Rabbi and Priest

M >> Milton Goldsmith >> Rabbi and Priest

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While Mikail was speaking, Mendel gazed at him as though fascinated. He
could not take his eyes from the handsome features and commanding form
of the monk. He must have seen him before, he thought--but where?
Suddenly the priest's resemblance to his own father struck him as
remarkable.

Ordinarily, the priest's unjust accusations would have called forth a
vigorous protest from the Rabbi, but now he suddenly found himself
bereft of reasoning power; he could but look upon his adversary in awe
and wonder. The priest turned, and by the movement exposed his mutilated
ear. The lobe had been torn completely off. Where could he have seen
that ear before? Mendel stared as though in a dream. He struggled with
his memory, but it failed him; all appeared a perfect blank. Then the
priest, in the course of his denunciations, became more vehement than
before, and made a movement with his left hand. The arm was stiff at the
elbow, and the gesture appeared unnatural and restrained. Still Mendel
looked and tried to reflect. That arm awoke a strange train of thoughts.
His mind appeared sluggish to-day; he could remember nothing.

Suddenly the Rabbi uttered a piercing cry. Yes, it all came back to him
now.

"Jacob!" he cried, advancing towards the priest. "My brother Jacob
arrayed against his own people!"

The monk recoiled a step and looked at the Jew in surprise.

"Is the man mad?" he asked, addressing the Governor.

"No; I am not mad," cried Mendel, excitedly. "As true as there is a God
above us, you are my brother Jacob!"

The priest, fully believing that the Rabbi had suddenly become insane,
recoiled a step and drew his garments about him. The Governor glanced
significantly at his wife, who had become as pale as death.

The Rabbi was unable to control his excitement.

"Jacob, my brother," he cried again; "do you not remember me, Mendel? Do
you not remember our home in Togarog? Do you not recollect how we were
both stolen away from home on the night of my _bar-mitzvah_; how we were
taken to Kharkov by the soldiers, and how we escaped and fled into the
country? Do you not remember how we travelled along, weary and
foot-sore, until you could no longer walk, and I ran to a neighboring
village for assistance? When I returned, you had disappeared. Jacob, do
you remember nothing?"

Mikail stood with his head buried in his hands, drinking in every word
of the gesticulating Rabbi.

Yes; he did remember something; indistinctly, of course, but as each
event was recalled it evoked a corresponding picture in his brain. Many
things suddenly became clear which had been hitherto shrouded in
mystery. The secret of his birth, concerning which he had so often
questioned Countess Drentell without receiving a satisfactory reply, the
indistinct recollection of strange events, and, finally, the familiarity
of the ritual in the synagogue. When Mendel had ceased speaking, he
turned abruptly to the Countess, who, pale and agitated, was standing by
the side of her husband. Surprise, anger, passion were portrayed in the
priest's flashing eye and contracted features, and Louise shrank from
him as he approached her.

"Madam," he said, hoarsely, "what can I say in reply to this charge? You
have been my protectress from childhood. Tell this man that he lies,
that I am not the brother of a Jew."

The Countess' lips parted, but neither she nor the Count found a reply.

"See, their silence speaks for me!" cried Mendel, almost joyfully.
"Jacob, it is true! I could not be mistaken. Your image has never left
me since we parted on the highway, and I recognized you at once by your
resemblance to our father, and by your torn ear and crippled arm."

"Marks which I received at the hands of the accursed Jews," cried the
priest, fiercely.

"Not so, Jacob! Whoever told you that did not tell the truth. It was not
the Jews, but a Christian, who tortured you because you were a Jew."

Again Mikail confronted the Countess.

"Madam, I demand to know whether this man speaks the truth or not?" he
exclaimed, wildly.

"He does, Mikail," replied Louise, nervously. "For the sake of your own
happiness, we endeavored to keep you in ignorance of the facts. You were
a Jew when we found you insensible on the road near Poltava. I took you
to my home, and to save you from the misery and degradation of being a
Jew, and also to bring a new soul into our holy church, I had you
brought up in a convent as a Catholic priest."

"And these injuries," asked Mikail, pale and trembling, "the marks of
which I shall carry to the grave, were they not the work of the Jews?"

"Of that I know nothing," answered the Countess, carelessly. "This man,"
pointing to Mendel; "can tell you more about that than I."

