 
 swore mighty oaths, and Anna wept loudly 
 into her apron. 
 
 It chanced that Anshel, the Jewish ped- 
 
 156 
 
A JUDGMENT OF SOLOMON 
 
 dler, dropped in on his weekly rounds that 
 day, and heard the story sympathetically. 
 
 " I know someone can help thee, Pawel," 
 he said. " Solomon Edelstein is his name, 
 and he keeps a little wine-shop in our vil- 
 lage, but he is a finished lawyer. A head 
 on him — of iron, I tell thee, — he has helped 
 more than one out of a pickle." 
 
 Next day Pawel appeared with his friend 
 Anshel before Solomon Edelstein, who, 
 much to Bauer's astonishment, neither 
 laughed at the note nor looked grave; but 
 after a careless glance into it, he laid it 
 indiiJerently aside, and continued his read- 
 ing in a large, yellow-leafed book. 
 
 Pawel's hope sank like lead, but pres- 
 ently old Solomon raised his eye-brows 
 wearily, drooped his head meekly to one 
 ■ side, and said in a small, sad voice : 
 
 " On the second of November you'll get 
 your money." 
 
 "How so on the second?" questioned 
 Pawel, dubiously. 
 
 157 
 
A RENEGADE AND OTHER TALES 
 
 Solomon did not reply. He was bending 
 over his book again, intently reading. 
 
 " If the egg was laid on a Sabbath — " 
 he murmured musically, his thumb wag- 
 ging an active accompaniment, and Anshel 
 with a knowing shrug took Pawel away. 
 
 The following week Pawel and old Solo- 
 mon appeared at court, where young 
 Stephan had been summoned for non-pay- 
 ment of his note. 
 
 " I do not refuse to pay," cried StepRan, 
 smiling confidently. " As you see in the 
 note, I promise." 
 
 " Fool," growled the judge, " Pagnoo- 
 cius ! You can't collect on that. The note 
 is no good. The case is dismissed." 
 
 " Pardon me," piped a small, sad voice, 
 and all eyes turned to where little Solomon 
 stood with his head drooping meekly to 
 one side. 
 
 " Pardon me, Herr Richter. He must 
 pay. The note is good. The note is very 
 good." 
 
 158 
 
A JUDGMENT OF SOLOMON 
 
 " So ! Do you perhaps know when is 
 St. Pagnoocius? " barked the judge. 
 
 "Why should I not know?" answered 
 Solomon. " It is the day after to-mor- 
 row." 
 
 "What? How? What do you mean? " 
 
 " Is not the day after to-morrow All 
 Saints' Day? Nu, if it is all saints' day, 
 Pagnoocius must also be among them." 
 
 And they bought the raisins for Anush- 
 ka's wedding-cake that very day. 
 
 159 
 
VII 
 A GOY IN THE GOOD PLAGE 
 
VII 
 A GOY IN THE GOOD PLACE 
 
 I 
 
 The first they knew of it in town was 
 through Lottchen Schmidt, who had been 
 playing at the river bank, and came home 
 with a sock in her hand. 
 
 " A good sock," said her mother, in as- 
 tonishment, and upon examining it more 
 closely she found the letters " A. F." 
 marked at the top. Everyone knew that 
 these initials stood for Anton Flegel, and 
 the double cross-stitch in which they were 
 worked, and for which his mother had long 
 been famous, completed the evidence. 
 
 " I wonder how this came by the river," 
 mused Lottchen's mother, but, her imagin- 
 ation halting at the sock, she hurried across 
 the street to consult the blacksmith's wife, 
 163 
 
A RENEGADE AND OTHER TALES 
 
 who immediately opened wide vistas of 
 probabilities. 
 
 Before the gossip had spread a quarter 
 of a mile, they carried the young man's 
 body up the street. They had found it 
 caught in the rushes by the willows where 
 the river bends. 
 
 " Yesus Maria ! " cried the women. 
 
 " So it had to come." 
 
 " I always knew he'd come to a bad 
 end." 
 
 " Always running after that Protestant 
 girl." 
 
 " Or sitting in the tavern." 
 
 " He must have drowned himself." 
 
 " Alas ! his poor old father." 
 
 " We had better send for the old man," 
 some one suggested after they had laid the 
 corpse upon a bed, and covered the young 
 face, in which the blood still tinted the 
 cheeks, with a sheet. 
 
 Claus volunteered to go. 
 
 164 
 
A GOV IN THE GOOD PLACE 
 
 " He will break it gently," said the peo- 
 ple, comfortably. 
 
 Claus was best fitted for a delicate er- 
 rand, for he read books and knew what's 
 what. 
 
 The last prominent landmark in the 
 large barrenness of old Anton's mind was 
 the visit of a troublesome relative from the 
 country. Ten years had passed since that 
 event, but he had not forgotten, for it was 
 the one time in his life that he had been 
 called from his work in the mills. 
 
 Thus when Claus came to him that day, 
 saying simply : " Flegel, thou shouldst go 
 home," the old man cried : 
 
 " What ! Is she here again? " 
 
 " Nay," said Claus; " it's only Anton." 
 
 The old man paled a little. 
 
 " Yeh," sighed Claus, folding his hands 
 as does the priest, " so it goes in this world. 
 But what can one do? He's a little — a lit- 
 tle dead, Anton." 
 
 165 
 
A RENEGADE AND OTHER TALES 
 
 II 
 
 Of all the pretty sights in town there 
 was none more charming' than the 
 house of the priest, standing in its sunny 
 garden next -to the CathoUc church. It 
 was almost covered with blooming vines, 
 out of which shining windows peeped like 
 laughing eyes; fine grape-vines clustered 
 on the garden walls, and in the yard fat 
 geese waddled comfortably. 
 
 " Frau Kochin," who kept house for the 
 priest, was as plump and comfortable as 
 the geese, and though her hands were ever 
 busy with rolling-pins and stewing-pans, 
 her hair was always smooth as satin, her 
 bodices tight and neat. As the people 
 said, she was as fresh and round as a hard- 
 boiled egg newly shelled. 
 
 She had two little red-cheeked children, 
 who called the good priest " Uncle," and 
 he was very fond of them — very fond, in- 
 deed, he was of these little children. Was 
 
 it, perhaps, because their eyes, which were 
 166 
 
A GOY IN THE GOOD PLACE 
 
 blue and merry, so much resembled his 
 own? 
 
 The setting sun was gilding the pebbles 
 of the priest's neat gravel walk as old 
 Anton Flegel, with bowed head and bent 
 shoulders, came slowly along. 
 
 He went to the side door, which opened 
 into the dining-room, judging from the in- 
 viting fragrance of browned butter which 
 came from there that the priest was at 
 supper; and he judged aright, for the half- 
 open door disclosed the portly form of 
 his Reverence seated at table with Frau 
 Kochin and the little ones, where they had 
 just finished eating a large dish of buttered 
 asparagus. 
 
 Anton entered meekly with hat in hand. 
 
 " Your Reverence, my son is dead," he 
 blurted out without invitation. 
 
 " So I have heard," repHed the priest in 
 compassionate and melting tones, though 
 he wiped the butter from his mouth with 
 care and folded his napkin neatly. 
 167 
 
A RENEGADE AND OTHER TALES 
 
 " The funeral — " began old Flegel. 
 
 " Dost not know that a suicide cannot 
 lie in consecrated ground? " interrupted his 
 Reverence in the same tender voice. 
 
 "A suicide ! " cried Anton, aghast. " He 
 was no suicide. He was walking in from 
 Miihldorf, probably hot and tired, and took 
 a cramp while bathing his feet." 
 
 "Ai, ai, Flegel," said the priest, with a 
 significant nod; " everyone knows, too, 
 why he went so often to Miihldorf — a Pro- 
 testant wench." 
 
 " He would not have married her," pro- 
 tested Anton. 
 
 " A reckless, wicked lad," said the priest. 
 
 " He was a good son to me, your Rever- 
 ence," pleaded Anton. 
 
 "It is but e just punishment from 
 Heaven," cooed the priest, mournfully, 
 lifting his kand as he did when he preached 
 on Easter. " He was a great sinner. He 
 had not been to mass or confession for 
 years; he spent his money on a Protestant 
 168 
 
A GOY IN THE GOOD PLACE 
 
 wench and gave nothing to the Church, 
 and therefore he died like an outcast, with- 
 out absolution and the blessed sacrament. 
 Alas! Anton, thou'lt need buy many 
 masses for his soul, for he is damned and 
 burns in hell fire." 
 
 Old Flegel paled and looked up with sad, 
 bleared eyes. 
 
 "Yesus Maria! what shall I do?" he 
 moaned. " Is there no place to bury 
 him?" 
 
 " The town has a place for such as he," 
 repHed the priest, in the same tender 
 tones. 
 
 " Whati where the hanged man lies? " 
 cried Anton, in horror. 
 
 " Ach, yes, this life is a vale of sorrows 
 but the righteous will reap their reward in 
 Heaven. Kathi, bring the poor man a cup 
 of coffee and a bun," and the priest sighed, 
 and undid the middle button of his coat, 
 which drew an uncomfortable crease after 
 meals. 
 
 189 
 
A RENEGADE AND OTHER TALES 
 
 The old man expostulated and entreated 
 in vain. 
 
 " Put thy trust in God, my son, and pray 
 to the blessed Virgin," said the priest, lead- 
 ing Anton to the door, for he wished to be 
 alone, that he might close his good-natured 
 eyes, which were drooping for the want of 
 his evening nap. 
 
 The old man wrung his hands silently as 
 he walked away down the sunny garden 
 path, past the fat geese and the gently stir- 
 ring grape-vines. 
 
 Ill 
 
 Evening had descended still and dark 
 over the town, and the stars glittered cold- 
 ly in the sky, as Anton stood hesitatingly 
 before the Protestant parsonage, and it 
 was with fear and misgiving that he finally 
 walked along the straight stone path up to 
 the dark house, with bare walls and shut- 
 tered windows, and knocked timidly. 
 
 " The pastor is busy at his sermon," said 
 170 
 
A GOY IN THE GOOD PLACE 
 
 the woman who opened the door, but the 
 old man pleading earnest business, she led 
 the way through a dark passage. Anton 
 followed, staring vacantly at the dim out- 
 line of her tall, thin figure, and wondering 
 vaguely at the low paper-like rustling, until 
 he discovered that it came from Frau Pas- 
 torin's stiffly-starched white apron. 
 
 The pastor sat at his desk writing by the 
 light of a lamp, which threw a circle of rays 
 upon a plain pine floor, scoured to such a 
 degree of whiteness that Anton feared to 
 tread upon it. He turned as the old man 
 entered, and said in a cold though kindly 
 voice : 
 
 " Good evening; pray, be seated." 
 
 The old man gazed diffidently into a 
 stern, thin face, whose deep-set eyes threw 
 out lights like the glint of polished steel, 
 which mated strangely with his gentle 
 tones. 
 
 " My son is drowned, your Reverence," 
 he essayed, trembling, at length. 
 171 
 
A RENEGADE AND OTHER TALES 
 
 " What, what — indeed ! I am deeply- 
 grieved to hear it," cried the pastor. " And 
 what can I do for you, my good man? " 
 
 " I thought perhaps — I beg of you — if 
 you would kindly bury him." 
 
 " Are you not a Catholic? " said the 
 pastor, in astonishment. 
 
 " Yes, your Reverence." 
 
 " And you come to me? " 
 
 " Yeh, what's to be done, your Rever- 
 ence? Our Herr Pfarrer says he is a sui- 
 cide, but he was not bad — only a little wild; 
 they found him in the river. You know 
 how it is — he died without the sacrament, 
 and now he is damned and cannot lie in 
 consecrated ground; oh, yeh! " 
 
 The pastor's lip curled; he viewed the 
 old man with contemptuous silence for a 
 moment, and then burst forth : 
 
 " Idolatry ! bigotry ! O, the horror of it — 
 the benighted, priest-ridden mass ! Do you 
 really believe that a sinful mortal can ab- 
 solve another's sin? Do you really believe 
 
 172 
 
A GOV IN THE GOOD PLACE 
 
 that the lack of a heathenish rite can ex- 
 clude a sinner from Christ's mercy? " 
 
 He had leaped from his chair, and was 
 striding the floor in great perturbation, the 
 words of the proselytizing harangue with 
 which he had for years assailed obstinate 
 Orientals falling glibly from his lips, while 
 Frau Pastorin's knitting needles clicked a 
 fierce accompaniment. 
 
 " They keep you in ignorance and dark- 
 ness, for they know that, like those poison- 
 ous night-blooms that wither at the first 
 gleam of dawn, their false gods will shrink 
 and die in the first ray of truth," he cried. 
 " They keep from you the blessed light of 
 the Testament. Throw oflf the bondage of 
 ignorance and superstition; be one of us, 
 brother. Join the true and only Church of 
 Christ. Here, take this Testament, my 
 friend; read there of the love of the Sa- 
 viour, it shines in every line," and thus on, 
 while Anton stared in dumb amazement, 
 but half understanding, and wondering 
 
 173 
 
A RENEGADE AND OTHER TALES 
 
 vaguely what penance the priest would put 
 upon him when he confessed to having 
 listened. 
 
 When the pastor finally ceased, Anton 
 rose and placed the Testament, which the 
 former had forced into his hands, upon the 
 chair. 
 
 " Keep it, you may take it with you," 
 urged the pastor. 
 
 " I thank you, but it is not allowed," said 
 Anton, simply. 
 
 The pastor uttered an exclamation of 
 impatience and flung himself into his chair. 
 Anton viewed him with sinking heart. 
 
 " Then you will not bury him? " he asked 
 pleadingly. 
 
 " It is impossible unless you join the 
 Church." 
 
 The old man fumbled his hat, then for a 
 moment looked sly. 
 
 " I will pay well," he said. 
 
 " A Catholic cannot lie in our cemetery," 
 said the pastor, and turning to his desk 
 174 
 
A GOY IN THE GOOD PLACE 
 
 continued at his sermon, whose text was, 
 " Blessed are the merciful." 
 
 Old Anton reeled as he turned out into 
 the night, and walked under the coldly glit- 
 tering stars. 
 
 IV 
 
 It was on a dim, rainy morning, in a dark 
 yard of a dirty, narrow street, that old 
 Anton stood gazing perplexedly about 
 him, staring alternately at a dingy, peak- 
 roofed little building which had been 
 pointed out to him as the synagogue, and 
 a crooked little house to which he had been 
 directed as the rabbi's dwelling. 
 
 The air was full of evaporations from the 
 puddles of water that lay about, while 
 through them the spirit of a neighboring 
 tannery and the oily ghost of Frau Reb- 
 betzin's latest " Kraut Strudel " struggled 
 for supremacy. 
 
 Anton heard voices in the house, but saw 
 no way of entering, for, being a stranger, 
 175 
 
A RENEGADE AND OTHER TALES 
 
 he did not know that the door was down 
 the crevice by the fence, where fat people 
 went in sideways. 
 
 Presently the back door of the syna- 
 gogue opened, and a thin, dark man in car- 
 pet slippers and wearing an old silk hat 
 upon his head emerged. 
 
 " Are you the priest? " ventured Anton, 
 doubtfully. 
 
 The rabbi smiled, drew up his shoulders, 
 threw out his hands and cried : 
 
 " Wie haisst? Do I look like a priest? 
 The priest unbeschrieen has quite a differ- 
 ent shape. He could swallow me whole 
 and still find room for a Yontow dinner," 
 and he chuckled softly at his own joke. 
 
 Anton could make nothing out of this, 
 so he answered simply: 
 
 " They told me I could find the Jew 
 priest here. My son is drowned " he added 
 huskily. 
 
 " Shema ! " shrieked the rabbi. " He is 
 drowned? Your son? How so — where — 
 176 
 
A GOY IN THE GOOD PLACE 
 
 how did it happen? What a misfortune! 
 Come with me quick! Hm — hm — hm — ," 
 and he hurriedly led the way into the 
 house. 
 
 " Sarah," he cried at the door, " bring a 
 little brandy, quick. What thinkest thou, 
 this poor man's son is drowned ! " 
 
 " Drowned ! " screamed the rabbi's fat 
 wife. " Wai geschrieen ! In the river, was 
 it not? I always knew it would happen — 
 wading and swimming — and God only 
 knows what else — wai, wai, wai — ." 
 
 " Get the brandy, Sarah Leben, and talk 
 later," cried the rabbi. 
 
 After they had urged the old man to 
 drink, and Sarah with one sweep had 
 cleared a chair of a bundle of soiled clothes, 
 a book, and a pan of potato parings, that 
 the old man might be seated, they plied 
 him with a hundred questions, through the 
 distractions of which Anton told his story 
 as best he could. 
 
 The rabbi grasped his beard, swayed 
 177 
 
A RENEGADE AND OTHER TALES 
 
 himself from side to side, and at the pa- 
 thetic places murmured, " Hm — hm " and 
 " Wai, wai," while the more tender Sarah 
 wiped away her tears on a dirty silk apron. 
 
 " And now I've come to you to bury 
 him," was the end of Anton's tale. 
 
 " To me ! " cried the rabbi, with a violent 
 gesture. " I am a Jew." 
 
 " Yesus, I know it, and it is bitter 
 enough," cried Anton, " but what can I do? 
 The Pfarrer says he cannot, the Pastor says 
 he dare not." 
 
