E.V. Lucas - "Highways & Byways in Sussex"

Angela Brazil - "For the Sake of the School"

Henry D. Thoreau - "Excursions"

Eliza Orzeszko (AKA Orzeszkowa) - "The Argonauts"

Annual Bibliography of Commonwealth Literature 2007
This paper argues that discourses of love in Ghanaian market literature for youth offer a view into complex negotiations of agency and empowerment. Drawing on Deborah Durham's notion of youth as "social `shifters'" and Francis Nyamnjoh's conception of the "interconnectedness" of agency, I take Ghanaian market literature as one specific case of how African literature for youth foregrounds questions of continuity and change as African societies enter into increasingly complex global relations. In this literature for youth, received notions of love, often constructed out of impressions from American pop and hip hop music, carry new notions of agency that compete with existing "domesticated" forms. Authors like Ike Tandoh and Evelyn Tay employ discourses of love to offer youth alternative avenues for empowerment in a context of socio-economic disenfranchizement. In a creative process of "straddling", this writing both reveals and reproduces the contradictions that obtain in youth configurations of agency.

Rabbi and Priest

M >> Milton Goldsmith >> Rabbi and Priest




"Utter a single cry," he said, "and you are a corpse."

Resistance was useless. Podoloff, in spite of his pleading, was seized
and his hands bound behind him. Then, while one man held guard over the
captive's wife and children, the other ransacked the house, rummaging
through filthy and worm-eaten closets, and exploring dirty coffers, into
which had been thrust a wretched assortment of rags--the garb of
slavery. Every scrap of paper was captured and jealously guarded.
During this time, the greatest silence was preserved. Other arrests were
to be made, and it was imperative upon the men to take every precaution
not to arouse the intended victims prematurely.

"Forward, march!" commanded one of the soldiers; and poor Podoloff,
without even daring to bid his wife farewell, was forced into the street
and carried, rather than led, to Basilivitch's hostlery.

Nine others were captured in a similar manner; nine poor wretches,
doomed to life-long misery in the copper mines of Siberia, many of them
having not the slightest idea of the nature of their offence.
Basilivitch had placed the Governor of Alexandrovsk under eternal
obligations by his patriotic devotion. Of the number captured, there
were three who had seconded Podoloff during the discussion at the inn,
the previous Sunday afternoon. The remainder were to be exiled, because
the Governor, on Basilivitch's recommendation, deemed them dangerous. A
good day's work, Basilivitch! You have done the nation a signal service,
and have rid yourself of six persons from whom you had at various times
borrowed money, and who had of late become troublesome in their dunning.
They will not trouble you from the Siberian mines.

The prisoners were thrown into two carts, which had been brought for
that purpose, and a detachment of soldiers accompanied them without
delay to Alexandrovsk. There they were put into prison for a month,
until it pleased the Governor to take notice of them. Then followed the
mere mockery of a trial, during which the prisoners were not permitted
to utter a word in self-defence, and as a fitting end to this travesty
of justice, the ten unfortunates were launched upon their weary
foot-journey to the frozen North, destined to live and die beyond the
reach, beyond the sympathy of mankind.

Let us retrace our steps and accompany the Governor's soldiers through
the Jewish quarter. The refinement of cruelty demanded from the Jews a
greater sacrifice than from the Catholics. The malefactors must be
punished through their little ones. In pursuance of a decree of the
mighty Czar, passed some years before, the Governors of the various
provinces were authorized to visit the Jewish homes, and to remove from
them all male children that had reached the age of five years.[3]

There was a twofold object in this course. Firstly, the humane Czar
desired to accustom these babes to the rigorous soldier life of Russia,
to transform the weakly scions of an oriental race into strong and hardy
Russians; and, secondly, it was deemed a blessing to humanity to tear
the Jewish children from their homes, parents and religion, and to bring
them up in the only saving Catholic faith. Far, far from all that was
dear to them, in a strange locality, among hostile people, exposed to
unutterable hardships and rigorous discipline, these unfortunate beings
dragged out their wretched existence. Fully half of their number died of
exposure, wearing away their poor lives in a vain longing for home and
friends, while the remainder survived, only to forget their kind and
kin, and to furnish the raw material for future Nihilists. Many Jewish
communities had already suffered from this heartless decree, and those
who had been spared its terrors, anticipated them as they would some
dreaded scourge, some deadly pestilence. That the Jews of Togarog and
the surrounding villages had escaped its influences, was due less to the
humane sentiments of the Governor than to his natural indolence. But now
his ire was aroused. The Jews should feel his power.

