Rabbi and Priest

M >> Milton Goldsmith >> Rabbi and Priest

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"I, too, had my doubts at your age, but I got bravely over them. The
miracles of which the Bible speaks are undoubtedly true, for the people
living in those times beheld them. That such things do not occur
nowadays is no proof that they could not have happened then. Our duty is
to believe what our ancient writings tell us, to see that the lamps are
kept burning before the icons, and that our ceremonials are observed to
the letter. A priest has no right to question what is sanctioned by
tradition and belief."

For a time, Mikail was content to accept this explanation and to keep
his peace. But doubt was not so easily quieted. Ever and again he would
seek the solitude of his cell and ponder over the grave and perplexing
questions that disturbed him. He found no solution. He had been
educated in an atmosphere of bigotry and superstition, had been brought
up rigorously in the belief that God himself had descended from Heaven
and adopted the form of man; had been daily taught that blind faith,
independent of deed, would lead to salvation. These dogmas now appeared
at variance with his conception of truth. Harassed by doubts, tormented
by superstitious fears for the safety of his soul, Mikail led a wretched
existence.

Gradually, the monotonous, inactive life of the monastery began to pall
upon him. He soon found, too, that many of his brethren believed as
little as he did; that others were too indolent to reflect and believed
as a matter of course. The thousand ceremonials, the carelessly recited
prayers, the perfunctory invocations, the prescribed signs, crosses and
genuflections before the rudely painted icons, appeared to him as hollow
mockeries, and soon the place seemed redolent with deceit.

It was a severe struggle for the young man, and the Superior, who
observed the storm which was surging within the doubter's breast, did
not hesitate to attribute it to the wiles of Satan.

"Cast yourself at the feet of the Saviour, O thou of little faith!"
exhorted Alexei. "He will help thee drive out the evil spirit! Fast,
pray, torture thy body if necessary, but cleanse thy soul of its doubts,
purge thy heart of the unholy thoughts which the Devil has planted
there."

Mikail fasted and prayed and scourged himself until his flesh was a mass
of sores. In vain the torture! The doubts would not be driven out, Satan
would not be exorcised.

At the age of twenty-three, Mikail could endure it no longer.

"I must go out into the world, father," he said one day to Alexei. "The
convent is too small, too limited for me. I must work and toil with and
for humanity. Let me go into the parish for a short time. The Bishop,
who thinks well of me, may be able to procure me the position of
_blagotchinny_.[17] I will have an opportunity of learning the world, of
succoring the needy, of aiding the sick. Perhaps a life of activity will
dispel the shadows which have darkened my soul."

Alexei was quite willing to grant this request. He was anxious, in fact,
to send Mikail from the cloister, for his doubts, which he took no pains
to conceal, were beginning to affect the torpid intellects of the monks.
A short conference was held with the Bishop, and Mikail obtained the
coveted position.

A new life of work and constant activity now opened for the young
priest, but he still found what he had sought to escape, hypocrisy and
deceit.

The village priests with whom he came in daily contact were a pitiable
set. He found among them many honest, respectable, well-meaning men,
conscientiously fulfilling their humble tasks, striving hard to serve
the religious needs of the community. There were, on the other hand,
however, fanatics and rogues, men representing the worse elements of
society. The people shunned the clergy, and held them up to ridicule.
They formed a class apart, not in sympathy with the parishioners. They
committed serious transgressions, were irreligious and transformed the
service of God into a profitable trade.

Could the people respect the clergy when they learned that one priest
stole money from under the pillow of a dying man at the moment he was
administering the sacrament, that another was publicly dragged out of a
house of ill-fame, that a third christened a dog, that a fourth while
officiating at the Easter service was dragged by the hair from the altar
by the deacon? Was it possible for the people to venerate priests who
spent their time in gin shops, wrote fraudulent petitions, fought with
crosses as weapons and abused each other at the altar? Was it possible
for them to have an exalted opinion of a God-inspired religion, when
they saw everywhere about them simony, carelessness in performing
religious rites, and disorder in administering the sacrament?[18]

Mikail's heart turned sick. Nowhere could he find that truth which he
sought. Even the better educated priests appeared to have given their
creed no thought, no reflection.

Still the young priest did valuable service in the field assigned to
him. Through his indomitable will be corrected many of the abuses which
existed in his district, and raised the parish clergy to a higher
standard of efficiency and morality.