 The rabbi reflected. He looked pityingly 
 at the old man's bent head and his dim 
 eyes, swollen and red with unshed tears, 
 striding the while up and down the length 
 of the room; sometimes clutching his beard 
 dejectedly, sometimes gesticulating as if in 
 triumph. 
 
 " Sarah," he cried at length determined- 
 ly, " go, call Chayim." 
 
 Chayim was Sarah's uncle, and the presi- 
 dent of the Schul; what he lacked in his 
 178 
 
A GOY IN THE GOOD PLACE 
 
 learning, which was confined solely to the 
 knowledge of wines and liquors, he sup- 
 plied in wealth and dignity, and not 
 alone his position, but his pride, demanded 
 that he be consulted on all matters congre- 
 gational. He was proud of his learned 
 nephew, however, in the presence of whose 
 superior knowledge authority dwindled to 
 mere form, and whose policy was to ask 
 his president's advice in all humility, and 
 then do as he pleased. 
 
 The Jews of this town, as of all others, 
 were neighborly, and Chayim had not far 
 to come. 
 
 Anton repeated his story for him, but 
 this time the rabbi ended it, saying reso- 
 lutely : 
 
 " And we must bury him." 
 
 "What!" cried Chayim. "A Goy in 
 the ' good place.' Bistu meshugge ! We 
 cannot do such a thing. We dare not ! " 
 
 " My dear uncle Chayim Leben," replied 
 the rabbi in sweetest tones, " thou know- 
 179 
 
A RENEGADE AND OTHER TALES 
 
 est I value thy word like pure gold, but 
 when it comes to a matter of law, thou 
 hadst best leave it to me. Not only dare 
 we, we should ! We must ! It's a Mitzwah." 
 
 Here was a grand opportunity, particu- 
 larly since a stranger was present, for 
 Chayim to display the iron hand of author- 
 ity, and though he had never read a line of 
 Gemorah in his life, he blew out his cheeks, 
 and assumed the argumentative tone of a 
 Talmudist. 
 
 " If," he said, beginning on a high note 
 and throwing out his thumb, " our rules 
 declare we dare not sell a plot of our burial- 
 ground to a Goy, how — " at the bottom of 
 the scale and rising — " are we going to 
 do it? " 
 
 The good rabbi's patience was as short- 
 lived as it was sweet, and Chayim's foolish 
 pretense at knowledge was always the 
 point at which it broke. 
 
 " Chammer," he roared. " Did I say 
 we'll sell it to him? We'll give it to him ! " 
 
 180 
 
A GOY IN THE GOOD PLACE 
 
 And SO they did. 
 
 There were scrupulous people who threw 
 up their hands and cried in horror, " A Goy 
 in the ' good place ! ' " There were others 
 who prophesied dire misfortunes, but in 
 spite of these the young man was laid away 
 in a corner of the little Jewish cemetery, 
 the rabbi read the burial service, and all 
 the pious women wept at the grave. 
 
 Yet nothing disastrous happened; life in 
 the Gass went on as before in its dull, even 
 round, and the young Goy and his grave 
 were soon forgotten. 
 
 If one should visit this little Jewish 
 
 cemetery, he could find in a corner, and 
 
 with but little seeking, a neglected grave, 
 
 and, sunk deep among the long, tangled 
 
 grasses, a flat headstone, upon which he 
 
 might read to this very day the inscription : 
 
 " Anton Flegel. 
 He rests in Christ." 
 
 181 
 
VIII 
 GENENDEL THE PIOUS 
 
VIII 
 GENENDEL THE PIOUS 
 
 All ideas are relative, not alone in the 
 world at large but also in the Gass. But in 
 the Gass one is more definite. One does 
 not say of a man vaguely, " He is rich," 
 and leave you distractedly guessing how 
 much it is that he has got. 
 
 No, one says "a solider Balbos;" then 
 you may know that his income is about 
 three hundred Gulden. When one says " a 
 ganzer Rothschild," it is perhaps six hun- 
 dred. But when one throws out one's 
 hands, purses up one's lips, and, rolling 
 one's eyes heavenward, cries, " Pui, a 
 Chotzen ! " you may know that he has at 
 least a thousand a year. 
 
 And as to his material, so as to his spiri- 
 tual estate, they leave you not in doubt. 
 When a person is reasonably pious, one 
 185 
 
A RENEGADE AND OTHER TALES 
 
 says of him, he is " a Zaddik." When he 
 persistently refuses to take from a Gentile 
 a cup of coffee — even without milk — one 
 says " a Chossid." But when his piety 
 reaches its utmost bounds, leaps over and 
 runs wild, one says " a whole Genendel," 
 for Genendel had become a proverb in the 
 Gass. 
 
 She was so pious that even frumm Loe- 
 bele said: 
 
 " Would that mine were but a little piece 
 of Genendel's portion of Gan Eden [Para- 
 dise]." 
 
 There was not a fast nor a feast, not a 
 holiday nor half-holiday, not a law or an 
 ordinance nor an inspected law or ordi- 
 nance that Genendel did not keep, but 
 synagogue-going was her strongest point. 
 
 There might have been women in the 
 Gass who approached her in this, but to 
 equal her there was none. 
 
 So firmly established was her synagogue- 
 going, that when she suddenly left it off, 
 186 
 
GENENDEL THE PIOUS 
 
 the Gass for a while quite lost its equili- 
 brium,, and before it regained its balance, 
 Yainkele, Eisak Schulklopfer's, had got a 
 terrible dose of Makkes ; but how this hap- 
 pened shall be narrated later. First of 
 Genendel this: spiritually she represented 
 the very essence of beauty, but the visible 
 part of her was just a dried up little mother 
 with a wizened face, stoop-shoulders, and a 
 ' Scheitel.' Further, a bundle, — large, 
 bulky, and squarish, — which contained her 
 old prayer-book, carefully screened from 
 profane eyes and sheltered from the 
 weather by the white cloth into which it 
 was devotedly knotted. The rest, a long 
 thread-bare shawl and , a headkerchief, 
 which had once glowed grandly with a bor- 
 der of pink and purple acorns, but whose 
 frayed edges had been so often trimmed 
 and hemmed again, that it now was but a 
 black wisp, whose short ends fluttered 
 limply in the wind, and let all the cruel 
 snowflakes sting Genendel's neck. 
 187 
 
A RENEGADE AND OTHER TALES 
 
 Genendel was very poor. Even the Gass 
 admitted this; and when one is poor in the 
 Gass, one is most wofully poor. Also she 
 was proud ; at any rate so the Gass thought, 
 for she kept to herself, and let no one pry 
 into her affairs, and when in her bitterest 
 days one asked sympathetically, " How 
 goes it, Genendel? " she did not wail, 
 " Wai, mir," but set her lips, and answered 
 curtly, " Nu, it goes," which translated 
 into clear language means, " Mind thine 
 own affairs." 
 
 She lived in a single small room, and she 
 lived quite alone, for her only son — the last 
 of six — had gone to America, and there, 
 in the wicked New World, he had forgotten 
 his old mother. But Genendel never com- 
 plained. At least no one ever heard her. 
 It may be that she complained to God, for 
 she went to Schul twice every day. This, 
 as every one knows, is not even proper for 
 a woman; but still Genendel did it. And 
 there in a corner of the women's gallery 
 188 
 
GENENDEL THE PIOUS 
 
 she prayed out of her old black Siddur; 
 and sometimes, when the cold had been 
 most cruelly bitter, and her soup most piti- 
 fully thin, slow tears would drop upon its 
 yellow pages. 
 
 And now comes the tale of how Eisak 
 Schulklopfer's Yainkele got his dose of 
 Makkes — for once in his life quite unjustly. 
 It happened in this wise. 
 
 One Sunday morning Yainkele lay even 
 later than usual abed, and though his 
 mother had twice called, " Out with thee, 
 lazybones, — thou'lt be late for school ! " he 
 did not budge. 
 
 " 'Tis not time yet," said Yainkele, at 
 length. 
 
 " How dost know? " 
 
 " Genendel has not gone to Schul yet; " 
 for Genendel was Yainkele's clock, and he 
 had his eyes on the synagogue door. So 
 when Yainkele arrived at the Cheder a 
 full hour late, Reb Itzig Melamed began 
 
 189 
 
A RENEGADE AND OTHER TALES 
 
 to beat him soundly, nor did he desist when 
 Yainkele roared : , 
 
 " Can I help it? Genendel did not go to 
 Schul to-day." 
 
 "What?" cried Reb Itzig. "Art 
 dreaming? — art still asleep? Wait, I'll 
 wake thee up ! " and leathered away more 
 vigorously than before. 
 
 A group of gossips in Maryam's Back- 
 stub that day discussed it thus : 
 
 " By rights," said one, " the Makkes 
 should have been Genendel's, for after all 
 these years how was Yainkele to know that 
 she would not go to Schul to-day? " 
 
 " Perhaps she is sick," suggested some 
 one. 
 
 " Adrabbe," said another, " she is very 
 well. When I heard that she had not been 
 to Schul, I went at once to see if aught be 
 wrong with her, and I found her knitting 
 by a nice warm stove and singing thereto — 
 I tell you, like the Rodower Chazan on 
 Simchas Thora." 
 
 190 
 
GENENDEL THE PIOUS 
 
 " 'Twas a bitter day," said another, " and 
 Genendel is getting old." 
 
 " Nay, 'twas not the weather either, for 
 right in the thickest of the storm she was 
 seen going to Machel Katzev's, where she 
 bought a half pound of meat." 
 
 " A half pound of meat ! Genendel must 
 have rrioney." 
 
 " Why has she not money? " 
 
 " Shtuss ! From where should Genendel 
 get money? " 
 
 " She received money from that Poshe 
 Berl, her son." 
 
 " How knowest thou that? " 
 
 " Have you not heard that she got a 
 letter? " 
 
 " Truly, we have heard. The letter was 
 from Poland." 
 
 " The letter was from America." 
 
 " From America? " cried they all. " Who 
 told thee?" 
 
 " Gitel told me. She was so fidgety 
 with wishing to know from whom it was, 
 191 
 
A RENEGADE AND OTHER TALES 
 
 that Shaye Soldat said he would go find 
 out." 
 
 " What, Shaye asked Genendel? I do 
 not believe it. She would have thrown 
 him out." 
 
 " He did not ask her. Trust Shaye, 
 that Ganef, to find out what he wishes to 
 know. ' Hast heard, Genendel,' he said, 
 ' the bad news from America? ' ' Nay,' Gen- 
 endel said, 'what news?' "They have had 
 such a drought there that the creek ran 
 dry, whereupon it grew so cold that the 
 town-pump froze up, and the people nearly 
 perished with a water famine,' Shaye said. 
 Genendel looked real worried. ' A water 
 famine in America ! Strange that he should 
 not have mentioned it,' she said." 
 " It must have been from Berl." 
 " From whom else but from Berl? " 
 But the surprising fact that Genendel 
 had not gone to Schul on a certain day was 
 presently drowned in the amazing circum- 
 stance that she now ceased entirely from 
 192 
 
GENENDEL THE PIOUS 
 
 going. Skeptics did not believe it, and 
 they went at prayer-time to walk past her 
 window. From thence they brought wild 
 reports, — such as this: 
 
 " She no longer eats meat on one day 
 and the soup on the next; but both to- 
 gether — the meat and the soup in a single 
 day." And this : 
 
 " She stuffs her stove full of wood, as if 
 she were the Countess of Reichenberg." 
 Also this: 
 
 " She has a new Sabbath-pot." 
 
 The scandal of Genendel's defection be- 
 came so great, that the noise of it reached 
 even the rabbi, Reb Yoshe Levisohn, that 
 great Chossid of whom it is said, " He is 
 so deep in his studies that usser does he 
 know, is he living or is he not living." At 
 noon his wife must place the dish before 
 him and the fork at his hand. 
 
 " Why dost disturb me? What is this? " 
 grumbles the great Reb Yoshe. 
 193 
 
A RENEGADE AND OTHER TALES 
 
 " This is thy dinner," says the Rebbet- 
 zin. 
 
 Then first does he know it is time to eat. 
 
 Reb Yoshe scorned the voice of gossip, 
 but on a Sabbath morning he noticed that 
 Genendel had not waited for him at the 
 door of the synagogue to wish him " gut 
 Shabbes," as for years had been her wont. 
 So after his dinner he despatched his ser- 
 vant to see if aught be wrong with her. 
 
 And Mirl returned with this report: 
 
 " So may something be wrong with me 
 as it is wrong with Genendel ! A new silk 
 apron she has — brown silk — a Gulden the 
 yard — and a new lace cap with a purple 
 ribbon in it, and stewed apples and raisins 
 she is eating, — I tell you by the table- 
 spoonful." 
 
 R)eb Yoshe eyed his servant gravely. 
 
 " Envy is the rottenness of the bones," 
 he said; whereat Mirl fled to the kitchen. 
 But to his wife he said : 
 
 " What is this about Genendel? " 
 194 
 
GENENDEL THE PIOUS 
 
 " Do I know? Do I listen to the gossip 
 of the people? They say her son Berl 
 sends her much money from America," 
 said the Rebbetzin. 
 
 Reb Yoshe looked perplexed. 
 
 " For more than twenty years, — in her 
 widowhood, — in her poverty, — when her 
 children died, she has been going to Schul 
 — and now in her prosperity — " He 
 stroked his beard thoughtfully. " I think 
 I'll go see Genendel," he said. 
 
 Then word went forth that the Rav, the 
 great Reb Yoshe Levisohn, who rarely 
 went into another's house, was coming to 
 Genendel, and oflficious ones ran to tell her 
 of it, and also to see her wither. But she 
 did not wither. No, she laid a new white 
 cloth upon the table; placed thereon her 
 Kiddush-cup, and rolled beside it her own 
 arm-chair. And when he came, she said, 
 " God's welcome, Rebbe Leben," bade him 
 be seated, and gave him wine and cake. 
 Nay, nay — none of your raisin wine and 
 195 
 
A RENEGADE AND OTHER TALES 
 
 home-made Dalklech. 'Twas real red wine 
 that one buys at Reb Shlome's for heavy 
 money, and the cakes were of Maryam's 
 best. 
 
 Genendel's eyes grew moist as she gazed 
 at the great Reb Yoshe partaking of her 
 hospitality. 
 
 " May the Rebbe live a hundred years," 
 she cried. " I would that my Ephroim — 
 he rests in Paradise — had lived to see this 
 happy day when the Rebbe — his virtues be 
 to us a blessing — honors my poor dwelling. 
 I beg the Rebbe to bless me." And she 
 bent her head, and the rabbi laid his hands 
 upon it and blessed her, while Genendel 
 sobbed aloud in pure happiness and pride. 
 
 " Is it true," said the rabbi, when Genen- 
 del had dried her eyes and stood again 
 smiling before him, " is it true, what is 
 said of thee, that thou no longer goest to 
 Schul?" 
 
 " It is true," said Genendel. 
 
 " Wie haisst? " said the rabbi. 
 
 196 
 
GENENDEL THE PIOUS 
 
 Genendel smiled sweetly. 
 
 " The Rebbe has not forgotten my son 
 Berl, who went to America and of whom 
 the people said bitter things — that he has 
 deserted his old mother — and worse. It 
 is not true, Rebbe. He is a good son. 
 He has not forgotten me. He had, alas, 
 much bad fortune, there in America, but 
 now, thank God, it goes well with him. 
 He now sends me twenty Gulden every 
 month, and says he will send it so long as I 
 live." Genendel paused. 
 
 " Nu? " said the rabbi. 
 
 " So why should I go to Schul, Rebbe 
 Leben? " said Genendel. 
 
 Now the Rav was a great scholar, a Tal- 
 mid Chochem, a rare Lamden, but it is a 
 fact that at this moment he found not a 
 word of reply. He sat quite still with his 
 mouth open. 
 
 " If anyone had told me this of thee," he 
 said at length, sadly, " I should not have 
 believed it." 
 
 197 
 
A RENEGADE AND OTHER TALES 
 
 It was Genendel now who looked sur- 
 prised. 
 
 " Wie haisst, Rebbe? " she said in much 
 distress. 
 
 " ' Jeshurun waxed fat and kicked — then 
 he forsook God who made him,' " quoted 
 Reb Yoshe in Hebrew, which Genendel 
 did not understand at all. " Now that the 
 Lord has provided for thee, thou no longer 
 hast need of Him — what? " he went on in 
 Genendel's own torigue. 
 
 " It is as the Rebbe says," said Genendel, 
 simply. 
 
 " And thou art not even ashamed to con- 
 fess it? How was I deceived in thee, Gen- 
 endel! I thought thou wast like them of 
 whom it is written, ' Happy are they that 
 dwell in Thy house, they do praise Thee 
 continually.' " 
 
 Genendel looked puzzled. 
 
 " Does the Lord really wish that? " she 
 said incredulously. 
 