The detachment of soldiers having seen their Russian prisoners safely on
the road to oblivion, now directed their attention to the Jewish
quarter.

Mordecai Winenki's house stood not far from the head of the street. No
need to knock for admittance. A Jew was not allowed to lock his door,
the better to give his sociable neighbors an opportunity of molesting
him. Two of the soldiers entered, and groped their way through the
darkness. The master of the house heard their footsteps, and timidly
called out:

"Who's there?"

"Quick, Jew, give us a light!" was the sole reply.

Shaking like a leaf, poor Mordecai struck a light, and the candle cast
its rays upon the fierce-looking Cossacks in the apartment. A cry
escaped the man's lips, but it was quickly stifled by the rough hand of
one of the soldiers.

"If you make the least noise I will strangle you. Now show me where your
boys sleep!"

"Oh, God! they will take my Mendel for a recruit," cried the poor
father.

"Silence, you viper! Well, why don't you move? We want to know where
your boys are sleeping!"

Mordecai, convinced of the futility of resistance, shuffled across the
floor in his bare feet, and opened the door of an adjoining room. There,
in the innocence of youth, lay Mendel, dreaming, perhaps, of his recent
triumphs. An unpitying hand landed the boy upon the floor. Paralyzed
with fear, he could not speak, but gazed pleadingly from his father to
the soldiers. His uncle Bensef, who had shared his bed, now endeavored
to interfere, but a blow from the stalwart Cossack sent him to the
opposite corner of the room. Quickly they inspected the boy, taking a
mental note of his height and appearance, and, barely giving him time to
put on his clothing, hurried him into the arms of the soldiers waiting
without.

"You have another son! Where is he?" demanded one of the soldiers of the
half-paralyzed Mordecai.

"No! no!" he sobbed; "I have no more!"

"You lie, Jew! Show us the other boy!" And without further ceremony,
they broke into the third room, where Jacob lay in the arms of his
terrified mother.

In vain the boy shrieked at the sight of the fierce-looking visitors. In
vain the mother pleaded: "He is sick and helpless. Spare him. He is but
a baby. Leave him with me!"

There was no pity in the breasts of the hardened soldiers. Neither tears
nor entreaties won them over. The more the sorrowing parents implored,
the louder were the oaths, the fiercer the blows of the barbarous
Cossacks.

Jacob, followed by his weeping parents, was carried half-dressed into
the street.

Similar scenes were enacted in every house in which there were male
children. Of the twelve Jewish homes in Togarog, but two were spared.
The children, in most cases scantily dressed, were hurried to
Basilivitch's hostlery, where wagons were in waiting to take them to
Alexandrovsk for the Governor's inspection.

Mournful was the train that followed the little band through the
village. Shrieks and lamentations, prayers and imprecations resounded,
until the brutal guards, wearied by the incessant clamor, finally drove
the frenzied people back and set out upon their homeward journey.

The little ones sat cowering in the wagons, afraid to weep, scarcely
daring to breathe. Taken from home when they most needed their parents'
care and love, what would become of these poor waifs? What would the
future have in store for them?

General Drudkoff could now sleep in peace; the insurrection in Togarog
was quelled. Its ringleaders were on the way to Siberia, and its
abettors, the Jews (according to Basilivitch), had been rendered
harmless.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 3: This decree was repealed by Alexander II.]




CHAPTER V.

THE JOURNEY TO KHARKOV.


The wagons, with their helpless freight, reached Alexandrovsk shortly
after daybreak. Their first stupor having passed, the children conversed
with each other in whispers and tried in their own poor way to console
one another. Jacob, whose mutilated ear and broken arm had not been
improved by the rough treatment he had experienced, wept bitterly at
first, until the savage voice of a soldier bade him be quiet. Then the
child made a Spartan-like endeavor to forget his pain and fell asleep
upon his brother's breast. It was nine o'clock on Sunday morning when
they arrived at the Governor's palace. The devout and religious General
Drudkoff usually declined to transact any business on that day; but this
was an important matter of State, a question threatening perhaps the
very existence of the Empire, and a departure from ordinary rules was
allowable. The waifs were brought into the ante-chamber, and obliged to
pass muster before his excellency, who read them a lesson upon their
future career and duties. After those whose hasty abduction had made it
impossible to dress, had been provided with odds and ends of clothing,
the rags cast off by the children of the Governor's serfs, and which his
excellency declared were much too good for Jews, the lads were again
placed upon rickety carts, and, while the Governor proceeded to his
religious services at the _kiosk_, they were escorted under a strong
guard to the military headquarters at Kharkov.