So the years passed. The friendship between Mikail and General Drentell
grew stronger as the nobleman learned to value the brilliant intellect
of his _protege_. His occasional visits to Lubny continued, and the
General usually profited by the clear, good sense of the young man, who
displayed as thorough a knowledge of agriculture as he did of theology.
Mikail and Loris, on the other hand, could never agree. The priest had
no patience with the hare-brained, pampered young aristocrat, and
occasional differences were the result. For the sake of the General's
friendship, however, as well as for the preservation of his own dignity,
Mikail restrained his feelings. At the age of twenty, Loris entered the
army, and for a while the growing animosity of the two was happily
checked.

The Bishop, greatly admiring his assistant's ability, offered him an
important position in his consistorium. This Mikail firmly refused. He
assigned as his reason that he found congenial work among the
parishioners; but in reality the priest felt in his heart that his
veneration for the Catholic creed was growing daily less, and that
vexing doubts and difficulties had gradually crowded out the faith he
had once possessed. It was at this time that General Drentell's
influence obtained for him a desirable position with General Melikoff,
the Minister of War. The priest gladly accepted the honor, happy to
escape from the continual hypocrisy of his clerical duties.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 17: A _blagotchinny_ is a parish priest who is in direct
relations with the consistorium of the province, and who is supposed to
exercise a strict supervision over all the parish priests of his
district.]

[Footnote 18: Mr. Melnikof, in a secret report to Grand Duke
Constantine. Wallace's "Russia," p. 58.]

CHAPTER XXVI.

A DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL.

Rabbi Mendel Winenki sat in his study, reading. Before him and within
easy reach stood a massive table covered with books and papers. There
were strewn upon it in motley confusion ancient folios and modern
volumes. It was a comprehensive library which the Rabbi had collected.
There were works on comparative theology, on medicine, on jurisprudence
and philosophy. The _Shulkan-aruch_ and a treatise on Buddhistic
Occultism stood side by side. The Talmud and Kant's "Kritik der reinen
Vernunft" were placed upon the same shelf, and Josephus and Renan's
"Life of Jesus" were near neighbors.

Time was when the Jew who would have exposed a single work printed in
any characters but the ancient Hebrew letters would have been ostracized
by his co-religionists. The Rabbi remembered with a smile how carefully
he had concealed the precious volumes which Pesach Harretzki had given
him, how furtively he had carried them into his bed that he might read
them undetected.

How different now was the condition of things! True, the greater portion
of the Jews of Kief still held tenaciously to their prejudices,
absolutely refusing to learn anything not taught at the _cheder_. In the
eyes of these people Mendel was a renegade and a heretic. The only thing
which prevented them from hurling the ban of excommunication against him
was their recollection of the good he had accomplished.

Mendel's greatest achievement was the introduction of secular education.
Many years elapsed before his ideas took root, but with the spread of
better instruction in the public schools, which were now open to Jewish
youth, there came a desire for greater knowledge and the difficult
problem worked out its own solution. At the time of which we speak many
Jewish lads were pupils of the gymnasium and quite a number of them
students at the University of Kief.

Seated by the side of the Rabbi, and sewing, sat his wife and his
daughter, Kathinka, now a girl of eighteen. Many changes had occurred
in the interval since we last saw our friends. Mendel was now a man of
about forty-five and in the full vigor of contented manhood. A wealth of
coal-black hair shaded his massive forehead and a long but neatly
trimmed beard set off his handsome face. Recha had become stouter and
more matronly, but one would scarcely take her for the mother of the
blooming girl by her side.

Kathinka was a perfect specimen of Hebrew beauty. She had inherited the
commanding form of her father and the regular features of her mother. To
this perfection of body she united a sweetness of disposition which made
her beloved by all who knew her.