 " Wish what? " 
 
 198 
 
GENENDEL THE PIOUS 
 
 " That one praise Him continually. I 
 am only an i^orant woman, but, forgive 
 me, Rebbe — that I do not believe. We all 
 know what a Chossid is the Rebbe — how 
 he does good to the poor — though, God 
 knows, he has not much himself, and would 
 eat dry bread the week round, were it not 
 for the bit of butter which Malka Loew 
 sends him. We all know how he does kind- 
 ness to the Rodower Bochur, — ^how he 
 gives him food and clothes and keeps him 
 like a child of his house. Now supposing 
 the Rodower should come every day before 
 the Rebbe and cry out — ' O, I thank the 
 Rebbe, — O, how good is the Rebbe — how 
 kind, how noble, how wise is the Rebbe ! ' 
 — would the Rebbe like that? Would he 
 not tell him to hold his tongue? Would he 
 not throw him out of the house? " 
 
 Reb Yoshe eyed Genendel queerly, and 
 something like a smile fluttered around his 
 lips. 
 
 " Ah, so, — thou wouldst not anger the 
 199 
 
A RENEGADE AND OTHER TALES 
 
 Lord. Verily, Genendel thou wilt yet be 
 wise, for it is written, ' The fear of the 
 Lord is the beginning of wisdom,' " and 
 Reb Yoshe laughed softly into his beard. 
 " Yes, Rebbe Leben — that is what I 
 mean," cried Genendel. " It is because I 
 fear the Lord that I do not go to Schul. 
 Many a day I feel that I would like to go, — 
 even though I no longer have need of it, — 
 for it has become a strong habit with me, 
 this Schul-going. But I do not go. I be- 
 think me of a story which my father — peace 
 be to him — used to tell, about their Count 
 in Poland, where he lived. This Count 
 was a very charitable man. Every day 
 when he came out of his house to go to the 
 hunt, his door-step would be full of beg- 
 gars, and to all he gave. There was one 
 beggar — his name was Mattis — who was 
 there every day. No sooner did the Count 
 come out of his door, than there was Mattis 
 crying, ' O, your Grace, I am so poor and 
 wretched.' And the Count would give him 
 
 200 
 
GENENDEL THE PIOUS 
 
 bread or wood or money, as was his need. 
 But in a day or two he would be there 
 again, crying, 'O, your Grace, I am so poor 
 and wretched.' Well, one day when there 
 were not so many beggars, the Count 
 looked at Mattis, and his heart ached for 
 the beggar. 'It is sad,' he said, 'that an old, 
 feeble man should have to beg here in the 
 cold,' and he gave orders to his servant, 
 that Mattis be given a Gulden every week 
 so long as he live, that he need no longer 
 beg. And Mattis was happy. He bought 
 bread and herring and a new coat — in short 
 he was a made man. But Mattis had gotten 
 so used to standing every day on the 
 Count's door-step, that he did not know 
 what else to do, and a few days thereafter, 
 when the Count came out of his house to 
 go to the hunt, as usual, there was Mattis, 
 standing again on his door-step. ' For 
 Heaven's sake, Mattis,' the Count cried, 
 'what dost want now? Have I not pro- 
 vided for thee? ' Then Mattis began to cry, 
 
 201 
 
A RENEGADE AND OTHER TALES 
 
 ' Yes, your Grace, I thank your Grace, 
 but O, your Grace, I was so poor and 
 wretched, — O, I was so poor and 
 wretched ! ' The Count got terribly an- 
 gry. He took Mattis by the collar, and 
 threw him down the steps, so that he fell 
 and broke both his legs, sprained his hand, 
 and bumped his head, and moreover he in- 
 jured his inwards. Nobody blamed the 
 Count. He had done what he could for the 
 beggar, and he wanted Menuchah. So it 
 is with the Lord and me, Rebbe Leben. 
 For years I cried to Him every day, and 
 He has had mercy on me — He has not 
 let me starve, though, God knows, there 
 was often not enough from one day to the 
 next. But now He has helped for good. 
 He has done what He could for me, and 
 now He wants to be rid of me, for, God 
 knows, there are enough beggars to bother 
 Him. Nay, Rebbe Leben. whenever I feel 
 I want to go to Schul, I bethink me of 
 Mattis, and stay at home." 
 202 
 
IX 
 A MONK FROM THE GHETTO 
 
IX 
 A MONK FROM THE GHETTO 
 
 " Yes, it was always so, and there is no 
 harm in it. Our Herr Pfarrer is a holy 
 man, and Reb Nathan is quite decent, — O, 
 yes, quite decent. In the winter he keeps 
 the money for the farmers, and he makes 
 no charge for it, either. He is an honest 
 Jew,— Reb Nathan." 
 
 Thus spoke the old landlord of " The 
 Gray Ass " to a stranger seated in his hos- 
 pitable door-way. It was always a stran- 
 ger who remarked upon the unusual sight 
 of a Catholic priest and a Jew walking with 
 linked arms and seemingly absorbed in 
 each other. 
 
 The people of Peltau had long been 
 familiar with the sight of these inseparable 
 friends roaming through the woods and 
 fields together. 
 
 205 
 
A RENEGADE AND OTHER TALES 
 
 The older people remembered how these 
 two as boys had grown up together; how 
 through the short vacations they had clung 
 to each other as though united by an invisi- 
 ble bond; and how they had sorrowed when 
 sent to their separate schools. 
 
 " Thou wilt not forget me? " was then 
 Ferdinand's sobbing query. 
 
 " I- shall love thee as long as I live," re- 
 plied Nathan, earnestly. 
 
 They remembered, too, the interest and 
 excitement in the village when Ferdinand 
 was ordained a priest, and sent to a distant 
 province to begin his work for the Church. 
 They knew that the sadder heart on that 
 occasion was Nathan's. But they knew 
 naught of his longing for his friend, of his 
 anxiety between the rare and irregular 
 mails, of his pain and grief when Ferdi- 
 nand's letters became shorter and less fre- 
 quent, and finally stopped altogether. Nor 
 did they know that when Nathan, through 
 the magnificent indulgence of the Govern- 
 
 206 
 
A MONK FROM THE GHETTO 
 
 ment, was permitted to rent a farm and 
 give up his uncongenial profession of teach- 
 ing, and when he married the wife of his 
 love, and rejoiced in the birth of his first- 
 born, he still cherished the memory of his 
 friend, for a sight of whose beloved face he 
 had long ceased to hope. 
 
 Fifteen years had passed since Ferdi- 
 nand left the village, when one summer 
 morning, Nathan, walking through his 
 fields of ripening grain, heard the tinkle of 
 the distant church-bell come swinging 
 through the air. 
 
 " The new priest will be reading his first 
 mass," thought he, and he hummed the 
 familiar strain of the " Kyrie Eleison." 
 
 An hour later the priest himself, taking 
 the short cut through the farm to the 
 neighboring parish of Eberdorf, came walk- 
 ing past Nathan's house. Nathan waited 
 in his door-way, hat in hand, to give him 
 greeting. The priest walked by and down 
 the sunlit road. A swallow twittered; an 
 
 207 
 
A RENEGADE AND OTHER TALES 
 
 odor of pines hung in the air; an old melo- 
 dy, like a wind-borne echo, sang in 
 
 Nathan's heart, — 
 
 "Freude, schoner Gotterfunken, 
 Tochter aus Elysium," 
 
 and he gazed at the retreating figure with 
 
 a strange, vague feeling of pleasure, like 
 
 one who has awakened from a happy 
 
 though forgotten dream. 
 
 In the evening he awaited the priest's 
 return. 
 
 " God's welcome to Peltau, your Rever- 
 ence," he said. 
 
 " My hearty thanks," replied the priest, 
 and he stopped to pat the cheek of the lit- 
 tle girl whom Nathan held by the hand. 
 Suddenly he started and looked up from 
 the child's into the father's face. 
 
 " Nathan ! " he cried. 
 
 "Ferdinand!" 
 
 And the men fell into each other's arms. 
 
 From that day the old, happy compan- 
 ionship began anew. The priest spent all 
 
 208 
 
A MONK FROM THE GHETTO 
 
 his leisure in the Jew's house, and little 
 Leah soon learned to lay her head con- 
 fidingly on " Uncle Pfarrer's " breast. It 
 was well known that, if one sought the 
 priest, he was to be found in the Jew's 
 house. When Nathan, returning from the 
 synagogue on a Friday night, brought a 
 strange Schnorrer home with him, the 
 priest's presence in the house was ex- 
 plained by the story of their boyhood. 
 Then Nathan's young, dark-eyed wife 
 would sit and smile quietly at the oft-re- 
 peated tales of youthful dreamings and 
 roamings; at the happy reminiscences of 
 jaunts and journeys; at the merry recollec- 
 tions of clandestine, woodland meetings, 
 where the delightful, forbidden Schiller was 
 eagerly devoured and faithfully imitated. 
 
 Time went on, and then came the winter, 
 when the priest became strangely quiet and 
 melancholy, and rarely left the parsonage. 
 His housekeeper, a beautiful, pale-faced 
 woman, known to the village as " Frau 
 
 209 
 
A RENEGADE AND OTHER TALES 
 
 Wirthschafterin," would often come and 
 carry little Leah to spend the day at " Un- 
 cle Pfarrer's." 
 
 And the child returned with hands full 
 of honey-cakes, and asked her mother, — 
 
 " Mamma Leben, why does Frau Wirth- 
 schafterin weep when she kisses me? " 
 
 " Does she weep then? " replied the 
 mother, while the color left her face. " Per- 
 haps she is not happy, the poor Frau 
 Wirthschafterin." 
 
 About this time Nathan's second child 
 was born, and, soon after, the priest was 
 transferred to the larger and richer parish 
 of Prague. 
 
 " It's a long way ofif. One cottld hardly 
 ride it in three hours with a fleet horse," 
 lamented Nathan. 
 
 The priest was now rarely seen in the vil- 
 lage. He pleaded the burden of his new 
 labors. Nathan grieved in silence. 
 
 One bitter cold night in midwinter, Reb 
 210 
 
A MONK FROM THE GHETTO 
 
 Nathan was aroused by a sound as of hail- 
 stones against his window. 
 
 " It cannot hail in such a frost. Those 
 stones came not from the sky," he thought. 
 
 He hurried to the window, and in the 
 darkness descried what looked like the 
 fluttering of garments. He hastened down, 
 flung open the door, and caught in his arms 
 the staggering form of a man. 
 
 " Quick ! " gasped the man. " Get a fire, 
 — quick ! It is frozen ! " 
 
 " God have mercy ! " cried Nathan, and 
 he lifted up his candle, and gazed in amaze- 
 ment into the blue, twitching face of his 
 friend. 
 
 The priest had hurried to the stove, and 
 was holding a bundle close to the glow of 
 the fire. 
 
 " What has happened? What hast thou 
 there?" cried Nathan. 
 
 A low moan escaped the priest. He 
 lifted the covering from one end of the 
 
 211 
 
A RENEGADE AND OTHER TALES 
 
 bundle, and disclosed the face of a sleeping 
 infant. 
 
 " It is — my son," wailed he. 
 
 " Thy son? " gasped Nathan. 
 
 " I swear by Heaven," cried the priest, 
 passionately, " she was my wife, and the 
 purest, sweetest woman that ever lived." 
 
 " Frau Wirthschafterin," murmured Na- 
 than. 
 
 " She is dead ! " sobbed the priest, and he 
 buried his face upon the form of the child 
 in his arms. 
 
 All through the night the two men re- 
 mained together, and dawn still found them 
 seated with hand clasped in hand. 
 
 " He shall be my son and bear my name, 
 and I will love him as my own," said 
 Nathan at parting, and he folded the babe 
 close in his arms, and murmured a prayer 
 for the beloved friend, whose form was dis- 
 appearing in the mist. The priest crept 
 away in the twilight, cold and gray as his 
 life 
 
 212 
 
A MONK FROM THE GHETTO 
 
 In six short years the people of Peltau 
 had almost forgotten that little Rudolph 
 was not Reb Nathan's son. If a stranger 
 smoking his pipe in front of the tavern saw 
 Rachel with her children, he would perhaps 
 remark, — 
 
 " Strange that the dark woman should 
 have so fair a child." 
 
 Then the landlord and his " Stamm- 
 gaste " would arouse themselves slowly, as 
 from a dream, and one would perhaps re- 
 member and say, — 
 
 " He is not her child." 
 
 " Who are his parents? " asks the 
 stranger. 
 
 " Who knows? " replies the other, and 
 the old cronies blow huge clouds of smoke, 
 and wink slyly at each other. 
 
 And the people had almost forgotten 
 that Rudolph was a Christian child, and 
 was being raised in the Catholic faith. But 
 the child had not been permitted to forget. 
 His earliest recollection was, that at meal 
 
 213 
 
A RENEGADE AND OTHER TALES 
 
 time he must wait at the door until the He- 
 brew grace had been said. Then he might 
 come to table, and say alone a short grace 
 which " Uncle Pfarrer " had taught him. 
 The other boys went to the Cheder to learn 
 Hebrew with the rabbi, but Rudie did his 
 lessons at home with his father. On Satur- 
 day all the people went to the synagogue 
 while he sat outside. On Sunday the ta- 
 bles were turned. Rudie sat in the church 
 listening to mass, while Reb Nathan waited 
 on the door-step. 
 
 In the long winter twilights Rachel 
 taught her daughters from the thick black 
 Siddur; but Rudie sat at the far end of the 
 room, learning long Latin prayers from a 
 book that had a frightful picture of Jesus 
 crucified upon the front page. The picture 
 terrified him, for great. Shining drops of 
 blood fell from the head and hands of 
 Christ; the body was open at the breast, 
 and showed a bleeding heart with a dagger 
 thrust through. 
 
 214 
 
A MONK FROM THE GHETTO 
 
 Those were dismal hours. The lonely- 
 little boy gazed longingly at the pleasant 
 group at the other side of the room, and 
 Rachel's motherly heart ached in ■ sym- 
 pathy. 
 
 Then, one day, the child suddenly stood 
 before her with a white face and said, — 
 
 " The people say thou art my step- 
 mother. It is true. Thou dost not love 
 me." 
 
 "Woe is me!" cried Rachel. "My 
 Rudie Leben, my lamb! Do not heed 
 them. The people have evil tongues." 
 But that night she said to her husband, — 
 
 " Is it not a greater sin to press tears 
 from the heart of an innocent child than to 
 let him listen to our good, pious prayers? " 
 
 " We must be careful not to influence 
 him," replied Reb Nathan, anxiously. 
 
 " He need not listen, only let him be with 
 us," urged Rachel. 
 
 From that day Rudie, with a wad of cot- 
 ton in each ear, sat beside his mother when 
 
 215 
 
A RENEGADE AND OTHER TALES 
 
 she instructed her daughters, and gradually 
 he crept his way into all the family services. 
 
 " Sure thou art not listening, Rudie Le- 
 ben? " Rachel would cry warningly. 
 
 " Thou couldst strike me dead and I 
 would not know, was it Esau or Jacob that 
 had the hairy hands," said Rudie. 
 
 When Rudie was twelve years old, he 
 was ready for the Gymnasium, and 
 " Uncle Pfarrer " decided that he must 
 come to live with him in Prague. 
 
 There was sorrowing in Reb Nathan's 
 household. 
 
 . " Is there one in that great, wicked city 
 who knows how to make a pea-soup as he 
 loves it? Who will tell him to wrap a 
 shawl around his neck when the wind 
 blows? " lamented Rachel. 
 
 " He is only loaned to us," sighed 
 Nathan. 
 
 " I shall come home every week," cried 
 Rudolph, weeping in chorus with his sis- 
 ters. 
 
 216 
 
A MONK FROM THE GHETTO 
 
 The priest, Ferdinand Ulm, had a fine 
 house in Prague. Rudolph's room was 
 full of books; he had a wardrobe with hand- 
 some clothes, and, when he ate, a servant 
 stood behind his chair. 
 
 " But it is better at home," thought he, 
 and he awaited the coming of Friday with 
 eagerness. On that day, through foul 
 weather or fair, Reb Nathan came to take 
 him home. That was the joy of existence. 
 The long, pleasant ride behind old Schim- 
 mel; the home-coming; the happiness of 
 feeling his mother's arms around him and 
 laying his head upon her soft bosom; the 
 sweet smell of the baking Barches; the fun 
 of helping to set the table; the quietly 
 joyous service of lighting the Sabbath lamp 
 and ushering in the holy day; the inter- 
 change of tales with his sisters of the hap- 
 penings of the week; the return of Reb 
 Nathan from the synagogue; the solemn 
 joy of feeling his father's hand laid in bless- 
 ing upon his head. Then the supper, with 
 
 217 
 
A RENEGADE AND OTHER TALES 
 
 a separate little loaf of Barches, stufifed full 
 of raisins, all for himself. How much bet- 
 ter the wooden bench beside his mother 
 than the leathern chair at " Uncle Pfar- 
 rer's!" 
 
 As time went on, the Pfarrer Ulm be- 
 came renowned in Prague for his pulpit 
 oratory. None could preach as he did of 
 sin and repentance. 
 
 " Sacrament ! " said his hearers. " One 
 sees hell-fire and smells brimstone, and 
 one's hair stands on end." 
 
 As his sermons increased in fire, his 
 frame became smaller, his face whiter, and 
 the gaze of his eyes more strange. When 
 Reb Nathan now spent an hour with him, 
 he had but one theme — Atonement. 
 
 " My son must atone ! He must atone ! " 
 he repeated continually. 
 
 Then days came when the priest had no 
 longer strength to preach; when he lay 
 white and wild upon his bed, and Reb 
 Nathan rarely left his side. 
 