Long and tedious was the journey. At noon a village was reached, and the
travellers were furnished with a meal consisting of pork and bread.
Half-famished by his long fast, one of the boys had already bitten into
his portion, but stern religion interfered.

"Do not eat it," whispered Mendel; "it is _trefa!_" (unclean).

The lads gazed wistfully at the tempting morsels, but touch them they
dared not.

"Why don't you eat?" roughly asked one of the soldiers, whose duty it
was to walk by the side of the wagon and guard against a possible
escape.

"It is forbidden," answered Mendel, who, being the oldest of the little
group, took upon himself the duties of spokesman. "It is unclean."

"If it is good enough for us, it is good enough for a Jew. Here, eat
this quickly!" and he endeavored to force a large piece of the dreaded
meat between the teeth of one of the lads.

"If they wont eat, let them starve," said another of the guards, who was
attracted by the noise. "Why do you trouble yourself about them?"

"You are right," answered the first; "let them starve."

And their fast continued.

The smiling fields through which they rode, the sunny sky above them,
the merry birds warbling in the bushes, had no attraction for the
ill-fated boys. The world was but a vast desert, an unfriendly
wilderness to them. But Mendel's mind, sharpened by misfortune, was not
dormant. A thought of escape had already presented itself to his active
brain.

"If Jacob and I could only manage to run away and reach our uncle in
Kief," he mused.

Presently he plucked up courage and asked the guard: "Will you please
tell me what you are going to do with us?"

"You will find out when you get to Kharkov," was the ungracious
rejoinder.

To Kharkov! The information was welcome indeed. Not that Mendel had ever
been in that place, but he recollected hearing his uncle say that he had
come through Kharkov on his way from Kief. It must be on the direct
route to the latter city. O God! if he could but escape!

A dark, stormy night found the travellers in the miserable little
village of Poltarack. The weary horses were unharnessed and the soldiers
looked about for comfortable quarters for the night. They found refuge
in a dilapidated structure, the only inn of which the place could boast.
The children were led to a barn, where a bountiful supply of straw
served them as a bed. A piece of bread and a glass of rank brandy formed
their evening meal, and hunger left them no desire to investigate
whether the humble repast was _kosher_ (clean) or not.

The footsteps of the guards had scarcely died away in the distance,
before Mendel sprang to the door and endeavored to open it. It was
securely locked and the boy turned disconsolate to his companions. It
was the hour when, at home, their fathers would send them lovingly to
bed, when their mothers would tuck them comfortably under the covers and
kiss them good-night; and here they lay, clad in tatters, numb with
cold, pinched with hunger; pictures of misery and woe. Heart-rending
were the sighs, bitter the complaints, in which the poor lads gave
utterance to their feelings.

"Come, boys!" at length cried Mendel, "it wont do to grieve. Let us bear
up as bravely as possible. They will take us to Kharkov and leave us at
military headquarters. Perhaps we can escape. If we are kept together it
will be difficult, but if they separate us, it will perhaps be easy to
give the soldiers in charge the slip. If you get away, do not at once go
back home or you will be recaptured. Go on until you come to a Jewish
settlement, where you will be cared for. Jacob, you must try to stay
with me, whatever may happen."

Long and earnest was the conversation between the boys, all of whom, in
spite of their tender years, realized their perilous position.

Then Mendel arose and recited the old and familiar Hebrew evening
prayers and the little gathering made the responses; then, weary and
homesick, the boys cried themselves to sleep.

At break of day, the Cossacks pounded at the barn-door, and the boys,
after breakfasting on dry bread, again set out upon their tedious
journey. The soldiers who had accompanied the wagons, were replaced by
others; the new men were in a better humor and more graciously inclined
than those of the preceding day. They even condescended to jest with the
young recruits and to civilly answer their many questions. From their
replies, Mendel gleaned that the commander at Kharkov would distribute
them among the various military camps throughout the province, where
constant hard labor, a stern discipline and a not too humane treatment
would eventually toughen their physical fibre and wean them from the
cherished religion of their youth.

The weather was unfriendly, the sky was overcast, and the boys,
shivering with cold and apprehension, at length made their entry into
Kharkov. The commander of the garrison, a grim-visaged, bearded warrior,
received them, heard the story of their capture from one of the guards,
amused himself by pulling the boys' ears and administering sundry blows.
He then divided them into twos, to be escorted to the various barracks
about the district. Mendel and Jacob were permitted to go together, not
because the commander yielded to a feeling of humanity, but because they
happened to be standing together, and it really did not matter to the
Russian authorities how the new recruits were distributed. A soldier was
placed in charge of each couple, and, like cattle to the slaughter, the
boys were led through the town.