The face of the priest became livid. "I am a Jew," he cried; "I, a Jew!
Oh God," he moaned, convulsively, "why did you send me this agony? My
life has been one living falsehood, my whole existence a lie. My tongue
has been taught to execrate my religion, my mind to plan the destruction
of my father's people. Ha! ha! ha! you are right; the Jews are an
accursed race, and I am accursed with them!" The priest broke into a
wild laugh which sent a chill through the blood of his hearers.

Mendel endeavored to speak to him, to grasp his hand; but Mikail looked
at him with a meaningless stare, and turning, without another word, he
fled like a maniac from the apartment.

General Drentell turned furiously upon the Israelites.

"Go!" he cried; "leave the palace! You have done mischief enough!"

Mendel's strong form shook with emotion; he was weeping. He collected
himself for a final appeal.

"If your excellency would send us a regiment of soldiers," he said,
preparing to leave; "our lives and our property might still be saved."

"What care I for your property or your wretched lives?" shouted the
Governor, in a frenzy. "I shall not trouble my soldiers for a pack of
miserable Jews."[21]

The Rabbi and his fellows found themselves outside of the palace walls,
sad and disheartened.

"Friends," he said, in a broken voice, "you have been witnesses of this
terrible scene. Oh, God! to think that my brother, whom we mourned as
dead, should have become a Catholic priest and be plotting the
destruction of his people." Here Mendel's grief overcame him and he
remained silent for some moments. Recovering his composure with an
effort, he continued, in a subdued voice: "I have a favor to ask of you,
my friends. Speak to no one of this unfortunate meeting. If the news
came to my father's ears it would kill him."

The men promised and the little band walked silently back to their
homes.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 20: In the description of the outrages and acts of lawlessness
in this and succeeding chapters, the author has not drawn upon his
imagination, but has followed as closely as possible the narration of
the Russian refugees on their arrival in America, and the graphic
account sent by a special correspondent to the _London Times_, and
republished in pamphlet form in this country in 1883.]

[Footnote 21: Historical.]

CHAPTER XXXV.

MAN'S INHUMANITY TO MAN.

During that memorable Sabbath day, hundreds of refugees came in from the
surrounding villages where the outrages had already begun. They fled to
Kief as a place of refuge, vainly believing that a city with such
important mercantile interests centred in the Jewish population would be
exempt from serious danger. The poor Israelites feared to stir from
their homes; they sat in prayer during the entire day and fasted as on
the Day of Atonement.

Towards night, the door of Rabbi Winenki's house was suddenly thrown
open, and Joseph Kierson, haggard and travel-stained, entered.

"What are you doing here?" ejaculated both the Rabbi and Kathinka, in a
breath.

"Has there been a riot in Berditchef?" queried Mendel.

"No," answered Joseph, sinking into a chair; "not yet; but I heard that
there would be danger here, and I hurried back to share it with you."

"Unhappy man," said Kathinka. "Think of the peril of remaining here. If
you are recognized they will take you back to prison."

"I do not care," answered the young man. "I could not remain in
Berditchef, when I knew that you and my family were exposed to danger.
My place is at your side; come what may, I will live or die with you."

"You are a noble boy," exclaimed the Rabbi, grasping his hand,
affectionately. "Kathinka, get Joseph some supper; he must be hungry."

"You are right, Rabbi," returned Joseph. "I am hungry and tired, and yet
since I have seen Kathinka I am supremely happy."

It was a sad and fearful night. Sleep was out of the question for the
threatened Israelites. All night long the noise of hammering could be
heard; the Christians were attaching little wooden crosses to their
houses that they might be spared by the mob. The Jews gathered their
portable treasures and trinkets and conveyed them to places of safety.

The morning of the eighth of May dawned; a quiet serene Sunday morning,
the day on which is proclaimed throughout Christendom the golden rule:
"Love your enemies."

At an early hour armed gangs appeared on the streets, wandering hither
and thither, without any definite plan or object. Ringleaders, however,
were not long in making their appearance.

As in Elizabethgrad, the first act of the mob was to storm the
dram-shops; it needed the inspiration of _vodki_. Having broken in the
doors and windows, they rolled the barrels out into the street. _Vodki_
flowed in streams; the rioters waded, they bathed, they wallowed in
whiskey. The women carried it away by the pailful. From shop to shop
they went, becoming more hilarious, more boisterous as they proceeded.
Through the uproar could be heard their shouts: "The Jews have lorded it
over us long enough; it is our turn now! Down with the Jews!"