 218 
 
A MONK FROM THE GHETTO 
 
 Rudolph was in his eighteenth year when 
 Ferdinand Ulm died. He died, confessed 
 and absolved, in the bosom of the Catholic 
 Church. But it was the Jew's ear that 
 heard his last wishes and prayers; the Jew's 
 hand that closed his eyes in death; the 
 Jew's heart that sorrowed with a deep and 
 deathless sorrow. 
 
 The priest's death made but little change 
 in RudolpTi's life. He continued his studies 
 at Prague, simply changing his place of 
 residence to that of a Catholic family there. 
 But he returned oftener to Peltau, re- 
 mained longer, and left his home reluctant- 
 
 ly- 
 
 The summer of the year that followed 
 was drawing to its end; the school semester 
 was about to begin, but Rudolph still lin- 
 gered at the farm, and made no visible 
 preparations for his departure. 
 
 "What's the matter with thee, Ru- 
 dolph? " said Nathan, one day. " I see 
 
 219 
 
A RENEGADE AND OTHER TALES 
 
 that the University opens to-morrow, and 
 thou art yet here? " 
 
 " There is no haste," replied Rudolph. 
 
 " What has come over thee? " cried 
 Nathan. " Thou didst use to be more faith- 
 ful." 
 
 " Let me stay until after the holidays," 
 said Rudolph, pleadingly. 
 
 " The holidays ! What hast thou to do 
 with our holidays?" said Nathan, with a 
 shrug. 
 
 The young man turned white to the 
 lips. 
 
 " I love them ! " he murmured fervently. 
 But Nathan did not hear. He was at the 
 door, calling to his wife to pack Rudolph's 
 trunk. 
 
 A few weeks later, Reb Nathan travelled 
 to Prague to hear the great Rabbi Ger- 
 shon, who had come from Cracow to 
 preach and collect for the persecuted Jews 
 of Poland. The old Schul was crowded, 
 
 220 
 
A MONK FROM THE GHETTO 
 
 and a solemn silence, like that of Yom 
 Kippur, reigned in the assembly. 
 
 " They have cast them out of their 
 homes, those poor homes earned by the 
 sweat of their brows, the blood of their 
 lives. They have beaten, hounded, plund- 
 ered them. They have reviled and cursed 
 them; stoned their children, defiled their 
 maidens, murdered their sons," said the 
 rabbi. 
 
 A familiar, time-worn story, old as the 
 memory of man. Yet the people wept. In 
 front of Reb Nathan stood a young man 
 who grieved not with the resigned sorrow 
 of long-suffering patience. He flung his 
 arms up against the wall near which he 
 stood, buried his face upon them, and 
 shook in every limb with a paroxysm of 
 grief. At the Kaddish which ended the 
 service he wrapped his face in his Tallith 
 and sobbed aloud. 
 
 " He may be a stranger, and one of them 
 
 221 
 
A RENEGADE AND OTHER TALES 
 
 that have suffered," thought Nathan. " He 
 may be in need of a word of comfort." 
 
 Reb Nathan waited until the synagogue 
 was empty, and still the stranger remained, 
 wrapped in melancholy reflections.. 
 
 " Forgive me," said Reb Nathan, ap- 
 proaching and laying his hand upon the 
 young man's shoulder. 
 
 The stranger lifted his Tallith and turned 
 his head. 
 
 Then a cry went up that tore the air. 
 
 "Rudolph!" 
 
 The slumbering echoes leaped forth from 
 their dark recesses, and repeated the name 
 fearfully among the old, black rafters. 
 
 "Art thou gone mad? — thou, a Catho- 
 lic ! " cried Nathan, fearfully, and the 
 young man heard for the first time the 
 story of his birth. 
 
 Full many a strange sight had the time- 
 stained walls of the old synagogue looked 
 down upon in the long years of their exis- 
 tence, yet none more strange than the one 
 
 222 
 
A MONK FROM THE GHETTO 
 
 which unfolded there on that day. A 
 Catholic cried out for the God of Israel. 
 A pious Jew pleaded for Jesus the Christ. 
 
 " My tongue shall not speak what my 
 heart does not echo," cried Rudolph. " At 
 mass the priest intones the Paternoster, 
 but my heart still vibrates with the ' Lecho 
 Dodi.' The choir chants ' Ave Maria,' 
 while my soul rings with the mighty 
 ' Shema Yisroel.' " 
 
 " Cease, blasphemer ! " cried Nathan. 
 " Thy father was the priest of Prague, and 
 thou must worship the Crucified One. It 
 is written, ' Thou shalt honor thy father 
 and thy mother.' Hast thou not learned 
 in my house what that means? Thou must 
 obey thy father's dying wish." 
 
 " I cannot ! I cannot ! " cried Rudolph. 
 
 " I tell thee thou must ! " 
 
 " Stick me into a monk's cowl," burst 
 forth the young man, " make me live a lie. 
 Thou canst not change my heart, — I am a 
 Jew!" 
 
 223 
 
A RENEGADE AND OTHER TALES 
 
 Nathan turned livid, and shrank as 
 though struck by a blow. 
 
 " Apostate ! " 
 
 The word hissed from between his white 
 lips. 
 
 " I have always been a Jew," cried Ru- 
 dolph. 
 
 " Thou liest, by Heaven, thou liest ! " 
 shouted Nathan. " Have I not taught 
 thee, since first thy lips could speak, to 
 worship the Crucified One?" 
 
 " Thou hast taught me to love the God 
 of Israel," came the quick answer. 
 
 Nathan stared with terror in his eyes. 
 
 " I — I have done that? " he gasped. 
 " God, God, I am a traitor, — Ferdinand, 
 forgive ! " 
 
 Crushed with his agony, he sank help- 
 less upon a bench. 
 
 The young man fell upon his knees be- 
 fore Nathan. 
 
 " I belong to thee and thine ! " he ex- 
 
 224 
 
A MONK FROM THE GHETTO 
 
 claimed, — " with body and soul to thee and 
 thine!" 
 
 "Cease! cease!" cried Nathan; "every 
 word thou utterest is treachery against thy 
 father." 
 
 "Thou only art my father," whispered 
 Rudolph. 
 
 " Thou lovest me, my son, dost thou not? 
 Thou wouldst not bring my gray hair in 
 sorrow and shame to the grave? Thou wilt 
 be faithful. Swear thou wilt be faithful," 
 pleaded Nathan. 
 
 " Pity me," sobbed the young man. 
 
 " It is for thy father's salvation," said 
 Nathan, gently. 
 
 " Nay, for thee will I do it, only for 
 thee,"Vhispered Rudolph. 
 
 " For his sake thou wilt be strong and 
 brave and faithful. Thou wilt swear to be 
 faithful!" 
 
 " God help me, I swear," moaned Ru- 
 dolph, wearily. 
 
 The light of the perpetual lamp upon the 
 
 225 
 
A RENEGADE AND OTHER TALES 
 
 altar gazed with calm, unblinking eye upon 
 this nameless woe, but the echoes in the 
 black rafters sobbed with the old Jew 
 weeping out his pain upon the young man's 
 shoulder. 
 
 " We shall suffer, my son, — thou and I 
 and Rachel, my wife and the children," 
 said Nathan, solemnly. " What matter? " 
 — and a strange, ecstatic joy shone in his 
 eyes. " It is for the repose of his soul — of 
 Ferdinand, my friend." 
 
 Two years later, the cathedral of Prague 
 was crowded one day with a great assem- 
 bly, gathered to witness the solemn conse- 
 cration of five young men to the hoJy order 
 of the Brotherhood of St. Francis. 
 
 Among the people were an old Jew and 
 his wife. With timid, pale faces they stood 
 meekly, pressed against the wall. No one 
 noticed them, until, toward the end of the 
 services, the Jew was seen carrying his 
 fainting, weeping wife out at the door. 
 
 " The impudent creatures ! " 
 226 
 
A MONK FROM THE GHETTO 
 
 " They are everywhere ! " 
 
 " Even in church one cannot escape 
 them!" 
 
 Such were the blessings that followed 
 their exit. 
 
 But in the Jew's house that night Reb 
 Nathan and his wife Rachel sat with bowed 
 heads, and mourned like those who have 
 buried their best beloved child. 
 
 Years have passed, and liberty has held 
 a triumphal entrance into Peltau, and 
 brought in its train a new synagogue with 
 a fearful abomination called Cantor and 
 strange, ungodly ways of Sabbath-break- 
 ing. 
 
 But few people in the place ever think of 
 Reb Nathan or his family. Leah and 
 Hannah married years ago and moved to 
 distant provinces. A single stone in the 
 little Jewish cemetery marks the spot 
 where Reb Nathan and his wife sleep side 
 by side. Once a year their memory is re- 
 
 227 
 
A RENEGADE AND OTHER TALES 
 
 vived, and a few old people rehearse the 
 strange story of their adopted son who be- 
 came a monk. 
 
 This is on All Souls' Day, when the last 
 shrivelled foliage clings mournfully to the 
 boughs, when the autumn sun is mild and 
 mellow with harvest, and the earth yawns 
 lazily under its soft blanket of leaves. 
 
 Then a pale-faced monk appears in the 
 town. He joins the people at mass, and 
 follows them in their pilgrimage to the 
 cemetery. He carries a lighted taper in 
 his hands. A wreath hangs upon his arm. 
 Beside the tall marble cross which marks 
 the grave of Ferdinand Ulm, the priest of 
 Prague, he places the wreath and the taper, 
 then kneels and prays long and fervently. 
 In the evening, when the speeding twilight 
 has trailed her hazy robes through the 
 roads and streets, he walks through the 
 Jews' quarter. The old, pious Jews are on 
 their way to the evening service. 
 
 "It's Reb Nathan's Rudolph!" they 
 
 228 
 
A MONK FROM THE GHETTO 
 
 whisper to each other. Those that watch 
 see him walk the length of the street, enter 
 " the good place," and stop beside two 
 graves marked by a single headstone. 
 
 He places no wreath nor candle upon 
 them, nor does he seem to pray. He only 
 kneels in silence. But when the gathering 
 night has wrapped him safe within its hid- 
 ing folds, he bows his head upon his hands 
 and weeps. 
 
 229 
 
X 
 
 GRANDMOTHER SPEAKS : 
 CHAYAH 
 
X 
 CHAYAH 
 
 Tell thee of olden times? Now, what 
 shall I tell thee? Thou hast heard all my 
 old Maissele [tales] a dozen times, and 
 usser can you young people of nowadays 
 understand. A world nowadays! They 
 say it has grown better. Perhaps. To be 
 sure, nowadays a girl has a silk dress at 
 six years old, that we got first when we 
 were married; and grown-ups they are at 
 ten. My word, Mrs. Cohn's Mildred is 
 only ten and belongs already to two clubs. 
 And learning they have, that God have 
 mercy! In my day a decent Jewish girl 
 learned to read her prayer-book, to cook 
 and knit and manage a household, but now- 
 adays ! 
 
 There is Rosa Weinstein. I knew her 
 father when he was a poor Bochur [Tal- 
 
 233 
 
A RENEGADE AND OTHER TALES 
 
 mud student] — she is learned, no joke that, 
 her learning! All day she watches fleas 
 and worms and frogs and suchlike vermin 
 and writes about them in a book. Pui! 
 but Reb Weinstein would rejoice if he 
 could arise out of his grave and see how 
 his dear child Resel puts on a big pair of 
 spectacles and watches how a cockroach 
 wriggles his legs ! A learning that ! Nat- 
 ural geography or some such name they 
 call it. Meshuggas [madness] ! As if any- 
 thing could be more un-natural. Natural 
 is when a woman has a home, a husband, 
 and children. But these are trifles nowa- 
 days. Rather would she stand in the 
 school-room and teach, " See, Kinderlech 
 [little ones], thus and thus is the manner 
 in which a pinchbug scratches his ear, and 
 now take this well to heart, that you all 
 may grow up pious and learned men and 
 women." 
 
 And how does that come? I will tell 
 thee how. Nowadays the children know, 
 
 234 
 
CHAYAH 
 
 everything better than their elders. If a 
 father finds a good match for his daughter, 
 she will say, " I do not want him." 
 " Why? " " I do not love him," she says. 
 Is not that the purest nonsense? In my 
 day it was not considered even decent to 
 love a man before one was married to him. 
 So they go on, and wait until they are 
 dried-up old maids, and no one will have 
 them. Serves them right, too. What is 
 the good of parents, if they cannot know 
 what is best for their children? 
 
 I also had some foolish notions when I 
 was young, — I don't deny it, — and that 
 came through an acquaintance I had with 
 a Mamselle, who was employed at the pal- 
 ace of our Count, at home, in the old 
 country. She told me so many stories about 
 grand gentlemen, that I thought I also 
 must have one, and when my father — peace 
 be to him — made a match for me with thy 
 dear grandfather, I didn't want him. He 
 was small, was Yaikew, and not handsome 
 
 235 
 
A RENEGADE AND OTHER TALES 
 
 to look at, I thought (though a finer look- 
 ing man than my husband is now one need 
 not wish to see). So I told my mother, 
 who rests in Paradise, that I didn't want 
 him. And dost know what my mother 
 did? She slapped my face, big and stout 
 as I was. 
 
 " Has anyone asked thee yet whether 
 thou wantest him or not? " she said. And 
 was she not right, and have I not been a 
 happy woman in the forty-five years that 
 I have been married? 
 
 We had no trouble at all, for my mother 
 had said to me, " Thou must be patient 
 with thy husband. A man has many cares 
 and perplexities in business, and if he 
 comes home sometimes cross and scolding, 
 thou must not mind. 'Tis a woman's busi- 
 ness to be patient and hold her tongue." 
 
 And his mother also had instructed him, 
 he told me later. 
 
 " Do thou be patient with thy young 
 wife," she had said. " A woman has many 
 
 236 
 
CHAYAH 
 
 . ^ 
 
 worries and annoyances in her household, 
 and if sometimes she is cross, or the pota- 
 toes are a little burnt, or the meat tough, 
 do thou not notice it, but be kind to her." 
 
 And so we had patience with each other, 
 and learned to love each other, and have 
 Bad a happy life together. But nowadays 
 they love each other so that they could eat 
 each other up before the wedding, and six 
 months thereafter they are tearing each 
 other's hair out. 
 
 At home, in the old country, I also knew 
 a girl after the fashion of nowadays. 
 Chayah was her name. We lived in the 
 same house with them for years; we in 
 back, they in front. 
 
 Her mother had died when she was a 
 baby, and she never liked Zirl, their old 
 housekeeper, but clung to me, and used to 
 call me Aunt Mindel from the time she was 
 ten years old. She was the apple of Reb 
 Lippman's eye, and if she had said, " Tate 
 Leben [daddy dear], fetch me the moon 
 237 
 
A RENEGADE AND OTHER TALES 
 
 down to play with," he would have found 
 a way to get it. 
 
 The teachers at home were not good 
 enough for her, Reb Lippman thought, so 
 he got her one from the city; and she 
 learned everything except what she should 
 have learned, and grew up with her head 
 full of foolish notions. 
 
 One day I came upon her as she was 
 learning out of a book wherein were 
 frightful pictures of bones and people cut in 
 pieces, like a calf in the butcher-shop ! 
 
 " Shema ! — Chayah Leben," I said, 
 " what terrible book is that? " 
 
 " This," she said, " is a physiognomy, 
 and it is not terrible at all, for therein is 
 written about one's liver and one's kidneys, 
 and how one shall be well and healthy." 
 
 " Wie haisst? " I said to Reb Lippman, 
 " Is that a learning for a girl, to learn about 
 her inwards? It is not even decent," I 
 said. " I tell you if she were my daughter, 
 she would also learn about bones, but 
 
 238 
 
CHAYAH 
 
 about the kind that go into the soup-pot," 
 I said. 
 
 " What shall I do? " said Reb Lippman. 
 " She wants to learn those things." 
 
 " And if she wants to dance around on 
 the roof, will you also permit that? " I said. 
 But what did it help? I might just as well 
 have talked to the wall. 
 
 Thou must not think that I am of those 
 foolish ones who think that learning is not 
 a good thing. God forbid! But every- 
 thing in its place. What is the good, I ask 
 thee, if a woman knows about her inwards, 
 when her children go dirty, and her hus- 
 band has to eat bad dinners; or if, per- 
 chance, what is worse, she gets no husband 
 at all? 
 
 Chayah could have made many a good 
 match, although she had not much of a 
 dowry, for Reb Lippman's business was 
 going backward in those days already. 
 She was a great beauty, — even envy had 
 to admit that, — tall and strong, her skin 
 239 
 
A RENEGADE AND OTHER TALES 
 
 like milk and roses, her hair black as night, 
 and eyes she had, as blue as the heavens; 
 but she could not find a man to suit her. 
 
 " For whom dost thou wait? " I used to 
 say to her, " for a prince perhaps? " But 
 she would only laugh and say, " Whether 
 a prince or a beggar, I do not know. I 
 wait for him whom I shall love," just like 
 the girls of nowadays. 
 
 So she got to be twenty-three years old, 
 — a very old maid in those days, — and still 
 she had no husband. Then my nephew 
 Mordche wanted to marry her — he was a 
 step-son of thy great-aunt Veile, — and a 
 nice young man he was, too; honest, dili- 
 gent, thrifty, and no fool, either. He would 
 have given his right hand for a kind word 
 from Chayah, but she only laughed at him. 
 I tried to persuade her to have him, but she 
 said: 
 
 " Mordche is a dolt ! He is just like my 
 cousin Bele's husband." 
 