Weary and silent, yet filled with wonder and surprise, Mendel and Jacob
preceded their guard through the gay and animated streets of Kharkov. It
was a new life that opened to their vision. With childish curiosity they
gazed at every booth, looked fondly into every gaily decorated shop and
glanced timidly at the many uniformed officers who hurried to and fro.

For a moment, their desolate homes, their sorrowing parents, their
unpromising future were forgotten in the excitement of the scenes about
them, and it required at times the rough command and brutal push of the
soldier behind them to recall them to the misery of the moment. This
soldier, a fine-looking, sturdy fellow, appeared as much interested in
the animated scene as were his captives. Years had passed since he had
last visited Kharkov, his native town. Much had changed during that
period. A conflagration had destroyed the central portion of the city
and imposing stone edifices had in many streets replaced the former
crazy structures. Now and then an old building or hoary landmark would
recall pleasant memories of early youth. The fountain in the centre of
the square was eloquent with reminders of by-gone joys, of hasty
interviews, of stolen kisses; and our brave warrior strode along with a
bland smile of contentment upon his bronzed countenance. Suddenly, a man
brushed past him. The two looked at each other for a moment, as if in
doubt, and then with a simultaneous shout of recognition, they shook
each other heartily by the hand.

"Cantorwitch!" cried the soldier. "By all the saints, this is rare good
luck! How have you been?"

"Very well, friend Polatschek. But you are the last man I should have
looked for in Kharkov. How well your service agrees with you."

The two friends stood and talked of all that had befallen them since
their separation. Not until the calendar of gossip had been exhausted
did Cantorwitch finally ask: "But what brings you to Kharkov, my boy? I
thought you were on the southern frontier."

"So I was; so I was," rejoined the other. "I have been sent up with two
Jewish recruits. Holy Madonna! what has become of them?"

Mendel and Jacob had disappeared, without even saying, "By your leave!"
In vain the friends peered into the various shops along the street, into
every open door-way, behind every box and barrel. In vain they inquired
of every soldier who passed. No one had seen the runaways.

Poor Polatschek, after listening to the consolations of his friend and
fortifying himself with a quart of spirits, returned to headquarters, to
spend the following ninety days under arrest for gross negligence while
on duty.




CHAPTER VI.

TWO UNFORTUNATES.


To Mendel, Cantorwitch seemed a special messenger sent by a benign
Providence. He waited for a moment until he perceived the two friends in
earnest conversation, and seizing his brother by the arm, he took
advantage of an approaching crowd of sight-seers to get away from the
gossiping soldier. The boys ran down the nearest street as fast as their
feeble limbs would carry them. Not until they had reached the limits of
the town did they pause for breath, and Jacob, thoroughly exhausted,
sank to the ground.

"Thank God, we are free!" said Mendel, jubilantly.

But Jacob began to weep, crying, "Oh, I'm so tired and hungry!"

"Do not cry; it is of no use. We will find our way to Kief, and there
uncle will take care of us."

"I do not think I can go much farther, Mendel."

"But you must. If we remain here we shall be captured and put into
prison. Let us go as far as we possibly can. Perhaps we can find a
village on the road where the _Jehudim_ (Jews) will shelter us until you
become stronger. Come, Jacob."

The child struggled to his feet and the brothers set out upon their
journey through an unknown country.

The sun, the cheerful king of day, had peeped through the April rifts
and sent his bright rays upon the smiling landscape. Gradually the
clouds dissolved under the genial influence and a friendly sky cheered
the fugitives on their way.

The merry chirping of the birds, the buzzing of the insects, the
blossoming fruit trees along the route, betokened the advent of spring.
Mendel gulped down a great lump in his throat and stifled a sob, as he
thought of his distant home. How happy, how joyful, had this season
been, when, after the termination of the Bible studies at the _cheder_,
their father had taken them for a long walk through the fields and in
his own crude way had spoken of the beauties of Nature and of the wisdom
and beneficence of the Creator. Then, all was peace and contentment; and
now, what a dreary contrast! Mendel dashed the gathering tears from his
eyes--it would not do to let Jacob see him cry--and resolutely taking
his little brother by the hand, walked on more rapidly.

