Rabbi and Priest

M >> Milton Goldsmith >> Rabbi and Priest

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20

"It was almost well," sobbed Jacob, "but the soldiers pulled me about so
that it is now much worse."

"Poor boy," sighed the Countess, "how dreadful it must be! Can we do
nothing for him?"

"In the name of St. Nicholas, Louise, cease this sentimental
whimpering," retorted her husband, losing patience.

"But think of a stiff arm through life, and his ear almost torn off! It
is terrible to carry such mutilations to the grave."

"It does not matter much," answered the Count, "he is a Jew."

"True, I had forgotten that. It does make a great difference, does it
not?" And the impulsive little woman dried her eyes and smilingly forgot
her compassion.

"What will you do with him?" she asked, after a pause.

"I don't know. The wisest plan would be to deliver him up to military
headquarters. He was taken from home to be a recruit, and having escaped
from the Czar's soldiers, I would be derelict in my duty if I did not at
once send him back."

At the word "soldiers," Jacob, who had caught but a few stray words of
the conversation, began to howl and shriek.

"No, don't send me back to the soldiers," he pleaded. "They will kill
me! Please don't send me back!"

"Stop your crying," thundered the Count, stopping his ears with his
hands to keep out the disagreeable sounds, "or I will call the soldiers
at once."

This terrible threat had the desired effect, and Jacob, gulping down his
grief, remained quiet save for an occasional sob that would not be
repressed.

"Listen, Dimitri," said the Countess. "I found the boy insensible in the
storm. He is sick and weak. Of what service can a child like that be
among the soldiers? Under rough treatment he would die in a week. Even
though he be a Jew, there is no use in sacrificing his life uselessly."

"But we can't keep him here," urged the Count.

"There is no need of his remaining at Lubny. The principal motive in
taking Jewish children from their homes is to make Christians of them.
That can certainly be better accomplished at a cloister than in camp.
Send the boy to the convent at Poltava; they will baptize him and make a
good Catholic of him, and we will gain our reward in heaven for having
led one erring soul to the Saviour." And the religious woman crossed
herself devoutly.

While his wife argued, Drentell appeared lost in thought. Suddenly his
face became illumined by a fiendish light, and he rubbed his hands in
evident satisfaction.

"Louise," he said, at length, "those are the first sensible words I have
heard you utter since we were married. Your idea is a capital one!"

"I am glad you think so," she replied, wisely refraining from commenting
upon her husband's doubtful compliment. "The Abbess at Valki told me
only the day before yesterday, that for every soul brought into the holy
church, a Christian's happiness would be increased tenfold in Paradise."

"Fanatical absurdities," cried the Count, who was as free from religious
sentiment as his wife was devout. "If I consent to have the child
brought up in a convent, I am not actuated by any considerations of
future reward or punishment. I don't believe in such antiquated dogmas.
But to the convent he shall go, and when they have taught him to forget
his origin and his religion, when they have educated him into a
fanatical, Jew-hating priest, then will I use him to wreak upon his own
race that vengeance which I have sworn never to forego."

Louise shuddered at her husband's vehement gestures and passionate
words. His eyes rolled wildly, his whole body seemed swayed by
uncontrollable rage. Little Jacob, although he understood nothing of the
Count's words, recoiled instinctively and hid his face in his hands.

Drentell gradually regained his composure, and after walking up and down
the room for a few moments, in apparent meditation, he rang the bell.

A servant entered.

"Take the boy back to the barn, and keep him there until I ask for him
again," he commanded. "Then harness up at once and send for _Batushka_
Alexei, the Abbot of the convent at Poltava. Tell his reverence that I
desire to see him as soon as possible on matters pertaining to the holy
church."

The servant disappeared, taking Jacob with him, and the Count and
Countess were left alone to discuss their plans.

It was almost night when the vehicle containing the Abbot rolled up to
the villa, and the _batushka_ (priest) was announced. He was a
powerfully built man, displaying a physique of which a Roman gladiator
might have been proud. His grizzled beard reached down to his waist, and
his flowing black robes gave him the appearance of a dervish. Alexei
enjoyed the reputation of being very devout, and the cloister of which
he was the head was known as the most thoroughly religious in the
Empire. To this man the future of the Jewish lad was to be entrusted.

When the holy man entered the library, both the Count and his wife
crossed themselves reverently.

"Your excellency has sent for me," said Alexei, slowly.

"Yes, _batushka_," answered the Count. "We wish to place in your pious
care a young Jewish boy who, having escaped from his parents' roof, and
having much to fear from the anger of his people, desires to seek
present safety and ultimate salvation of his soul in the bosom of our
holy church. I at once thought of you, as I believe that under your
tuition the lad will be instructed in all that is essential to the
perfect Christian."

"Your excellency does me too much honor," said the priest, meekly. "With
the grace of our Lord Christ, I shall do my utmost to bring this lamb
into the fold."

"The boy is feverish and his mind wanders," continued the Count. "If you
interrogate him, he will tell you that he received certain injuries--a
broken arm and a mutilated ear--from the Christians. I happen to be
conversant with the facts of the case and know that he was injured by
members of his own family, in their impotent frenzy to keep him from
seeking the solace of the only saving church. I desire you to remember
three things, _batushka_: Firstly, that this boy must be taught to
forget absolutely that he belongs to that accursed people; secondly, the
idea must be firmly implanted in his mind that he has been mutilated by
the Jews; and thirdly, he must be taught to despise and detest the
Hebrew race with all the hatred of which his soul is capable. Do you
understand me?"