 "Dovid?" I said. "And what is the 
 
 240 
 
CHAYAH 
 
 matter with him? Is he not a good man, 
 and is thy cousin B^le not a happy wife and 
 mother? " 
 
 Then Chayah looked at me with big 
 eyes. 
 
 " And that thou callest happiness? " she 
 said. " All day he works like a beast of 
 burden, and when he comes home at night, 
 his first word is, ' Wife, is the supper 
 ready? ' Then they eat; and when he 
 speaks, it is of the hides he bought, and 
 when she speaks, it is of Maierle's torn 
 shoes, or Voegele's tooth-ache. My God ! 
 and that thou callest happiness? " 
 
 That made me angry. 
 
 " Nu, of what should man and wife speak 
 if not of their children and their business? " 
 I said. " With all respect for thy learn- 
 ing," I said, " the more thou learnest the 
 less sense thou hast. Dost think that 
 everything is written in those books of 
 thine? I tell thee, life is also a book, 
 wherein one learns what is written in no 
 
 241 
 
A RENEGADE AND OTHER TALES 
 
 other book, and therefore it behooves thee 
 to listen to the voice of thy elders. Thou 
 mayest live to regret that thou didst not," 
 I said. But she only smiled to herself and 
 said, kind of sadly, " Thou dost not under- 
 stand, Aunt Mindel." 
 
 She was a strange girl. 
 
 We had war that year, and we Jews, 
 nebbich, were pestered and worried to 
 death. What they did not squeeze out of 
 us in taxes, the soldiers ate up. For more 
 than two months we had a regiment quar- 
 tered on us; every one three or four, some 
 as many as six soldiers. We also had our 
 share, four common soldiers. The ofificers 
 stopped with the rich Goyim; some of 
 them were at the inn. My nephew 
 Mordche used to see a good deal of these 
 ofificers, for he used to get them their hair- 
 oil and moustache-wax and cigarettes and 
 suchlike stuff. 
 
 One evening he came to me in great 
 anger. 
 
 242 
 
CHAYAH 
 
 "Why does Chayah run about the streets 
 when they are full of soldiers? " he said. 
 
 " Is it thy business? " I said. 
 
 " Well, I cannot bear that these officers 
 should make their filthy sport over her," 
 he said, and then he told me that he had 
 heard them speak her name over their 
 wine, and so he had listened. 
 
 One of them swore, she was the most 
 beautiful girl he had ever seen and that he 
 meant to conquer her, — and what the 
 wretches mean by that everyone knows. 
 Then another had said that she looks like 
 those who are not to be conquered, and 
 then they had made, a wager of it, — a large 
 sum of money against a horse, — that he 
 would conquer the beautiful Jew-girl be- 
 fore they left the town. 
 
 Mordche was in a great rage, and was 
 for telling her father at once, but thy 
 grandfather advised him not to. 
 
 " Reb Lippman has a weak heart," he 
 243 
 
A RENEGADE AND OTHER TALES 
 
 said, " it will only anger him, and can do 
 no good." 
 
 But I said I would speak to Chayah, and 
 I told her that Mordche had heard the 
 officers talking about her at the inn. She, 
 was much hurt, for she was modest and 
 proud, and she said she would no longer 
 walk on the streets while the soldiers were 
 in the town. 
 
 A few days later Reb Lippman received 
 notice that the soldiers who were quartered 
 on him would be removed, and an officer. 
 Baron von Hohenfels, would come in their 
 place. 
 
 Thou canst imagine Reb Lippman's ex- 
 citement. No other Jew had an officer in 
 his house, and moreover a baron ! What- 
 ever there was that was fine and beautiful 
 in the household, we carried into the best 
 room, and made it ready for him, and in 
 the evening he came. He was a hand- 
 some man of thirty-five or thereabouts; tall 
 and built like an oak, with yellow hair and 
 244 
 
CHAYAH 
 
 moustache, bold and jolly, yet with the 
 nicest, politest manners. 
 
 Reb Lippman asked him to what he 
 owed the honor of so grand a guest, and 
 the baron said that he had grown tired of 
 that gypsy camp of an inn, that he had 
 commissioned the quartermaster to find 
 him a quiet family, so that he might have 
 repose, since he wished to study. He did 
 pack out a lot of books, too, and he began 
 to read in them, but I was uneasy. That 
 tale of Mordche's kept going through my 
 head. 
 
 Mordche was away on business, and he 
 did not get back for a week, and when he 
 came I told him about Reb Lippman's 
 grand guest. He wanted at once to see 
 the man, so I took him into their kitchen, 
 through the door of which one could look 
 into the living room. Therein sat the 
 baron reading aloud. Reb Lippman had 
 fallen asleep over it, but Chayah was listen- 
 ing, and her cheeks were burning red. 
 
 245 
 
A RENEGADE AND OTHER TALES 
 
 Mordche turned white as chalk when he 
 saw the baron. " 'Tis he who made the 
 wager," he said. 
 
 I had suspected it from the beginning. 
 
 Mordche was wild. " Reb Lippman 
 must throw him out of the house ! " he 
 stormed. 
 
 " God forbid ! " cried my husband. " Reb 
 Lippman must not even be told. He might 
 in his anger put him out, and bring misery 
 not alone on himself but on the whole 
 Gass." 
 
 You people who are born in America 
 cannot imagine how it is over there. An 
 insult to a baron, an officer! For less 
 than that whole Jewish communities have 
 been plundered and murdered. 
 
 Then Mordche thought of another way. 
 " I shall report it to his superiors," he said. 
 
 " Fool ! " said my husband, " what do 
 they care? And what if the baron should 
 deny it? Whom will they believe, thee, a 
 Jew, or him?" 
 
 246 
 
CHAYAH 
 
 Mordche saw the sense of this, and he 
 was silenced, but he insisted that Chayah 
 be warned, so I told her what I knew. 
 
 Then one should only have seen her. 
 "'Tis a lie!" she cried. "Mordche is 
 vexed, because the baron is kind to me. 
 He should be ashamed to talk scandal, just 
 because he is angry that I will not marry 
 him. The baron is a gentleman, a kinder 
 gentleman never lived. And even if he 
 were what Mordche says he is, does he 
 think I do not know what I owe to my- 
 self? His doubts are an impudence and 
 an insult ! " and ofif she walked with her 
 head in the air, like an ofJended princess. 
 
 What could we do? Nothing at all. I 
 made up my mind to watch the baron, and 
 I did, but I saw nothing wrong. Not that 
 I feared any harm could come to Chayah. 
 God forbid ! She was pure as snow and as 
 proud and distant with him as with every- 
 one; but I wanted to see what was going 
 on. They were together all the time. 
 247 
 
A RENEGADE AND OTHER TALES 
 
 When she sewed, he sat winding her thread 
 upon bits of paper, and in the evening he 
 read to her out of German books. 
 
 But after a while I gave up suspecting 
 any wrong. I thought that Mordche, be- 
 ing jealous, had laid too much weight on 
 what he had heard in the inn, and that the 
 officers were only jesting, as is the manner 
 with young noblemen. The baron was the 
 nicest man one could imagine. It was not 
 possible to think evil of him. Reb Lipp- 
 man, too, could not say enough in praise 
 of his noble guest, and Chayah went about 
 with an exalted air, like one who has been 
 granted a vision of Gan Eden. 
 
 One day, when I went into Reb Lipp- 
 man's living room, I found the baron hold- 
 ing Chayah in his arms. The moment she 
 saw me, she threw herself on my neck, 
 trembling and crying. " He loves me, — 
 he loves me, and I am to be his wife." 
 
 I thought that I should swoon, but I 
 had enough sense left to see that the baron 
 
 248 
 
CHAYAH 
 
 was embarrassed and angry. He had in- 
 tended that they should keep it secret, and 
 he asked me not to speak of it. I had 
 heard that the Goyim do such things, but 
 I was not used to that. Why should one 
 keep a betrothal secret? I told it at once 
 to Reb Lippman and his relations, and it 
 went through the Gass like wildfire. 
 
 One should only have seen Reb Lippman 
 then. He acted like one who has lost his 
 senses. One moment he was tearing his 
 hair and weeping; " My only child, to 
 marry a Goy ! " and the next moment he 
 would say to himself as with wonder, " A 
 baroness — a baroness ! " 
 
 " Nu," I said to my nephew Mordche, 
 " what sayest thou now? " 
 
 " What should I say? His sport has be- 
 come earnest. He has fallen in love with 
 her," Mordche said. " But a rascal he is 
 anyhow." 
 
 " Shah ! " I said, " thou art jealous,"— 
 but I was miserable. What kind of a 
 
 249 
 
A RENEGADE AND OTHER TALES 
 
 match was that, a Gentile, a baron, and a 
 Jewish girl? Such a thing had never been 
 heard of. 
 
 " There can no good come of it," I said, 
 and God knows I was right, and Mordche 
 was right, too. 
 
 This was on a Friday. The next day, 
 Sabbath, — just as the people were coming 
 out of Schul, — there came word that the 
 regiment was ordered to the front, and by 
 dark the village was empty of soldiers. 
 
 Chayah made no outcry when the baron 
 went, but she could not sleep that night, 
 so I let her talk to me, for I thought it 
 might comfort her. Far into the night 
 she talked, and only of her betrothed. 
 
 "Thou didst not believe it. Aunt Min- 
 del," she said, " when I told thee that some 
 day he would come, — he for whom my 
 heart was yearning. But I believed it. I 
 knew that God would not put that pre- 
 cious hope into my soul and not bring it to 
 fulfilment. I knew that God would guide 
 250 
 
CHAYAH 
 
 him to me if it were from the other end of 
 the world. And I knew that when he 
 came, — ^whether Jew or Gentile, whether 
 rich or poor, whether high or low, — I 
 should leave all else to follow him; for love 
 is greater than all else," and then she wept 
 softly to herself. 
 
 It was strange talk; more like a page out 
 of the books which the baron used to read 
 aloud, than what a sensible person would 
 speak; but to tell the truth, I wept also. 
 It would have melted a heart of stone to 
 see her in her happiness. 
 
 The next day we began to hear the can- 
 nons, and frightened peasants came hurry- 
 ing to the village, saying that a great battle 
 was raging just above the Black Marsh. 
 From the moment the shooting began, 
 Chayah was a changed being. She walked 
 the floor like a caged beast; she would not 
 eat nor rest, but she only moaned to her- 
 self. Along toward evening she suddenly 
 gave a great shriek. " My God, he is 
 
 251 
 
A RENEGADE AND OTHER TALES 
 
 wounded — I know he is wounded," she 
 cried, and fell to weeping and wringing her 
 hands. We comforted her as best we could, 
 and I persuaded her to go to bed. 
 
 Early next morning, — it was not yet 
 light, — Reb Lippman came pounding on 
 our door, crying that she was gone. He 
 held a bit of paper on which was written: 
 " I have gone to find him. I must know 
 how he fares. If he is wounded, I shall 
 bring him home." 
 
 Nu, she was gone, and we could but sit 
 down and wait. The second day there- 
 after she came back. In an open farm- 
 wagon she came, in which lay the baron, 
 and his head was resting in her lap. We 
 put him to bed, and got the doctor, for he 
 was quite unconscious, and then we learned 
 all that Chayah had done. 
 
 Into the battlefield she had gone, into 
 the battlefield, while yet the shells were 
 splitting open the ground at her feet. For 
 a whole day and a whole night, far ahead 
 
 252 
 
CHAYAH 
 
 of the ambulance corps, among the dead 
 and the dying, through blood and a thou- 
 sand horrors, without food or shelter, with- 
 out help or protection, this tenderly nur- 
 tured girl had sought him. And she had 
 found him and brought him out alive. He 
 was unconscious and bleeding to death 
 from a wound in his side; and she had 
 staunched the blood, bound up the wound, 
 and with the aid of a. peasant lad carried 
 him away, and brought him home. 
 
 It was days before the baron could even 
 speak, and when he heard how Chayah had 
 saved his life, he wept like a child. 
 
 " I was not worth it," he said again and 
 again, " better I had died on the field." 
 
 God knows, it was the truth he was 
 speaking, but Chayah would kiss him and 
 stop his mouth when he spoke thus. She 
 nursed and fed and petted him, as she 
 would a child. She who had always been 
 so shy of showing her feelings, now ca- 
 
 253 
 
A RENEGADE AND OTHER TALES 
 
 ressed and fondled him openly. She was 
 a changed being. 
 
 And the baron also was changed. He 
 was no longer bold and jolly, but humble 
 and sad. It was most strange to behold. 
 He talked all the time about how he would 
 repay everything we did, and every day he 
 begged the doctor to let him go. 
 
 Chayah was grieved that he should be so 
 eager to go away, but he said he must, and 
 every day he gave a more urgent reason 
 why he must. 
 
 One day at dusk, — I remember it as if it 
 were to-day, we had just lighted the lamps, 
 — there came a knock at the street door. 
 Chayah answered. When she returned, 
 she looked frightened, still she was laugh- 
 ing. 
 
 " There is a strange lady outside," she 
 said, " she is entirely mad. She says," and 
 then she threw her arms around the baron's 
 neck and laughed aloud, " she says, she is 
 thy wife ! " 
 
 254 
 
CHAYAH 
 
 The lady had followed Chayah and now 
 stood in the door-way. She was a tall, 
 thin young woman, with a proud face, and 
 she held a little boy by the hand. The 
 baron turned white as death when he saw 
 her. 
 . " Pardon me," she said in a proud voice, 
 " I see I am intruding. We received word 
 that you were dying. Your mother 
 thought that you might wish to see your 
 wife and child. I see, however, that you 
 are quite well, since you are at your usual 
 business of deceiving women." 
 
 With that she went, but the little one 
 hung back. " I have a new colt at home, 
 papa," he said, but she dragged the child 
 away. 
 
 Chayah had stared at the baron all the 
 time. He sat pale-faced and guilty. Then 
 she looked at us one after the other, with 
 a face — may Heaven defend me from see- 
 ing such a face again! — and then she 
 laughed, — 'tis the God's truth, I'm telling 
 255 
 
A RENEGADE AND OTHER TALES 
 
 thee — she laughed and walked quietly into 
 her room. 
 
 Reb Lippman had not spoken a word. 
 Ifow he suddenly dropped to the floor 
 like a log. I ran to him; he lay as one 
 dead. 
 
 " Wai geschrieen ! " I cried. " Run for 
 the doctor. Reb Lippman is dying." 
 
 For hours we worked over him, until he 
 showed a sign of life, and when he opened 
 his eyes, he asked for Chayah. I went to 
 her room to get her, but she was not there. 
 We looked for her all through the house; 
 she was not to be found. She was gone. 
 We asked the neighbors, but no one had 
 seen her go. 
 
 May God defend everyone from the ter- 
 rors we went through in the days that fol- 
 lowed ! 
 
 They sought her everjrwhere. They 
 
 dragged the river, and sounded every well. 
 
 High and low they sought her, and the 
 
 baron — wretched scamp though he was, 
 
 256 
 
CHAYAH 
 
 he must have had a conscience, for he sent 
 out a searching party of his own. 
 
 On the fourth day thereafter they found 
 her. She was wandering about the doun- 
 try full fifteen miles from home, and she 
 had utterly lost her reason. 
 
 Nu, they brought her back. If I had 
 not seen her with myown eyes, I would not 
 have believed that a living being could 
 change so in four days. She was wasted 
 to a bone — bent and shrunken and hag- 
 gard. One would have thought that a 
 woman of fifty stands before one. She 
 seemed not to know us, but stared straight 
 before her, always with frightened eyes, 
 and when one approached, she would 
 shrink together, and gasp as with terror, 
 " My God ! My God ! " No other word 
 did she speak. 
 
 Reb Lippman had his death of it. He 
 had, alas, a weak heart, and lived only two 
 weeks thereafter, and Chayah was a for- 
 lorn creature, helpless and utterly mad. 
 
 257 
 
A RENEGADE AND OTHER TALES 
 
 Woe is me ! It was a wretched business. 
 But so it goes when children will know 
 better than their elders. She might have 
 been a happy woman. My nephew 
 Mordche would have given his right hand 
 for a kind word from her. 
 
XI 
 
 GRANDMOTHER SPEAKS: 
 OUR FRIEND 
 
XI 
 OUR FRIEND 
 
 So thou art going to a Goyish [Gentile] 
 wedding? Hastu gesehen — a Simcha! I 
 tell thee if thou wert my daughter thou 
 wouldst go to no Goyish wedding. 
 
 What — they are thy friends? How 
 knowest thou that? Because they come 
 here and drink thy fine tea and eat thy 
 good cakes? Shpass, friends! I myself 
 have seen them sit in the parlor and insult 
 us. It is as I say — insult us ! 
 
 " I love the Jews," one said real sugar 
 sweet. Rishus-ponim ! I could have 
 potched him. What right has he to love 
 the Jews? Is a Jew then like a dish of 
 meat, to love or leave as the notion strikes 
 one? A Jew is a man like another man, 
 to love if he be lovable and despise if he be 
 wicked. 
 