Women among the Eastern Jews, as indeed among all oriental nations,
being considered intellectually inferior to their lords and masters,
rarely aspire to learning. Occasionally one might find an example of a
well-directed and thoroughly developed mind among the daughters of
Israel, even though surrounded by the retarding influences of the
_ghetto_. We have seen how well Recha had been educated and her daughter
Kathinka was being brought up in the same way. She was independent in
thought as well as in action, but never at the cost of maidenly
sentiment. Piety and purity shone in her lustrous eyes. Superior to her
position, she possessed the faculty of adapting herself to her
surroundings. There was no pride in her breast save that which might
arise from the consciousness of doing right. The poor had a
commiserating friend in her and the sick a tender nurse. The children
that played in the squalid lanes of the old quarter ceased their romping
when she passed and lovingly kissed her hand. She desired no better lot
than to do good in her own sphere, and to deserve the approbation of
her own conscience. Such was Kathinka, a girl of many graces and
sterling worth--in heart and soul a Jewess.

Rabbi Mendel looked up from his books and gazed fondly at his daughter,
who, seated with the full light of the window falling upon her face,
appeared the embodiment of loveliness. Then turning to his wife, he
asked:

"Recha, have you spoken to Kathinka about young Goldheim?"

"No," replied Recha; "I left it for you to tell."

"Briefly then, my dear," said the Rabbi, addressing his daughter, who
looked up from her work in surprise; "Reb Wolf, the _schadchen_, has
been here for the third time, to induce us to give him a favorable reply
for Samuel Goldheim. I told him that I feared my intervention would be
useless."

Kathinka blushed deeply.

"You did right, father," she answered.

"But, my dear child," said the Rabbi, thoughtfully; "tell me why you
refuse Goldheim? He is a fine-looking young man, of a rich and respected
family, and will make you a good husband."

Kathinka arose and, crossing to her father, put her arms lovingly about
his neck.

"Dear papa," she said, softly and caressingly, "I know you love me too
well to insist upon my doing a thing which will make me unhappy for
life. You have often told me how you and mamma first found one another,
how heart went out to heart, so that there was scarcely any need to tell
each other that you loved. That is an ideal affection, and the only one
that my heart could recognize. I abhor the notion of a marriage brought
about by the efforts of a third party, who has no other interest in the
matter than the fee he receives for his labors. There is to me something
repugnant in the idea of uniting two beings to each other for life,
without consulting their inclinations or their tastes."

"I agree with you, Kathinka," answered the Rabbi, stroking his
daughter's long curls, "and it is far from my thoughts to see you united
to any man you do not truly love. In former days the system of marrying
through the agency of a match-maker undoubtedly possessed great
advantages. It is incumbent upon every good Israelite to marry, but
originally the villages were sparsely settled, in many places there was
a lack of marriageable men, in others the maidens were in the minority,
and as facilities for travelling were limited, and often entirely
absent, a _schadchen_, who made it a business to bring eligible couples
together, was a great convenience. The necessity for such a mediator is
constantly growing less."

"But there can be no romance, no pleasant anticipation in such a union."

"My dear child, Israel has never had time for romance. Your youth has
fortunately been spared the dreadful persecutions which have from time
to time been visited upon our people; but, if you can picture the
constant dread of outrage and the incessant fear of persecution, which
have been our portion; if you can conceive the miserable existence in
wretched hovels and the weary struggle for the barest necessities of
life, you will understand why the Jews have had little of that spirit of
chivalry and romance of which modern books give us so fascinating a
picture. But tell me, Kathinka," continued the Rabbi, looking intently
at his daughter, "is there not another reason for your refusal of
Samuel's hand?"

Kathinka became very red, and looked pleadingly at her mother.

"My dear," said Recha, "you had better confess all to your father. He
has a right to know."

Still the girl remained silent.

"Well, my child; who has stolen your heart?" asked the Rabbi, kindly.

"Father, I love Joseph Kierson," said Kathinka, faintly, hiding her
blushing face upon the Rabbi's shoulder.

"What, my former pupil?" asked the Rabbi, astonished. "I must have been
blind not to have observed it. And does he love you?"

"I think he does," she archly answered.

"But Joseph is poor," returned her father. "He has nothing and has as
yet no profession. He is merely a student at the University."

"But he has a brilliant intellect," retorted Kathinka, proudly. "I have
heard you say a dozen times that he will achieve renown. It is one of
your favorite maxims that a man must rise by his own exertions. Joseph
is destined to rise."

"How long has this understanding existed?" asked Mendel.

"We were fond of each other as children, when he first began his lessons
at _cheder_," replied the girl, earnestly; "but it was only recently
that he declared his love."

"He found that you were surrounded by admiring youths and feared that
you might be taken from him," added her mother.