There was a tedious journey in prospect; God only knew when and where it
would end. On they walked through bramble and marsh, over stones and
fallen boughs, preferring the newly-ploughed fields to the public road,
for fear of detection; trembling with fear at the sight of a human
being, lest it might be a soldier charged with their recapture. On they
struggled until night hid the road from their view and darkness arrested
further progress. A ruined and deserted shed afforded them shelter, a
stone did service as a pillow, and, embracing each other, the lads lay
down to sleep.

The dawn found the wanderers astir, and after a hasty ablution at a
neighboring brook and a recital of their morning prayers, they bravely
started out upon their cheerless journey.

The day had dawned brightly, but before long threatening clouds obscured
the sun. The wind veered to the North and howled dismally.

Sadly and silently the boys trudged onward, buffeting the wind and
stifling their growing hunger.

"Mendel," finally sobbed Jacob, "I am so hungry. If I only had a piece
of bread I would feel much stronger."

"Let us walk faster," replied the other. "Perhaps we will reach some
village."

Manfully they pushed onward for another hour, Mendel endeavoring to
entertain his brother by relating stories he had heard when a child.

Jacob stopped again, exhausted.

"It is no use, Mendel," he cried. "I am too hungry to walk any further."

"Courage, brother," answered Mendel, cheerfully. "See, there are houses
ahead of us. We can surely find something to eat."

The waifs dragged their way to a weather-beaten hut and knocked at the
door. A mild-visaged woman responded and surveyed the travel-stained
children with something like compassion.

"We are hungry," pleaded Mendel. "Please give us a bite of food."

"Who are you and where do you come from?" queried the woman.

"We are trying to reach Kief, where we have friends," answered Mendel.
"Please do not let us starve on the road."

"Jews, eh?" asked the woman, suspiciously. "Well, no matter; you don't
look any too happy. Come in and warm yourselves."

The boys were soon sitting before a roaring kitchen-fire, while the
woman busied herself with providing them with a meal. Tempting, indeed,
did it appear to the famished lads; but could they eat it? Was it
prepared according to the Jewish ritual? It was a momentous question to
Mendel, and only his little brother's pinched and miserable countenance
could have induced him to violate the law which to his conception was as
sacred as life itself. While Mendel debated, Jacob solved the knotty
problem by attacking the savory dishes before him, and his brother
reluctantly followed his example.

"It may be a sin, but God will forgive us," was his mental reflection as
he greedily swallowed the food.

The woman looked on in admiration at the huge appetites of the lads. She
plied them with questions, to which she received vague replies, and
finally contented herself with the thought that these were perhaps
wayward children who had run away from home and were now penitently
trying to find their way back.

After the boys were rested, they thanked their kind hostess and set out
again upon their wanderings with no other compass than blind chance, but
avoiding the highways for fear of being captured by the soldiers. On
they went for hours, Mendel supporting his complaining brother and
whispering words of hope and courage.

By noon the sky had become darker, the storm more threatening. The wind
blew in furious gusts over the dismal country, and an occasional
rumbling of distant thunder filled the weary lads with dread. The road
they had chosen was absolutely deserted. It lay through a bleak,
scarcely habitable prairie, a landscape common enough in that part of
Russia; and stones and brambles did much to retard their progress. There
was not a place of shelter in sight. The outlook was sufficiently
unpromising to dismay the most resolute.

Jacob sat down upon a stone and began to weep.

"I can go no further," he sobbed. "I am tired and sick."

"But you must come," pleaded his brother. "See what a storm is
gathering. If we remain here we shall be drenched. We must find
shelter."

"Go alone, brother," said the little one. "I'll stay here."

There was a sudden flash of lightning, which illumined Jacob's bandaged
face, pale with fear and fatigue. The trembling boys looked at each
other and Jacob began to cry.

"Come, Jacob," murmured Mendel, helping his brother to rise. "We shall
die if we stay here. May God protect us."

Again the waifs plodded on, Mendel supporting his brother and
endeavoring to protect him from the cruel wind. Darker grew the sky.
Large drops of rain began to fall and with a startling peal of thunder
the tempest broke in its fury. The pitiless wind sweeping through the
land from the bleak northern steppes brought cold and desolation in its
train. The poor children were drenched to the skin. They clung to each
other and painfully made their way across the miry fields to the
highway, the ancient road of the Tartar Khans.

At last Jacob succumbed to the awful strain and sank to the ground.

"Let me die," moaned the child.

"Oh, dear brother; you must live! We will find our way back to Togarog
to papa and mamma. How they would grieve if I came back alone."

The child shook his head mutely to this appeal, but rise he could not.
Mendel was in despair.

A bright flash lit up the landscape and showed the dim outlines of huts
not many rods away.

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