They came to the inn of a man named Rykelmann and here they met their
first resistance. Rykelmann refused to admit them. He had barricaded
himself and his family behind stout doors and stood guard over his
premises with a pistol. The mob besieged the place from all sides and
finally succeeded in forcing an entrance in the rear. The poor
proprietor was forced to accompany the rioters to his wine cellar, where
they amused themselves staving in the barrels and breaking the bottles,
while some of the drunken ruffians in the rooms above cut the throats of
his wife and six children. It was the first blood shed in Kief and it
served to stimulate the appetites of the vampires.

Onward sped the rioters. They divided into groups, each, under a
self-appointed leader, attacking a different quarter. Here and there
houses were burning fiercely, and to the crackling of the flames was
added the piteous cries of women and children consigned to a fiery
death.

At this stage several companies of soldiers, headed by Loris Drentell,
appeared upon the scene. The Governor fearing that Christians might
suffer in the general massacre, had at length yielded to the
importunities of his counsellors and sent his son with a detachment of
men as a protection, not to the Jews, but to the Christians. Loris had
returned to Kief shortly after the assassination of the Czar.

For an hour the soldiers allowed the work of destruction to go on
unhindered, and then, no longer able to control their appetites, they
joined the mob.

The rioters came to the house of Hirsch Bensef.

"He is the richest of them all," shouted a Russian, who had once been
employed by him. "His house is a regular mine of wealth. I've been in
it."

"Down with the house!" shouted the mob. "His wealth belongs to us. Show
him no mercy!"

They battered down the door, and regardless of the piteous pleadings of
the aged man and his wife they pillaged and plundered from cellar to
attic. Nothing was left intact. What could not be carried away was
destroyed. Loris himself, stimulated by reports of the fabulous wealth
which Bensef was said to possess, led the charge and took an active part
in the attack. When he left the house it was because he could conceal no
more of the booty about his person. Valuable property was scattered upon
the ground by the rioters and lay in mud-bespattered heaps, to be picked
up by the crowds of women and children that followed in their wake.
Bensef and his wife escaped assault at the hands of the ruffians by
fleeing precipitately through a rear door and taking refuge in the house
of a Christian friend.

Haim Goldheim's dwelling, not far from that of Bensef, was next
attacked. Father, mother and children had fled at the approach of the
rioters, but the rich furniture and works of art which the well-to-do
banker had accumulated fell into the destroying hands of the mob. An
hour afterwards, hungry flames devoured all that remained of the once
luxurious home.

At the further end of the street was the house of one David Wienarski.

"He, too, is rich!" shouted a Russian, and the rabble attacked the place
without delay. A search failed to discover the wealth they expected to
find, for the poor man had buried his meagre possessions in the garden,
the night before. Disappointed in their search for plunder, they caught
up his three-year-old child and threw it out of the window. It fell dead
upon the pavement at the feet of Loris and his soldiers, and the poor
corpse was mercilessly thrust into the gutter, to be out of the way.

Still on they went! When their ardor slackened, the ringleaders
harangued them and stimulated their flagging energies.

"Leave nothing untouched!" they shouted. "The Czar has given it all to
you! Take what belongs to you! Let not a Jew escape!"

There were many among the ferocious gathering who really liked the Jews,
who had for years lived side by side with them in peace and amity. They
arose against their former friends, because the Czar, in a _ukase_,
desired it; and his imperial will must be fulfilled. In the heat of the
turmoil, the example set them by their leaders spurred them on; and on
they went, thoroughly regardless of consequences.

It would be impossible to describe all the outrages of that bloody day;
the pen refuses to depict the appalling scenes, the dire calamities,
the nameless atrocities that were visited upon the helpless Israelites.

The Jews performed prodigies of valor. Though unarmed, many made a
heroic resistance to the onslaught of the rioters.

Down near the Dnieper stood the house of David Kierson. It was one of
the earliest attacked during the day, and the rioters were crazed with
drink and passion. David and his son Joseph, without any other weapons
than their hands, kept the horde from entering their home. Joseph
engaged three of the rabble at one time, while his father disabled man
after man, until the drunken wretches desisted and turned their
attention to houses where they would find less resistance.

Suddenly there was a shout of terror, and the attention of the attacking
party was directed towards the river.

"A man overboard!" was the cry.

"Let him drown," answered the mob, derisively; "it is only a Jew!"

Joseph, who was still guarding the door of his father's house, saw the
struggling creature in the waves of the muddy river. In an instant he
had divested himself of his coat and shoes, and, edging his way through
the crowd that lined the banks, he sprang into the water. A few powerful
strokes brought him to the drowning man, whom he seized by the collar of
his coat and held above the surface of the water. Then he swam slowly
and laboriously to the shore, and, amid the silence of the spectators,
he landed the man upon the banks. It was a Russian he had saved; one of
the ringleaders of the men who had so recently besieged his home.