"And did you promise to be his wife?" asked the Rabbi.

"Oh, no, father. I could not do that without your consent. He did not
even ask me. He simply told me that he deplored his ignorance and
poverty and that it was his intention to study medicine and become a
learned doctor that he might be worthy of obtaining my hand. That was
all."

"He could not have made it plainer. And what did you answer?"

"I encouraged him in his determination and told him I would wait."

"And that is why he requested me to speak to his parents and obtain
their consent to his pursuing a course of study, and that is why you
took such an interest in his welfare and were so pleased when I told you
that he had been admitted to the University."

"Yes," answered Kathinka, with radiant face.

"Do you know how long it will take before he has finished his course? He
cannot expect to obtain his diploma in less than six years."

"I know it," replied Kathinka.

"And then it will be some time before his profession will enable him to
support a wife."

"I know it. I will wait."

"Brave girl," said Mendel, fondly. "You are doing right and may he prove
worthy of you."

"Will it take so long?" asked the mother. "You will then be twenty-four
years old, Kathinka, and will be obliged to marry a poor man. Had you
not better consider before refusing Goldheim? He is wealthy and quite
learned."

"I do not care for him," replied the girl, quietly but with decision.
"You married father for love, did you not?"

"Yes," said Mendel, replying for his wife. "She took me although I was
but a poor Talmud scholar without a kopeck that I could call my own.
Joseph will succeed. He has ambition and talent."

Kathinka kissed her father, affectionately.

"Then you are satisfied with my choice?" she asked.

"Yes, my dear, I am content. When Reb Wolf, the _schadchen_, comes for
his answer we will know just what to tell him."

CHAPTER XXVII.

AT THE RABBI'S AND AT THE GOVERNOR'S.

Joseph Kierson was a fine manly fellow of twenty-two, not particularly
handsome, but possessing what in Kathinka's eyes outweighed mere
personal appearance, a fine mind, great courage and indomitable zeal.
His youth had been uneventful. His father was a hard-working butcher,
who in spite of his industry found it difficult to provide food for his
family of half-a-dozen. Until recently Joseph had assisted his father in
his business, but felt an irresistible desire to achieve something
higher than was possible in that humble calling. Recognizing the need of
skilled physicians in the Jewish community, he conceived the idea of
taking up the profession of medicine. We have seen that his ambition was
strengthened by his desire to obtain the hand of Kathinka, in whom all
his hopes were centred.

Old Jacob Kierson was bitterly opposed to his son's project. His
objections were in a measure selfish, for he could not reconcile himself
to the thought of hiring an assistant while Joseph spent his time in
idleness. Moreover, he belonged to the old school and sincerely abhorred
all learning that savored of the gentiles. He therefore peremptorily
forbade his son's entertaining such an impious purpose. In this
emergency Rabbi Winenki's eloquence was brought into requisition. He
skilfully argued away the old man's prejudices and painted in such
glowing colors the possibilities of Joseph's future as a physician, that
Kierson's scruples were gradually quieted and he gave a reluctant
consent. Joseph, having passed a brilliant examination and being
recommended by Rabbi Winenki--a name that still carried great weight
with it in Kief--was admitted into the University.

It was Friday evening. Without, the snow was falling hard and fast; a
fierce wind, from the northern steppes, howled through the streets, and
dismal was the sound of the storm. In the houses of the Jews, however,
there was peace and comfort. The pious Hebrews, who had toiled
industriously during six days of the week to provide for the seventh,
had ceased from their labors, had cast aside their cares and sorrows,
and rejoiced in the presence of their God.

Around Rabbi Mendel's hospitable board there was assembled a goodly
company. The table was unusually attractive on this Sabbath eve and the
company uncommonly joyous, for it was the first family gathering since
the announcement of Kathinka's betrothal with the young student. There
was much surprise that this bright maiden should have bestowed her
affections upon the poorest of her suitors, but Kathinka gazed in happy
contentment at the man by her side, to whom in her heart she had erected
a holy altar of love.

The goblets with their sparkling contents, the snow-white linen and the
dainty dishes spoke a cheery welcome to the merry guests, and the
seven-armed lamp hanging from the ceiling and the silver candlesticks
upon the table threw their friendly glow over the scene. Happiness and
pleasure, contentment and gratitude, beamed in every countenance.