 261 
 
A RENEGADE AND OTHER TALES 
 
 And another said, " I also love the Jews, 
 though there was a time when I was hke 
 the rest of the world, who, when one says 
 ' Jew,' think only of a man with a big nose, 
 who cheats in business," — and you all sat 
 there and smiled, sweet-sour smiles, and 
 said nothing. Had it been my house, I 
 would have thrown them out. 
 
 A world nowadays ! In my day we were 
 not so grand. The Jew did not pretend 
 to be a social equal with the Goy. But if 
 the Goy despised the Jew, the Jew paid 
 him back in contempt — and with interest. 
 Not like you of nowadays, who stretch out 
 your face to the Goy for a slap and thank 
 him yet when you get it. 
 
 What sayest thou? They honor us? 
 They go to the Temple? Pui, an honor! 
 Well, at any rate there is room for them, 
 for, as I hear, the Jews do not go. And 
 why should the Goyim not go to the Tem- 
 ple? 'Tis a grand place with soft carpets 
 and electric lights and saints painted on 
 262 
 
OUR FRIEND 
 
 the windows. In the loft a couple of 
 Shiksahs chirp thee a merry Shema, and 
 below stands a shaven and bare-headed 
 Shegetz, who roars thee a lecture and cuts 
 faces thereto like a harlequin. And what 
 does he tell thee? That Moshe Rabbenu 
 was a liar! 'Tis the God's truth, — I my- 
 self have heard it. 
 
 There is a certain book called the Thora, 
 — perhaps thou already hast heard of it? — 
 O, thou hast, — well, therein is written that 
 Moses told the children of Israel that the 
 Lord had given them the Ten Command- 
 ments. But your Chochem at the Temple 
 says, No ! — the Lord did not give the Com- 
 mandments; in other words, that Moshe 
 Rabbenu was a liar. Why should the 
 Goyim not go to the Temple? It is a 
 whole theatre, and it does not even cost 
 them anything. 
 
 Believe me, my child, the Goyim do not 
 want us. To be sure, in this country they 
 do not trouble us; not because the laws 
 
 263 
 
A RENEGADE AND OTHER TALES 
 
 are good, as some people think. No, — in 
 Austria the laws are now also good, but 
 that does not prevent my nephew Max, 
 who is a great scholar, from having to 
 teach in a country school, while young 
 empty-heads get the best positions in the 
 cities; simply because he is a Jew, and 
 they Christians. 
 
 Laws — Shtuss! If a Goy wants to in- 
 jure a Jew, he will find a hundred ways of 
 doing it, and yet not break the best of 
 laws. No, here they do not bother us, be- 
 cause we are not in their way. It is a big 
 country, and there is room for all, and 
 bread in plenty. But let it once be here as 
 it is in the old country, where people are 
 crowded together like herring in a keg, 
 and where, when two sit down to eat, there 
 is barely food for one, and thou wilt soon 
 see how the Jew it is who is crushed to the 
 very bottom, and from' whose lips the last 
 morsel of bread is torn. 
 
 Whenever I see a Goy making friends 
 
 264 
 
OUR FRIEND 
 
 with a Jew, I think, " What does he 
 want? " — and usually I am right. 
 
 Now I will tell thee a Maisse that hap- 
 pened to my brother Isaac, — ^who is thy 
 great-uncle Ignatz, — and thou wilt see 
 what I mean. 
 
 Isaac used to say that the world is like 
 a basket of onions. Shake it up as well 
 as one will, by the time one arrives at the 
 market, the wagon will have jolted all the 
 little ones to the bottom and all the big 
 ones will be on top. So it is with people. 
 Life shakes the weak ones to the bottom, 
 and the strong ones rise to the top, and 
 then, lest the bottom ones be crushed en- 
 tirely, they are all shaken together again. 
 
 Sometimes this shaking up goes slow, 
 when it is called Reform; sometimes it is 
 fast, when it is called Revolution, Isaac 
 said. Whether this is true or not, I do not 
 know; but thy great-uncle Ignatz is a 
 learned man. He went through three 
 schools, so it may be that he is right. 
 265 
 
A RENEGADE AND OTHER TALES 
 
 Moreover, after the revolution in '48, 
 of which thou hast already heard, I saw 
 this happen with my own eyes; when many 
 a Jew who had been crushed to the bot- 
 tom began to rise, and many a Goy who 
 had been great grew small. 
 
 Isaac was one of those who came to the 
 top. He had gone into business with his 
 friend Jonas Baer a while before, but they 
 had not done much. I beg of thee, — ^what 
 Jew, in those days, could do much? He 
 had to be glad if he was left in peace to 
 earn a bare living. 
 
 But all this then changed. The Jews 
 could do just as the Goyim; and they did — 
 and better! 
 
 Jonas and Isaac soon began to do a big 
 business. To tell the truth, it was Jonas 
 who did the business, for Isaac was always 
 getting cheated. And why was that? I 
 will tell thee why. He had gone through 
 three schools, had Isaac, and so he thought 
 that everything stands written in books, 
 
 266 
 
OUR FRIEND 
 
 and instead of looking about in the world, 
 he always had his head in a book — and that 
 was his misfortune. 
 
 Well, they soon had the finest store in 
 the place. People came from far and wide 
 only to see the show-window. And thou 
 canst imagine, they soon began to be great 
 folks. Everyone was their friend; even 
 Goyim acted very nice. Why not? A 
 Kleinigkeit — Baer & Solomon ! That was 
 no less than if here one now says Wana- 
 maker. 
 
 Jonas used to laugh. " What do I care 
 for the Goyim," he said, but Isaac was dif- 
 ferent. He would talk thee a Megillah 
 about Equality and Brotherhood, — one 
 would have thought, he was reading some- 
 thing aloud out of the newspaper, — and 
 what he meant was, that the Yiid and 
 the Goy were now alike. 
 
 Yes, I know, — there is plenty of such 
 talk nowadays. I myself often hear it, 
 from your Chochem at the Temple, and 
 
 267 
 
A RENEGADE AND OTHER TALES 
 
 from others, and also from thy own father. 
 But what does it amount to? 
 
 One day I said to thy father, I said, " It 
 seems to me, that tall Goy, that lawyer 
 with the glasses, is making eyes at thy 
 daughter. How wouldst like him for a 
 son-in-law? " 
 
 Thy father turned pale as death. 
 " Rather would I see her dead than mar- 
 ried to a Goy," he said. 
 
 There thou hast thy Brotherhood. 
 Meshuggas! 
 
 Well, then, Isaac was all for Brother- 
 hood. Soon he began to talk to his wife, 
 Malka — who is thy great-aunt Regina — 
 about moving out of the Gass. 
 
 " It is not nice," he said, " that the Jews 
 live all together in a heap. That is what 
 makes Rishus. If the Jew would live 
 among the Goyim, they would see that he 
 is no different from another man, and they 
 soon would be together like brothers," 
 Isaac said. Nu, gut ! 
 
 268 
 
OUR FRIEND 
 
 Now there was a certain Christian in our 
 town, — ^Johann von Pluemer was his name, 
 — and he was one of the first men in the 
 place. He came from a proud old family, 
 and they had once been very rich. I don't 
 believe that his father before him had ever 
 spoken to a Jew, unless it was to curse him. 
 Of the son, one could not say that he was 
 a Roshe. He was so high up that he never 
 came in contact with Jews at all. 
 
 One day Isaac came home, and said that 
 he had rented the ground floor of von Plue- 
 mer's house, and that they were going to 
 move into it. 
 
 Malka nearly fell over with surprise. 
 Thou canst imagine — von Pluemer! That 
 was no less than if thy father were to say 
 to-day, that you all were going to live with 
 Vanderbilt. 
 
 "What," Malka cried, "von Pluemer 
 consents to let thee live in his house? " 
 
 " Consents? " Isaac laughed, " I did not 
 even ask him. He asked me." 
 269 
 
A RENEGADE AND OTHER TALES 
 
 " He asked thee ! " Malka cried. 
 
 " Why not? " Isaac asked. " He is an 
 acquaintance of mine. I have had some 
 business with him lately." 
 
 Thou canst imagine the talk among the 
 people. That von Pluemer should rent 
 out part of his house was not so strange, — 
 it was known that he had lost much money 
 during the hard times; some said of him 
 that he is a spendthrift; some even whis- 
 pered that he is a gambler — but that he 
 should rent it to a Jew, — that would go 
 through no one's head. 
 
 Right at the beginning my father — 
 peace be to him — was worried. 
 
 " What does he want of thee? " he said 
 to Isaac. 
 
 " What should he want? A good tenant 
 he wants," Isaac said. 
 
 " Yitzchok, was bistu fiir a Narr ! " my 
 father said. " If von Pluemer wants a 
 tenant, does he need thee? I tell thee 
 
 270 
 
OUR FRIEND 
 
 something is not kosher there," my father 
 said, but Isaac felt real hurt. 
 
 " Vater Leben," he said, " how canst 
 thou be so bitter? Because a man is a Goy, 
 cannot he therefore be honest? Von Plue- 
 mer is a noble man." 
 
 Seest thou, my brother Isaac was such 
 a good soul himself, that he could not be- 
 lieve wrong of anyone. A child could have 
 deceived him. That, nebbich, was his mis- 
 fortune. 
 
 Well, they moved into von Pluemer's 
 house. At first Malka was dreadfully 
 proud. It was a grand house, and stood 
 upon the hill where only rich Goyim lived, 
 and where no Jew had ever lived before, 
 but it was not for long. Soon she got 
 lonesome, and she would come to our 
 house and cry her eyes out. We were not 
 surprised. What did she care for those 
 grand Goyish ladies? What did she know 
 about their christenings and their saints' 
 days? And supposing she had said to 
 
 271 
 
A RENEGADE AND OTHER TALES 
 
 Madame von Pluemer, " Shabbes Cholo- 
 moed Succoth my Maxl will be Bar-Mitz- 
 wah," would she have understood her? 
 Usser a word. 
 
 "A life that," Malka would cry. "I 
 wish I were back in the Gass." 
 
 But Isaac liked it. Von Pluemer treated 
 him like a prince. He took him to the inn, 
 and opened the finest wines; he introduced 
 him to all his fine friends, and made a big 
 fuss over him. And it was not long before 
 Isaac was thick with, all the big Goyim in 
 the town. In the end yet they chose him 
 into the Gemeinderath^ — what here they 
 call the City Council. J^o Jew had ever 
 had such an honor before, and when, to 
 celebrate this occasion, the Chevra gave 
 Isaac a banquet, to which von Pluemer was 
 invited, and to which he came, — my father 
 — peace be to him^ — said : " Von Pluemer 
 at the Chevra-Sude! Now the Meshiach 
 can come right away." And it was really 
 as if the world were turned on its head. 
 272 ^, 
 
OUR FRIEND 
 
 Well, so Isaac was a Councillor, and hob- 
 nobbed with all the big Goyim. Thou 
 mayest be sure it made plenty of Rishus 
 among some of them, and plenty of hard 
 talk. Some even said that Isaac was buy- 
 ing those favors from von Pluemer, and 
 paying well, too. But Isaac let them talk. 
 He went about with his head in the clouds. 
 In those days he was a proud and happy 
 man. 
 
 Malka began to notice after a while that 
 Isaac was getting rather close with his 
 money, which he had never been before, 
 and once when she was at our house she 
 told us about it. " I don't know what has 
 come over him. In two weeks is Pesach, 
 and he has not given me a cent yet for new 
 clothes for the children," she said. We 
 said, " Perhaps he is busy, and has for- 
 gotten, — thou shouldst ask him for it," — 
 and she did.'. 
 
 " Is it very necessary to have new clothes 
 now? " Isaac said. 
 
 273 
 
A RENEGADE AND OTHER TALES 
 
 "Wie haisst?" Malka said, "Pesach!" 
 
 " Well, I am a little short of money," 
 Isaac said. " Can't the old clothes do a 
 while longer?" 
 
 " They can do," Malka said, but she was 
 frightened. She ran at once to Jonas Baer 
 to see if, God forbid, anything was wrong 
 with the business. 
 
 " Nothing is wrong with the business," 
 Jonas said, " but with thy husband there 
 is something wrong. I will tell thee why he 
 has no money for clothes. It is because he 
 gives it all to von Pluemer." 
 
 " Gives it to von Pluemer ! " Malka cried. 
 
 " Nu, lends it tO' him, but 'tis the same 
 thing, for he takes no interest, and never 
 will he get a cent back," Jonas said. 
 
 Malka was terribly angry. She was not 
 one to interfere with her husband's busi- 
 ness, but that day she would not be silent. 
 
 " Is it right," she said to Isaac, " that 
 thou hast money for von Pluemer, and thy 
 children must wear old clothes? " 
 274 
 
OUR FRIEND 
 
 "What!" Isaac cried, "dost thou be- 
 grudge that I help a friend in need? " And 
 then he made her a speech an hour long, 
 and the sum of it was, that von Pluemer 
 is his best and closest friend; that with 
 him he would share all he has, as with a 
 brother; that even if he were not his friend, 
 still would he honor him and help him, for 
 he is the kind of man through whom would 
 come this Brotherhood business and such- 
 like as he was ever talking about. In short, 
 the world had not yet seen such a noble 
 man as was von Ruemer. 
 
 Well, Malka had to hold her tongue, and 
 she got no money, either. 
 
 One day, not long after Pesach, Malka 
 came running to our house weeping and 
 wringing her hands. " Lace he wants to 
 make," she kept on crying, " lace he 
 wants to make." We thought she had 
 gone meshugge. 
 
 " For God's sake, Malka," I cried, " hast 
 lost thy senses? " 
 
 5!75 
 
A RENEGADE AND OTHER TALES 
 
 " Nay, not I, but he," she cried, and then 
 she told us. Isaac had told her that he 
 was going to sell out his share of the busi- 
 ness, and with the money open a lace-mak- 
 ing factory together with von Pluemer. 
 
 We all stood as if the lightning had 
 struck us. Imagine it! — a man with a 
 wife and three young children; a man with 
 a fine, blooming business, to risk his all in 
 a wild speculation, — would one believe 
 that? — a man who had gone through three 
 schools? 
 
 But that is really what he had planned to 
 do. And he and von Pluemer knew as 
 much about lace-making as I know about 
 tight-rope walking. 
 
 Well, we tried to talk it out of him. We 
 might just as well have talked to the wall. 
 To all that we said he only replied, " I have 
 promised von Pluemer, — so there's an end 
 of it." 
 
 But Malka would not rest. She ran to 
 276 
 
OUR FRIEND 
 
 Jonas Baer to see if he could not hinder it. 
 At first Jonas would not listen. 
 
 " I cannot help it," he said. 
 
 " Thou must help," Malka said. " Is a 
 partnership then such a loose thing that 
 one can break it up when one has a mind 
 to?" 
 
 " If he does not wish to stay with me, I 
 shall not hold him," Jonas said. 
 
 " But I beg of thee to hold him," Malka 
 cried. " He will later come to his senses 
 and thank th.ee. For God's sake, Jonas, 
 if he should lose all, what then?" 
 
 Well, Jonas saw the sense of this. He 
 said he would help her. He and Isaac had 
 made a contract by which they agreed to 
 remain together for ten years, during 
 which time neither was permitted to en- 
 gage in another business. Only six years 
 of this time were past, so there were four 
 more for the partnership to run. 
 
 Nu, why should I tell thee a long story? 
 They had a terrible quarrel. They even 
 277 
 
A RENEGADE AND OTHER TALES 
 
 went to law about it. Jonas would not 
 yield. In the end Isaac had to tell his 
 friend von Pluemer that his partner held 
 him to their contract, and their lace-mak- 
 ing plans had fallen through. But that was 
 not all. Jonas also refused to let Isaac 
 borrow any more money from the business. 
 He had in a short time overdrawn his ac- 
 count by more than five thousand Gulden, 
 all of which he had given to von Pluemer 
 without interest and without security. Jo- 
 nas made up his mind to stop this, and he 
 did. 
 
 From that time on von Pluemer was a 
 changed man to Isaac. He did not make 
 open enmity with him — Shpass! he owed 
 him nearly ten thousand Gulden, — but he 
 would have nothing more to do with him. 
 
 When they met, he gave Isaac a cold 
 nod, and made a face like injured inno- 
 cence. And as von Pluemer did, so did the 
 other Goyim. They invited him to no 
 more wine parties; in the Council they ig- 
 278 
 
OUR FRIEND 
 
 nored him, and shamed him by saying bit- 
 ter things about the Jews, and everywhere 
 they made him feel he was not wanted. 
 Isaac grieved terribly. One would have 
 thought that now he would see what non- 
 sense was all this Brotherhood business, 
 but, no, Isaac never blamed the Goyim. 
 They are perfectly right, he said, if they 
 despise the Jews. The Jews deserve all 
 the Rishus there is, and more. When the 
 Goy gives him friendship and shows him 
 honor, how does he requite it? With in- 
 gratitude, he said. 
 
 In those days he was the biggest Roshe, 
 and Jonas, nebbich, had to bear the brunt 
 of it. 
 
 Well, one morning early, as Malka raised 
 the curtains of her window, she saw some 
 people standing outside, pointing and look- 
 ing at the house-door. Isaac went to see 
 what was the matter. There on the door 
 hung a big placard and on it was written 
 this: 
 
 279 
 
A RENEGADE AND OTHER TALES 
 
 " If the Jew, Isaac Solomon, does not 
 move out of this honest Christian house, 
 he will suffer the consequences." 
 