For a moment the crowd was hushed in admiration of the heroic deed, but
it was only for a moment.

"Forwards, we are losing time!" shouted one of the principals, and the
rioters rushed down the streets to continue their work of destruction.

Suddenly a priest, laboring under powerful excitement, appeared before
them. His features were deadly pale and a strange fire gleamed in his
eyes.

"Stop!" he cried; "in the name of the Madonna, I command you to stop!"

The mob, overawed by his aspect as well as by his words, paused in their
mad career. The ringleaders fell back for a moment in surprise.

"Hush!" said one; "it is Mikail the priest who appointed us to our posts
and gave us our instructions. Let us hear what he has to say."

"You have been deceived," cried the priest, wildly. "Stop your mad
slaughter. The Jews are innocent of the wrongs that have been imputed to
them. Do you hear me? The Jews must not be persecuted! The _ukase_
giving you their property does not exist; it was but an invention!"

"Nonsense," answered one of the leaders; "I saw it with my own eyes. On,
friends! We want the wealth of the Jews; we want their blood! Down with
them!"

Mikail endeavored to bar the way.

"You shall not do further harm, I tell you! Hear me! In the name of the
Czar, I command you to halt!"

The monk's incoherent sentences fell upon deaf ears. Like an avalanche,
the mighty mob swept down upon him, carrying him along upon the
resistless tide.

When Joseph found his street deserted, he uttered a fervent prayer of
gratitude.

"We are safe for the moment, father," he said; "it will be some time
before the rabble returns this way. I shall change my wet clothing, and
while you guard the house, I will go to Rabbi Winenki's. Perhaps he
needs my assistance."

"Go, my boy," answered the old man; "and God be with you."

A frightful scene had in the meantime been enacted at the Rabbi's
dwelling, whither many an unprotected woman and child had hastened in
the belief that it would be safe from the mob. The detachment of rioters
under the leadership of Loris had already attacked it and the crying and
pleading of the inmates could be heard above the confusion of the mob.
But they pleaded in vain. Had anyone but Loris been in command, the
house of the beloved and honored Rabbi might have been spared, for his
many acts of kindness had endeared him to the _moujiks_ as well as to
his own people. When Loris arrived before the humble dwelling, however,
there was but one sentiment in his heart--revenge. Too well he
remembered the ignominious defeat he had experienced within those walls,
and at the recollection of Kathinka, the base passion which absence had
not subdued broke forth again and transformed the man into a savage.
There was no pity, no mercy to be expected from him.

At the windows of Winenki's house stood the women, their faces blanched
with fear as they looked upon the blood-thirsty army without.

"Down with the door!" shouted Loris, and a dozen ready hands shook the
door upon its fastenings.

Suddenly the men stopped in their mad work. Mikail the monk had rushed
into their midst. His priestly robes were torn and covered with mud, his
eyes were bloodshot, his face the picture of wild despair; his bosom
heaved and his clenched hands gyrated madly in an effort to command
silence.

"Men of Kief!" he cried, hoarsely, "this bloody work must cease. In the
name of the Czar I command you to go to your homes and molest the Jews
no further! They are innocent of the charges brought against them."

"Ha! ha! ha!" laughed Loris. "Since when has Mikail turned protector of
the Jews?"

"They are innocent, I tell you!" cried the priest. "Leave them in
peace!"

"Down with the Jews!" cried one of the band. "The Czar has given us
their property and we will have it!"

"It is false!" shouted Mikail. "The _ukase_ is a forgery. I myself wrote
it and had it circulated. It never had the Czar's sanction."

"The priest is mad!" cried Loris. "For three years he has incited us to
enmity against the Jews and now he pleads their cause. On with the work!
We have much to do before night."

"In the name of his majesty, I command you to cease!" yelled the priest,
in a hoarse voice.

"In the name of the Governor of Kief, I command you to go on!" shouted
Loris. "Down with Rabbi Winenki and his family! Down with the miserable
race that killed our Saviour!"

The battering at the door was resumed with renewed vigor. A cry of
triumph announced to the crowd that the barrier was down, and a portion
of the infuriated mob rushed into the house.

In vain did Mikail circulate among the men, by turns commanding and
pleading, to induce them to desist from their work of destruction.