There were present Mendel's father and mother, old and venerable but
still active, Hirsch Bensef and his wife Miriam, Rabbi Winenki and his
wife and daughter, (Recha's mother had died some time before,) and
finally the happy Joseph Kierson with his delighted father and mother.

Their conversation was animated and cheerful. Out in the streets the
wind might blow and the snow descend; here there was naught but good
cheer and comfort. The storm served, however, to recall many a dark and
dreary day in the past, and, like soldiers sitting about a campfire, the
men related the chief incidents of their eventful lives. There was a
melancholy pleasure in recalling the trials they had experienced,
contrasted with which their present security was all the more
comforting.

Mordecai Winenki related with tears in his eyes how he saved his wife's
honor by a hasty flight from home, and how he arrived in Kief just in
time for the _Pesach_ festival. "Yes, it was a marvellous escape from
the soldiers; _Adonai_ be praised for it!" Old Kierson had a story of
privation and suffering to relate, events which carried his hearers back
to the days of Nicholas, the Iron Czar, and they smiled to think that
those days were gone, never to return. The Rabbi told, for the hundredth
time, of his memorable trip from Togarog to Kharkov; related how he and
Jacob had been torn from their mother's fond embrace, how they had
suffered, how they finally escaped from the guard that accompanied them,
and how, after enduring the misery of hunger and thirst, Jacob
disappeared to be seen no more.

"Poor Jacob," sighed the bereaved mother; "nothing has been heard of him
since. The poor lad must have perished under the rough treatment of the
soldiers."

"Peace to his soul!" said the Rabbi, reverently, and the company
responded "Amen."

These bitter-sweet memories were compensated for by the great
improvement which had taken place in the condition of the Jews during
the past twenty years. Mendel related how, on arriving in Kief, he found
his uncle in a weather-beaten hovel, through the neglected roof of which
the snow leaked in little rivulets. Hirsch Bensef now resided in a
commodious dwelling in one of the best streets of the city.

Would this state of affairs continue? Would Governor Drentell show the
same leniency and magnanimity towards the Hebrews as did his
predecessor? The new ruler had now been in power for nearly a year,
during which time there had been no hostility, no curtailing of their
liberties.

"God grant that our condition will not grow worse," said the Rabbi. "The
mental improvement of our people during these twenty years has been
marvellous. If it continues at the same pace, there is no telling
whither our progress will eventually lead us."

Thus passed the Sabbath meal in pleasant conversation, during which
plans were laid for future improvement. After supper, friends and
relatives trooped in to congratulate the newly-betrothed couple.

While this homely feast was going on at the Rabbi's house, an
entertainment of a different nature was in progress in the Petcherskoi
quarter.

The Governor's palace was ablaze with light. The glare of a thousand
lamps shone through the windows upon the falling snow, converting icy
crystals into scintillating gems. Long lines of sleighs and covered
carriages were drawn up before the entrance, and from them emerged
richly uniformed officers and handsomely attired ladies. Within,
liveried lackeys relieved the guests of their furs, and ushered them
into the presence of the Governor and his wife, who, with smiling
countenance, greeted each new arrival.

It was a court ball, such as the Governors of the various provinces
give; miniature reproductions of the magnificent entertainments in which
the Imperial Court at St. Petersburg delights.

Here all was beauty and refinement. The court circle of Kief was
composed of officers attached to the provincial government, men who
remained in the city only so long as their official duties demanded.
They were accompanied by their wives and daughters, ladies who for the
most part possessed every advantage of education, who had studied abroad
and brought into Russia the choicest of French and German fashions.
There were also many young army officers, always welcome guests at these
affairs, in which young ladies were apt to predominate. It is not
strange, therefore, that these balls should present the most fascinating
aspects of Russian life, and form a charming contrast to the dark scenes
of ignorance and misery which it has been our duty to depict.

The ball at the Governor's was given to introduce into polite Russian
society Loris Drentell, the Governor's son. Loris had returned after a
short absence from Kief. There was no need of his remaining away any
longer. No one suspected that a Drentell had been even remotely
connected with the Nihilist plot, and there were none of the
conspirators left to tell of his connection with it. The trouble in
Turkey had subsided and there was no longer any necessity for keeping
Loris' regiment on the frontier. The lieutenant was, therefore, recalled
and a grand ball was given in his honor.

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