 Malka came running to our house to tell 
 us about it, but we had already heard it. It 
 went through the Gass like wildfire. Isaac 
 was white with anger, she said, but he had 
 said nothing, and had thrown the placard 
 into the fire. 
 
 About three days later the same thing 
 happened again, only this time the placard 
 was different. It said: 
 
 " If the Jew, Isaac Solomon, and his 
 dirty brood do not move out of this honest 
 Christian house, he will get his head 
 broken." 
 
 Malka was dreadfully frightened. She 
 begged Isaac to move away. She hated 
 the house any way, where she had nothing 
 but unhappiness, but Isaac said, No, — he 
 would not be driven away by such a misera- 
 ble coward. 
 
 A few days thereafter there was again a 
 280 
 
OUR FRIEND 
 
 placard on the door, and this time it was 
 more vile than the one before. It got to 
 be a perfect scandal in the town. People 
 got up early in the morning on purpose 
 to look at Isaac's house-door, and when- 
 ever there was one of those vile placards 
 there, the folks would be awakened by 
 shouts of laughter. 
 
 We wondered and wondered who this 
 evil-doer might be. We tried hard to catch 
 him. Night after night Isaac and Malka 
 sat up, and one whole night Isaac stood in 
 the arch-way of a door across the street 
 watching for him; but on such nights as 
 they watched, there was never a placard, 
 and perhaps the very next night there 
 would again be one. 
 
 At last, one day Isaac went upstairs to 
 von Pluemer, and told him that though he 
 hated to be driven away by the coward 
 who threatened him, still he would rather 
 move than have von Pluemer annoyed with 
 the scandal. 
 
 281 
 
A RENEGADE AND OTHER TALES 
 
 " Nu, what did he say? " we asked when 
 he came down. 
 
 " He said I should do as I pleased. He 
 would not bid me go, so long as I wished to 
 remain," Isaac said, and then he began to 
 rave again about what a fine and noble 
 man von Pluemer was. 
 
 "Shpass! noble !" Malka said. "Should 
 he perhaps tell a man to whom he owes 
 ten thousand Gulden to get out of his 
 house? " 
 
 One morning there was again a placard 
 on the door, and this time it said, that if the 
 Jew did not move within a week he would 
 be shot dead. 
 
 Malka was nearly dead with fright, but 
 Isaac was not afraid. He had but one 
 wish, and that was to find the man and see 
 him face to face. 
 
 The next morning Isaac said he was 
 going to Prague on business; so he went 
 around and told everybody good-bye, and 
 in the afternoon he went. 
 282 
 
OUR FRIEND 
 
 I went to their house to sleep that night, 
 for I did not want Malka to be alone with 
 the children. Well, Malka and I were sit- 
 ting in the Stub knitting. When bed-time 
 came, Malka suddenly said to me in a 
 whisper. 
 
 " Mindel, dost know where Isaac is 
 now? " 
 
 " Wie haisst? " I said. " Is he not on his 
 way to Prague? " 
 
 " He is standing right outside of this 
 wall, in the shadow of the door-posts," 
 Malka said. 
 
 I only stared. 
 
 " He is going to catch him who puts 
 the placards on our door," she said. 
 " I tell thee, Mindel, he who does it 
 has helpers, who keep close watch on 
 our movements. Perhaps von Pluemer's 
 drunken coachman spies on us; — perhaps 
 one of their maids or even our maid — who 
 knows? But this is positive, that it is 
 known when we watch for the scoundrel 
 
 283 
 
A RENEGADE AND OTHER TALES 
 
 and when we do not. So Isaac gave out 
 that he is gone on a journey, but he went 
 only as far as the water-mill. After dark 
 he came back, and now he is waiting. If 
 he does not catch him to-night, he will go 
 away and try again until he catches him." 
 
 Then Malka put out the lights, and drew 
 from under a bed a lighted lantern, for they 
 had planned that Isaac should hold the 
 man tight and then cry out; whereat 
 Malka would fling open the door, and flash 
 the lantern upon them. The lantern was 
 wrapped in a black cloth that no light could 
 shine through, and so we sat down in the 
 darkness — as silent as death — that it might 
 appear, if anyone were spying, that all were 
 asleep. So we waited. 
 
 Twelve o'clock came; then one and 
 two — we thought already that nothing 
 would happen that night, when suddenly 
 we heard Isaac cry. Malka flung open the 
 door, and held up her lantern. There we 
 saw Isaac struggling with a man. Malka 
 284 
 
OUR FRIEND 
 
 flashed the light upon him. Then we saw 
 that it was von Pluemer — ^yes, the noble 
 von Pluemer, still holding one of those vile 
 placards in his hand. 
 
 Isaac uttered a frightful cry when he 
 
 , saw him, and staggered as if he should fall. 
 
 We had almost to carry him into the house. 
 
 For a long while he sat like one stunned ; 
 then he laid his head in his arms, and wept 
 — ^wept as if his heart would break. After 
 a while he grew more calm. Then he rose 
 from his chair and cried, " Pack ! " " Pack," 
 he cried, " and let us get out of here." 
 
 Well, we packed. Before it was yet 
 light, Isaac got some carters, and by eight 
 o'clock we had moved the last scrap out of 
 that house. And where, thinkest thou, they 
 moved to? Back into their old house in 
 the Gass. 
 
 See, my child, that was my brother 
 Isaac's Goyish friend. After he had 
 squeezed him dry, when he could not get 
 another drop out of him, he threw him 
 
 285 
 
A RENEGADE AND OTHER TALES 
 
 away. He wanted to be rid of him as one 
 wants to be rid of an empty egg-shell. 
 
 What sayest thou? — the carriage is 
 waiting? Well, good-night, my child; — 
 take good care of thyself. But this I tell 
 thee, if thou wert my daughter, thou 
 wouldst go to no Goyish wedding. 
 
 286 
 
XII 
 BABETTE 
 
XII 
 
 BABETTE 
 
 At first thought it would appear strange 
 that everyone should know her. She is so 
 modest, is Babette; so small and quiet, but 
 for all that she has attractions for the many. 
 
 For those who seek the beautiful, she 
 has beauty in her snow-white hair, her soft 
 face, and small neat figure; and those who 
 delight in the quaint, love to look at her, 
 as she wanders through the garden, in her 
 ancient dress of gray cashmere, dropping 
 old-fashioned curtseys to every visitor. 
 
 But these are not the attractions that 
 make her popular. No, tO' most people she 
 is a joke. They visit her in hordes, and 
 make conversation after this manner : 
 
 " How do you do, Babette? Well, how 
 goes it to-day? " 
 
 " Thank you," says Babette, with a gra- 
 
 289 
 
A RENEGADE AND OTHER TALE? 
 
 cious curtsey. " It goes very well. When 
 one is young and healthy, need one com- 
 plain? " 
 
 The visitors smile. 
 
 " Why don't you get married, Babette? 
 You'll be an old maid first thing you 
 know." 
 
 " Oh," says Babette with an odd little 
 simper, " I am young, I have plenty of 
 time." 
 
 The visitors grin broadly. 
 
 " How about your dowry, Babette? Has 
 it arrived yet? " 
 
 A sudden shadow of care flits over her 
 soft face. 
 
 " No," says she, sadly. Then she bright- 
 ens, " But I am expecting it at any mo- 
 ment. Perhaps with the next mail." 
 
 And then they roar with laughter. 
 
 It is strange to think that they laugh. A 
 little spinster of eighty, pensioner of an Old 
 People's Home, fancying herself young 
 and betrothed, and that she has a fortune 
 
 290 
 
BABETTE 
 
 coming to her — is that amusing? It is not 
 even sad. No, it is beautiful, only beauti- 
 ful; for Babette was wofully unhappy be- 
 fore she began to fancy this; so unhappy 
 that she prayed she might die. 
 
 Then merciful Nature closed the eyes 
 of her weary soul, and now it sleeps, and 
 dreams this fair dream, that she is young, 
 and beloved of a good man, whose wife 
 she is to be. 
 
 There is but one dark spot in this fair 
 dream. They are poor, she and her be- 
 loved, and they must await the coming of 
 her dowry before they can marry. 
 
 But Babette is hopeful and happy. She 
 does not care that the people laugh. She 
 has long stopped wondering why they 
 laugh. 
 
 'Tis a world of mystery any way, a world 
 where the young rule and the aged sit 
 aside, and where those who break the com- 
 mandments most vigorously, rise highest. 
 What is the use of wondering in a world 
 291 
 
A RENEGADE AND OTHER TALES 
 
 where wagons and cars run alone, and 
 where one speaks into a box on the wall, 
 and, lo ! — another who is in the market full 
 three miles away replies? That is, they 
 say he replies. To be sure she, Babette, 
 has never heard him, but the fact remains 
 that when one says, " A pound of butter 
 and a dozen eggs," these articles soon 
 thereafter arrive. She herself has seen the 
 butter and counted the eggs. 
 
 So Babette is quite happy. All day she 
 wanders in the garden or sits peacefully 
 over her knitting. Only twice does she be- 
 come restless. It is at nine in the morning 
 and at three in the afternoon. These are 
 the postman's hours. Then she walks 
 down to the garden-gate and looks wist- 
 fully in the direction from which he is 
 coming, for he it is who is going to bring 
 her fortune. 
 
 It is ten years since Babette first came 
 to the Old People's Home, and those who 
 
 292 
 
BABETTE 
 
 know her best, know hardly more than 
 those who met her but yesterday. 
 
 She is like a stray leaf of a forgotten 
 book which\one might find on the high- 
 way. One may read there hints of a sim- 
 ple, homely tale; a searcher might dis- 
 cover the whole. But who in a busy world 
 stoops to pick up a stray leaf; and who in a 
 fighting world cares for a simple, homely 
 tale? 
 
 " An old servant, past work, and doting, 
 with not a relative in the world," the peo- 
 ple say of her — and that is all they know. 
 
 They would probably wonder, they who 
 speak thus, to learn that Babette was once 
 a fair young girl to whom one wrote: 
 " Thy hair ripples golden like a field of ripe 
 grain when the wind plays upon it; and 
 thine eyes are blue as the corn-flowers that 
 grow between." 
 
 His name was Luke, he who wrote thus, 
 and far back in the days when Louis 
 Philippe was king, he wandered through 
 
 293 
 
A RENEGADE AND OTHER TALES 
 
 fair Alsatia with a knapsack on his back and 
 an easel in his hand. And on a summer's 
 day he came to the borders of the village in 
 the Jews' street of which lived Babette with 
 her parents. 
 
 There he saw Babette and loved her, and 
 he told her that he loved her. But she 
 was a pious Jewish maiden, and he was a 
 Christian; so she smiled pensively, and 
 wept a little ; but she wandered no more on 
 the borders of the village. 
 
 And when a year thereafter her mother 
 said, "Thy cousin Aaron wishes thee to 
 wife," Babette did not say nay. He was a 
 kindly, plodding youth, was cousin Aaron, 
 and they had been fond of each other from 
 childhood. So Babette was well content, 
 and prepared her wedding fineries with a 
 happy heart. 
 
 Then came the year of the cholera, 
 which with one blow cut down Babette's 
 parents, her two brothers, and her be- 
 trothed. Babette was stunned with the 
 
 294 
 
BABETTE 
 
 frightful blow. When she recovered and 
 looked about her, she found herself alone 
 in the world, homeless and very poor. 
 
 Then she bethought herself of a distant 
 kinsman who lived in an eastern province, 
 far away on the Russian borders, and 
 thither she journeyed. Uncle Sigmund, as 
 she called her relative, took her in and 
 made her welcome. At first she pined as if 
 to die with homesickness; but when there 
 are many children in a household and an 
 invalid wife besides, there is much to do, 
 and soon Babette found no time for tears. 
 
 Uncle Sigmund made an open bargain 
 with her. 
 
 " Do thou but work diligently and faith- 
 fully, and I shall keep thee as my own. 
 And every month, God willing, I will give 
 thee a silver dollar. That is, I will put it 
 away for thee, that thou mayest not be a 
 wretched being, a maiden without a dow- 
 ry." 
 
 Babette wept when he spoke of a dowry, 
 
 295 
 
A RENEGADE AND OTHER TALES 
 
 but she said nothing and labored faithfully. 
 
 Time went by, and what with youth and 
 health and hard work, her cheeks began to 
 bloom again, and she laughed as she had 
 done before. After a few years Uncle Sig- 
 mund's' invalid wife died, and Babette be- 
 came sole mistress of the household. At 
 Passover she received a pair of shoes, a 
 bonnet, and linen for her outfit; at New 
 Year, a dress and flannel for a petticoat. 
 But there was the silver dollar laid away 
 each month, and Babette was content. 
 And she baked and brewed and made and 
 mended all day long. 
 
 Now, there was a kind-faced tailor who 
 came occasionally to fetch Uncle Sig- 
 mund's old coats, out of whose ample 
 breadths he made jackets and trousers for 
 the younger boys. 
 
 One Sabbath morning, the tailor walked 
 
 home with Babette after synagogue, and 
 
 Babette with her strange French manners 
 
 gave him her prayer-book to carry. Peo- 
 
 296 
 
BABETTE 
 
 pie shook their heads with wonder, and 
 gossips began to whisper that the tailor 
 remains longer at Sigmund Glaser's house 
 over a half-dollar's worth of work, than at 
 another's when he is fitting him a new 
 frock-coat of broadcloth. 
 
 Babette was with Uncle Sigmund five 
 years to the day when she came to him 
 hand-in-hand with the kind-faced tailor, 
 saying that they were fond of each other 
 and wished to marry. 
 
 Uncle Sigrnund had always been counted 
 a gentleman, but he now became suddenly 
 wild with indignation. 
 
 " Have I not clothed and fed thee and 
 kept thee as my own? " he cried. 
 
 Babette said nothing of how hard she 
 had worked. 
 
 " Have I not put a silver dollar by for 
 thee every month? " 
 
 " For my dowry," suggested Babette, 
 mildly. 
 
 297 
 
A RENEGADE AND OTHER TALES 
 
 " And now thou wouldst leave my poor 
 children!" 
 
 " Thy daughter Emma is already eigh- 
 teen," said Babette, faintly; but Uncle Sig- 
 mund seemed quite deaf. 
 
 " Woe is me ! Ingratitude ! Now that 
 my poor wife is dead she would leave me 
 and my motherless little ones," he cried — 
 and then he wept. 
 
 Babette, too, was moved to tears. She 
 kissed his hands, and promised that she 
 would remain with him so long as he 
 needed her, and that she and her betrothed 
 would be patient and wait. 
 
 A year passed, and Babette and the kind- 
 faced tailor came again. 
 
 " Why dost thou hurry? Thou art still 
 young, Babette, thou hast plenty of time," 
 said Uncle Sigmund. 
 
 " And still we would marry," pleaded 
 Babette. 
 
 " Now that Emma is betrothed, wait at 
 least till after the wedding." 
 
 298 
 
BABETTE 
 
 And after Emma's wedding, it was his 
 rheumatism, and after that the housewifely 
 arts which the younger daughters must 
 learn; and each time there was a new rea- 
 son, and each time he wept. 
 
 The truth of the matter was this, that in 
 the course of years Babette had learned to 
 prepare her uncle's soups to just the right 
 degree of spiciness and to darn his socks 
 without a single knot; and though Uncle 
 Sigmund was not a hard-hearted man as 
 men go, he loved his spicy soups and his 
 easy socks better than he loved Babette, 
 and he trembled lest he lose them. 
 
 Time went by, and Babette's songs grew 
 fainter over her work. And when she 
 kneaded bread, she could not help but 
 think how sweet it were, if for her own 
 household she were kneading it; and when 
 she sat through the long winter evenings 
 knitting socks, she could not help but wish 
 yearningly that it were for her kind-faced 
 tailor that she knit them. 
 
 299 
 
A RENEGADE AND OTHER TALES 
 
 After a while the tailor moved to another 
 town. Then he ceased to write. Then 
 came word that he had gone to America; 
 and then that he had taken himself a wife 
 in the New World. 
 
 Babette gave her uncle not a word of re- 
 proach, for with the years he had grown 
 childish and ill. But the life went quickly 
 out of her hair, the light out of her eyes. 
 Silently she packed into the bottom of 
 her kist all the household linen she had 
 stitched through the long years; but when 
 she laid among it the pattern of a baby's 
 cap which she had once cut out of a paper, 
 she wept bitterly. 
 
 Babette now grew rapidly old. She lay 
 and trembled in the long nights, for the 
 future loomed a dark waste before her; 
 Uncle Sigmund would die, and she would 
 be left alone. His children, whom she had 
 raised, were all married and away. More- 
 over they were of a strange kind. They ate 
 the forbidden, and broke the Sabbath, and 
 
 300 
 
BABETTE 
 
 they disliked Babette, because of a secret 
 fear lest their father should remember her 
 too kindly in his will. 
 
 Then Babette would think of the silver 
 dollars which lay in the strong-box for her, 
 and how these would sustain her in her old 
 age; and in the dark sea of the future these 
 were to her like friendly harbor lights. 
 
 At last, one day Uncle Sigmund went to 
 sleep to wake no more. Then came the 
 children and grandchildren to divide the 
 small inheritance; but Babette stood aside. 
 
 When each had received his share, they 
 looked about them, and saw Babette. 
 