They looked at him askance and then at each other, significantly. But
yesterday this same priest spurred them on to vengeance, filling them
with passion against the people whose cause he now espoused.

"He is mad," they whispered, and turning their backs upon him, they
continued their excesses.

Loris had in the meantime entered the room in which he had kneeled to
the beautiful Kathinka.

The Rabbi with his aged father and a number of beardless youths, pupils
of his school, guarded the door leading to the inner room, in which the
women and girls had taken refuge. They had armed themselves with chairs
and whatever happened to be within reach, and with these primitive
weapons they expected to hold the enemy in check. As well endeavor to
stay the flood of the mighty Dnieper with a net drawn across its stream!
The mob charged upon them with an impetus that could not be resisted.
The Rabbi, single-handed, felled two powerful _moujiks_; then he himself
fell bleeding to the floor. His gray-bearded father was dealt a blow on
the head from a stout cudgel, and he lay upon the ground in the agonies
of death. The young men seeing that resistance but increased their
peril, threw down their weapons and fled, leaving the inner room with
its helpless inmates in the hands of the rioters.

Loris was the first to enter, and his companions were not slow in
following his example. A number of maidens, crazed with horror, sprang
from the windows, only to fall into the arms of the rabble without.
Three of the women were killed in the heroic struggle for their honor
and not less than twenty suffered indignities worse than death.

The Rabbi's wife, Recha, succeeding in escaping the vigilance of the
invading party and hurried into the outer room. Suddenly her eyes
encountered the form of her husband lying upon the floor, bathed in
blood and apparently dead. With a shriek she threw herself upon his
prostrate body. When her friends attempted to move her after the danger
had passed, they found that terror and grief had done their work. Recha
had lost her reason.

On his entrance into the room, Loris gazed about him, and soon singled
out Kathinka, standing among her friends, silently praying. With a cry
of mingled joy and rage, he threw himself upon her and put his arms
firmly around her.

"Ha! beautiful Kathinka!" he said, ironically; "so we meet again. How
happy you must be to see me! Yes, I love you still, and you shall be
mine, all mine! Don't struggle, sweet one; I shall remove you to my
dwelling, far from all this noise and tumult. Ho, there! make room there
for me and my prize!"

Lifting the struggling maiden in his arms, he pressed through the crowd,
out into the street. There he set down his precious burden and paused to
regain his breath.

Kathinka looked hastily about her. There were many in the crowd who had
known her since her childhood, many whom her father had befriended, but
they stood passively by and abstained from offering her either
assistance or sympathy. Then, as Loris again wound his arms about her;
she cried loudly for help:

"Come to my aid," she cried, imploringly. "Do none of you know me; will
none lend me a helping hand? I am Kathinka, the daughter of Rabbi
Winenki! Will no one raise his arm in my defence?"

There was no reply to her appeal; the rioters had no mercy for the
despised Jewess.

Of a sudden the crowd parted. Thank God, there was a champion for
Kathinka. Mikail the priest elbowed his way through the dense mass of
maddened humanity and with eyes wilder and face more haggard than
before, he approached the shrieking girl. With a cry of fury, he fell
upon Loris and endeavored to tear him from his victim. Loris was for a
moment too astonished to offer any resistance.

"What do you want with me, priest?" he cried, angrily, when he
recognized his assailant.

"I am here to remind you of your honor, of your manhood; to plead with
you in behalf of that poor maiden. You shall not harm a hair of her head
while I have strength to defend her."

"This is, indeed, wonderful!" laughed Loris, mockingly. "The arch
Jew-hater has become the champion of innocence! Go to your monastery,
priest, and leave the battle-field to soldiers!" and pushing Mikail
contemptuously aside, he renewed his hold upon the girl, who,
overpowered by her terror and despair, had become insensible.

At that moment another form pushed its way through the crowd. It was
Joseph, who after great difficulties, had at length succeeded in
reaching the spot. He, too, had heard Kathinka's despairing cry, and had
hastened to protect her. A rapid glance made the situation clear to him
and he at once prepared to attack the Governor's son. But the priest had
forestalled him. With a yell of rage, Mikail threw himself upon the
young ruffian and the two were instantly engaged in a desperate combat.
Loris was inspired by passion and revenge; the priest was moved by a
feeling which he could not himself analyze. The hatred which he bore
Loris broke out in unreasoning fury; he had heard Kathinka's cry of
distress, had heard her assert that she was the daughter of his own
brother, and in the strange revulsion of feeling which had overcome him
since yesterday, he determined to effect her release at all hazards.

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