 " What shall we do with Babette? " they 
 cried and shrugged their shoulders and 
 lifted their eyebrows. " What shall we do 
 with her? She is old." 
 
 Then Babette summoned all her pride. 
 
 " I will trouble none of you," she said. 
 " Give me but my money and I will go my 
 ways." 
 
 301 
 
A RENEGADE AND OTHER TALES 
 
 "Thy money! What money? There is 
 no wilL" 
 
 " You will find it in the strong-box, — a 
 silver dollar a month — there must be more 
 than five hundred of them. It was to have 
 been my dowry," she added softly. 
 
 At this they put up a great laugh. Ba- 
 bette and a dowry ! It was most amusing. 
 
 " Do thou but fetch a husband," said the 
 eldest, " and as I live, we will provide the 
 dowry." 
 
 Babette could only moan and wring her 
 hands. And again she lay and trembled 
 in the long nights. Again the future 
 loomed a dark sea before her, waste and 
 shoreless now, the harbor lights were out. 
 
 Then, one long sleepless night, an awful 
 terror possessed her. She was too old to 
 enter into a new service. No one would 
 take her for a servant. What if they should 
 give her over to public charity ! Her terror 
 made her bold. 
 
 " Five and forty years have I served this 
 
 302 
 
BABETTE 
 
 ■house faithfully," she cried, " and now will 
 you cast me off? " 
 
 " For heaven's sake, don't be dramatic. 
 Who speaks of casting thee off? The mon- 
 ey is not here, but thou wilt be provided 
 for," they cried. 
 
 Then followed a family council, where 
 each disclosed some untoward circum- 
 stance which prevented him from taking 
 care of her. Babette waited with madly 
 beating heart until the youngest there, — a 
 granddaughter of Uncle Sigmund, — ^who 
 was married and lived in America, said she 
 would take her with her, since servants 
 were hard to get in the States. And that 
 is how in her old age Babette came to go 
 to the New World. 
 
 Then with fainting spirit and work- 
 weary hands she began again her old-time 
 labors : to tend little children, to cook and 
 bake and mend and make. But it was not 
 for long, for after a few years her body 
 grew too weak for work, her eyes could 
 
 30S 
 
A RENEGADE AND OTHER TALES 
 
 no longer follow the seam, and she began 
 to forget how much yeast goes to a baking. 
 One day Babette fell ill and would not 
 mend for weeks. They took her to the 
 hosjjital. When she was better, her mis- 
 tress came and told her that she had a new 
 servant, and that upon her application Ba- 
 bette was to be admitted to the Old Peo- 
 ple's Home. 
 
 " A pleasant place, Babette," said she, 
 " where they give thee meat and drink 
 without pay, and where thou mayest sit 
 with thy hands in thy lap all day long." 
 
 Babette was dazed with her misery. The 
 dreaded thing had come to pass. She was 
 given over to charity. She could but hide 
 her withered face and sob in the bitterness 
 of her woe. 
 
 They took her to the Home; and the air 
 that she breathed there was to her as fumes 
 of fire; and the bread that she ate was as 
 gall. For months they thought she. would 
 die, and she prayed that she might die. 
 
 304 
 
BABETTE 
 
 It was then that Nature, more merciful 
 than Man, closed the eyes of Babette's 
 soul, and it fell asleep, and began to dream 
 the fair dream that she was young and 
 beautiful and beloved of a good man whose 
 wife she was to be. 
 
 Any fine day you wish, you may see her, 
 sitting peacefully in the garden with her 
 knitting. Only at nine in the morning and 
 at three in the afternoon does she grow 
 restless. These are the postman's hours. 
 Then she walks down to the garden-gate, 
 and looks wistfully in the direction from 
 which he is coming. When he arrives, she 
 curtseys politely. 
 
 " Have you anything for me to-day? " 
 says she. 
 
 " Not to-day, Babette," says the post- 
 man. 
 
 " I am expecting a fortune," says Ba- 
 bette. 
 
 " I'm glad to hear it," says the postman. 
 
 " Perhaps it will come to-morrow." 
 
 305 
 
A RENEGADE AND OTHER TALES 
 
 " It surely will." 
 
 Then Babette rises on tiptoe, and the 
 postman bends to hear. 
 
 " When it arrives," whispers she, with an 
 odd little simper, " I am to be married." 
 
 " You don't say so ! " cries the postman. 
 
 Then they smile and nod at each other, 
 and the postman goes whistling down the 
 street, and Babette goes back to her knit- 
 ting. 
 
 806 
 
XIII 
 THE BEAST 
 
XIII 
 THE BEAST 
 
 " Herr Doctor ! " called a voice from the 
 top of the stairs. " Quick, quick ! Old 
 Feigel is dead ! " 
 
 " Don't be a fool, Braun," cried Dr. Da- 
 vid, the superintendent of the Jewish Old 
 People's Home, from his office at the foot 
 of the stairs. " I've just been in Feigel's 
 room. He's eating his dinner." 
 
 " No, he isn't," shouted Braun, in re- 
 sponse. " He's sitting with his head in the 
 pudding dish." 
 
 This last argument seemed convincing, 
 for Dr. David started out of his chair, and 
 bounded up the stairs, three at a time, 
 followed by a string of the inmates who had 
 been called from their dinner by the unu- 
 sual noise. The old ladies, less agile of 
 limb, though not a whit less inquisitive, re- 
 mained below discussing the matter. 
 
 309 
 
A RENEGADE AND OTHER TALES 
 
 " What," said Frau Braun, a tuxom ma- 
 tron of sixty-five, a very infant in the 
 Home, " did he say Feigel is dead? I don't 
 believe it. He can't die." 
 
 " I don't believe it either," declared Frau 
 Boshwitz, who in the prime of her seventy 
 years felt secure of the Grim Reaper. 
 " That beast ! He can't die ! " 
 
 " You're right," cried a dozen voices. 
 " That beast can't die." 
 
 " Where would he go to? " said Frau 
 Levi, with a shrug. " He's too wicked to 
 go to heaven, and they'd even throw him 
 out of Gehinnom [hell] ! " Frau Levi was 
 a cynic, a little dried up woman, who in de- 
 fiance of feminine weakness declared she 
 was a hundred years old. 
 
 " Nu," said . Babette, a delicate maiden 
 of eighty, who lived in the happy delusion 
 that she was young and handsome and 
 courted by all the good-looking men in 
 the home, " nu, he might be worse." 
 
 " Worse ! " shrieked Frau Neuman. " He 
 
 310 
 
THE BEAST 
 
 is the biggest Grobian [brute] in the 
 world." 
 
 " I should say so," said Frau Lieblich, 
 who was quarrelsome and one-eyed and 
 bearded and in every other manner belied 
 her name. " Only yesterday when I 
 brought him his linen he swore at me; one 
 should have heard him, and he told me to 
 get out of his sight." 
 
 " Can he help it, if he don't like the sight 
 of a woman? " said Babette. " We all have 
 our likes and dislikes." Babette had passed 
 into childhood again ere yet she had 
 reached the pessimism of old age. 
 
 " Yoii needn't talk," said Frau Bosh- 
 witz. " How long is it since he threw you 
 out of the room? " 
 
 " You mean when he was sick, and I car- 
 ried him his soup? " asked Babette. 
 
 " I see, you remember," laughed Frau 
 Boshwitz. 
 
 " He didn't throw me out," declared Ba- 
 bette. 
 
 311 
 
A RENEGADE AND OTHER TALES 
 
 " What ! Didn't he swear at you and tell 
 you to get out of the room? " insisted the 
 old lady. 
 
 " Well," answered Babette, " should he 
 tell me to take a seat when he wants to 
 be alone? " 
 
 " And he threw a pillow at you," put in 
 Frau Lieblich. 
 
 " That shows he has a good heart; it 
 might have been his boots," said Babette. 
 
 " Babettche is right," said Frau Levi, 
 drily. "Judge a man by what he throws 
 at you." 
 
 " He's a beast," said the other old ladies. 
 
 Meanwhile Dr. David found that what 
 Braun had said was true. Old Feigel sat 
 by the open window. Outside the apple- 
 boughs were dripping with blossoms and 
 bird-notes. A soft breeze stirred the old 
 man's hair. The sunlight gleaming 
 through the trees threw a shadow like 
 spotted veiling over him. Budding spring 
 smiled in at the window, and cast its warm 
 
 312 
 
THE BEAST 
 
 hope in vain upon the dead man. He sat 
 with his dinner tray before him, his head 
 dropped forward upon his plate, his fork 
 clutched tightly in his hand. 
 
 " He is dead," said Dr. David, gently 
 raising the old head. They carried him to 
 his bed and left him to the doctor and his 
 assistants. 
 
 " How did you find it out? " the old men 
 clamored of Braun when they were out 
 of the room. Braun threw up his head. 
 For once in his life he was a hero. " I 
 left the table early," he said, " and as I 
 passed Feigel's room, ' Wait,' thinks I, ' he 
 calls me a new name every time I open the 
 door when he's eating. I wonder what 
 he'll call me to-day,' and I open the door, 
 and there he sits with his head in the pud- 
 ding dish. ' What,' I thinks, ' Feigel so 
 far forgets a good pudding as to put his 
 head into it? The Fresser! He must be 
 crazy or dead,' and when he didn't call 
 me a name, thinks I, 'He's dead!' and 
 313 
 
A RENEGADE AND OTHER TALES 
 
 you see I was right," and Braun plumed 
 himself not a little on his sagacity. 
 
 " He deserved his name — a beast ! " said 
 Schmaltz, the philosopher of the Home. 
 " As he lived, so he died — with a fork in his 
 hand." 
 
 The coming of the undertaker always 
 brought an air of solemn festivity into the 
 house. The women put on their good 
 dresses; the men began to brush their 
 black coats. Babette pinned a black rib- 
 bon into her Sabbath cap, and wondered if 
 it became her complexion. 
 
 A death was not an unusual or entirely 
 unpleasant occurrence in the Home. It 
 brought with it some excitement, a pleas- 
 ant melancholy, extra rations of', wine and 
 brandy, and cups of hot coffee at three in 
 the afternoon. It renewed, indeed, the 
 sad reminder that all flesh is grass, but each 
 bore within him an undefined feeling that 
 some way or somehow he would be over- 
 looked in Death's harvest. Thus, pleasant- 
 
 314 
 
THE BEAST 
 
 ries as to who would be next were dis- 
 cussed freely and with humor. 
 
 In the evening a company of the old 
 folks were gathered around Lewin by the 
 fire. Lewin was the first inmate of the 
 Home. He knew everything that was to 
 be known about every man and woman 
 there. At such an occasion as this his 
 reminiscences were much sought after. 
 
 " I well remember when Feigel came," 
 he said to his eager listeners. " It was 
 eight years in the winter. A policeman 
 found him one night lying on a bench in 
 the park. He was frozen and starved, and 
 they had to take him to the hospital. When 
 he got better, they asked him why he 
 hadn't gone to the Relief Society, and he 
 said he was no beggar." 
 
 " Shpass — grossartig ! " "An old hum- 
 bug ! " " Who knows if he was not some- 
 thing worse," the old people put in sneer- 
 ingly. 
 
 "Well, he had to come to the Home 
 
 316 
 
A RENEGADE AND OTHER TALES 
 
 whether he wanted to or not," Lewin con- 
 tinued. " But talk about a thick head ! 
 Not a word could they get out of him. He 
 told his name and age, and that he came to 
 Chicago from Europe two years ago; that 
 he couldn't make a living, and so came 
 East again. But when they asked him if 
 he was married, or had any relatives, he 
 said it was none of their business, and when 
 they said that they couldn't take him in 
 unless he answered their questions, he said 
 that he never asked to be took in, didn't 
 want to be took in, and if they' didn't want 
 him, they should leaye him. Well, what 
 could they do? They had to take him any- 
 how, and to this day they don't know any 
 more about him. I tell you, they've had 
 a time with him. No one but our Frau 
 Doctor Leben would ever Jiave had the 
 patience. From the very start he refused 
 to eat with us. The Chutzpah! Did he 
 think we were swine? Hadsto have his 
 meals in his own room like a -prince, and, 
 316 '^ 
 
THE BEAST 
 
 big Fresser that he was, he was so stub- 
 born, he'd rather have starved than eat 
 down stairs. Well, for the first six months 
 one could stand it, but after that it began 
 to get so terrible, that if it wasn't for the 
 patience of Frau Doctor Leben, they'd 
 have thrown him out. The biggest trouble 
 was, he couldn't bear the sight of a woman. 
 When the servant girl came to fix his room, 
 he'd throw the furniture at her. Who 
 would stand that? The girls left as soon as 
 they came, and Frau Doctor had her time. 
 She had to hire a man to fix his room. 
 There he staid from morning till night. 
 Nu, why should I talk? You all know it as 
 well as I do. In the eight years that he 
 was here, not a good word did he have for 
 anyone, or, if he did, I never heard it. No 
 one wrote to him; no one came to see him 
 or sent him anything, and he never spoke 
 about anyone to anybody. God alone 
 knows who he was. He might have been 
 a thief or a house-breaker, or perhaps a 
 
 317 
 
A RENEGADE AND OTHER TALES 
 
 Meshumriled [apostate], who knows? For 
 my part, I wouldn't swear to it that his 
 name was Feigel. How do you know? 
 Because he said so? That's no sign. I 
 know what his name was — Fresser was his 
 name, and Beast. For the only thing that 
 he liked to do was to eat." 
 
 The conversation then became general, 
 and every one had some incident to relate, 
 when they had been insulted by the Beast. 
 
 " My mother selig always said that one 
 should not speak bad of the dead," Babette 
 finally put in. 
 
 " Then we'd all have to hold our tongues 
 to-day," laughed Lewin. 
 
 " He had a good heart," continued Ba- 
 bette, in his defense, " else why didn't he 
 throw his boots at me? It was only a soft 
 pillow." 
 
 The company smiled indulgently, as one 
 smiles at the nonsense of a child. 
 
 " I wonder what our Rebbe [rabbi] will 
 say," said Frau Levi, the cynic. " I've 
 
 318 
 
THE BEAST 
 
 heard many funeral sermons in this house," 
 she continued, " and for every one he had 
 something good to say. But if he can find 
 a good word for Feigel, I'll bite my nose 
 off." In Frau Levi's case this feat was not 
 so impossible as one might suppose. 
 
 " Really," put in Lewin, " I'm inquisi- 
 tive, too. Our Rebbe is the smartest man 
 in the world, but if he can say a good word 
 for Feigel, he's smarter than I think he is." 
 
 The idea of the rabbi's saying anything 
 good of the " Beast " amused the com- 
 pany, and they dispersed in great good 
 humor. 
 
 The day of the funeral arrived. All the 
 inmates of the house were gathered in the 
 parlor around the plain coffin. A few of 
 the Trustees of the Home were also there. 
 Dr. and Mrs. David stood up as chief 
 mourners. Before them lay the corpse of 
 the old man, yet every eye was dry. Sol- 
 emnly the words of the funeral service fell 
 
 319 
 
A RENEGADE AND OTHER TALES 
 
 from the lips of the old rabbi. When it 
 was ended, he raised his head to speak. 
 
 " Before us lies all that remains of the 
 departed Aaron Feigel," he said in slow 
 and solemn tones. " In the distant Father- 
 land stood his cradle. Here in the Old 
 People's Home stands his coffin. Between 
 them roll eighty-six years — a sea of time, 
 a sea with its high waves and deep abysses; 
 a sea with calm and storm; a sea with its 
 ebb and tide; a sea upon which he em- 
 barked an innocent child, and in whose re- 
 morseless tossings he was shipwrecked. In 
 this small haven was his last refuge. Who 
 is there here that dare judge him! Who 
 can measure the sufferings of a life-time, — 
 the bitterness of soul, the despair of the 
 heart! May God in the better life grant 
 him the peace which He denied him on 
 earth. May He there kindle anew the 
 flame of love which still flickered within 
 his bosom. For it had not died, my friends. 
 320 ' 
 
THE BEAST 
 
 In the storm of his life he bore with him a 
 tahsman. It was the warmth of his heart, 
 the strength of his fainting soul, the last 
 spar to which he clung in his shipwreck. It 
 was healing balm to his wounded breast, 
 solace in his night of despair, the last 
 link which bound him to^ his fellow-men. 
 Behold, my friends, the charm, the fuel 
 which kept alive the dying flame of love." 
 
 The rabbi stretched forth his hand. In 
 it lay — a baby's shoe, a tiny thing knit of 
 wool that had once been white, and was 
 now turned yellow with age. It was tat- 
 tered and torn, and a hole in the front 
 showed where a little toe had stubbed it 
 through. The rabbi stooped over the cof- 
 fin, and laid the faded rag in the dead 
 man's breast. 
 
 " As in life, so in death shall it rest upon 
 thy bosom," he said softly. " He who 
 maketh peace in His heavens high, may He 
 also bestow peace upon us and all Israel." 
 
 321 
 
A RENEGADE AND OTHER TALES 
 
 The men were wiping their spectacles. 
 The women wept openly though silently. 
 
 "Poor Feigel," sobbed Babette. "I 
 knew he had a good heart, else why didn't 
 he throw his boots? " 
 
 THE fBIEDEKWALD OOMPAHT 
 BAI/iniOBB, MS., V. B. A. 
 
 S22