"I do, your excellency. You desire the boy to so far forget his former
associations, that he will belong heart and soul to the church of
Christ; and as a further precaution that he may never harbor a desire to
return to the religion of his fathers, you desire us to impress him with
an implacable hatred, a thirst for revenge against his race, for wrongs
they have inflicted upon him."

The Count looked at the priest significantly; they had understood one
another.

"You will find the boy docile," continued Drentell, "and unless he
belies the characteristics of his people, you will find him quick and
intelligent. Employ that intelligence for the good of our holy faith and
to the prejudice of the Jewish race. Give him every advantage, every
inducement to advance, and shape his career so that in him the church
will find a faithful supporter and an earnest champion."

"And the Jews an enemy before whom the stoutest of their number shall
quail," continued the priest. "So shall it be, your excellency."

"I shall expect to receive occasional reports of his progress. Let him
be taught to respect me as his benefactor, and once a year I desire him
to spend a week or two with me, in order that by wise counsels and
salutary advice, I may assist the holy church in her noble work.
Remember, too," and here the Count's features assumed a threatening
look, "that this act of to-day is done by the authority of his majesty
the Czar, who will hold you accountable for the strict observance of all
you have promised."

The priest bowed his head humbly.

"I reverence the church, your excellency," he answered, "but above all I
owe allegiance to its spiritual head, the Czar."

All preliminaries having been arranged, Jacob was sent for. The priest,
who not unnaturally expected to see a young man, was greatly surprised
at the appearance of this puny child. He concealed his astonishment as
well as possible, merely observing:

"I presume, your excellency, this is my future pupil."

"It is, and may he prove worthy of his eminent teacher."

"Come, my boy," said the priest, taking the mystified Jacob by the
hand; "say good-by to your benefactors."

But Jacob, upon whom the sombre-robed, grim-visaged stranger did not
make a favorable impression, broke from his hold and took refuge in the
skirts of the Countess, as the most compassionate of the company.

"Don't let them take me away," he sobbed. "Let me remain with you."

"Be a good boy and he will take you home to your papa and mamma," said
the Countess, with the best intentions in the world.

"Will he take me to Mendel?" asked the boy.

"Yes, he is going there now and will take you to all your friends."

The child wiped away his tears and a smile rippled over his face. He put
his hand confidingly into that of the priest, and said:

"Come, I will go with you."

The priest, in spite of his fanaticism, took the poor Jew in his arms
and kissed him tenderly. Then setting him again upon his feet, he
whispered:

"I shall take him to a kind and loving mother, one from whose embrace he
will not care to flee--the Holy Mother of God."

Jacob entered the wagon with his new acquaintance, and in the belief
that he was going direct to the home of his parents, he fell asleep.
When he awoke, he found himself borne by strong arms into the convent,
whose doors closed upon him, separating him forever from his home and
his religion.

CHAPTER IX.

A MIRACULOUS CURE.

Let us return to Mendel.

The unconscious boy was carried to the village by the sympathizing
Israelites of Poltava. When he recovered his senses he found himself
safely sheltered in the house of Reb Sholem, the _parnas_ (president of
the congregation). It was a pleasure to find kind sympathy, a warm room
and a substantial meal, after the hardships of the last few days; but
the constant recollection of Jacob's disappearance, the reproaches which
Mendel heaped upon himself for having deserted his brother, left him no
peace of mind.

The Jews of Poltava displayed their practical sympathy by dividing into
groups and scouring the village and the surrounding country, in hopes of
finding some clue to the whereabouts of the boy. He might even now be
wandering through the fields. Night, however, found them all gathered at
Reb Sholem's house, sorrowful and disheartened, as not a trace of the
missing lad had been discovered. Mendel retired in a state of fever and
tossed restlessly about on his bed during the entire night. He was moved
by but one desire--to get to his uncle at Kief as quickly as possible.
In the morning he informed his host of his plans. A carrier of the
village, who drove his team to within a few versts of Kief, was induced,
upon the payment of an exorbitant sum, to take the boy as a passenger,
and at dawn next morning they started upon their slow and tedious
journey, followed by the good wishes of the Jewish community. It was an
all-day trip to Kief. Over stone and stubble, through ditch and mire
moved the lumbering, springless vehicle, and Mendel, who quitted Poltava
with an incipient fever, arrived at his destination in a state of utter
exhaustion. The carrier set him down at the outskirts of the town. It
was as much as his position was worth to have harbored a Jew--a fugitive
from the military at that--and slowly and painfully Mendel found his way
through the strange city, to the Jewish quarter. Every soldier that
crossed his path inspired him with terror; it might be some one charged
with his recapture. Not until he reached his destination did he deem
himself safe.

To the south-east of the city, stretched along the Dnieper, lay the
Jewish settlement of almost fifteen thousand souls. The most dismal,
unhealthy portion of the town had in days gone by been selected as its
location. The decree of the _mir_ had fixed its limits in the days of
Peter the Great, and its boundaries could not be extended, no matter how
rapidly the population might increase, no matter how great a lack of
room, of air, of light there might be for future generations. The houses
were, therefore, built as closely together as possible, without regard
to comfort or sanitary needs. To each was added new rooms, as the
necessities of the inhabiting family demanded, and these additions hung
like excrescences from all sides of the ugly huts, like toadstools to
decaying logs. Every inch of ground was precious to the ever-increasing
settlement. It was a labyrinth of narrow, dirty streets, of unpainted,
unattractive, dilapidated houses, a lasting monument of hatred and
persecution, of bigotry and prejudice. Mendel gasped for a breath of
fresh air, and, feeling himself grow faint, he hurried onward and
inquired the way to Hirsch Bensef's house. A plain, unpretentious
structure was pointed out and Mendel knocked at the door.

Hirsch himself opened the door. For a moment he stood undecided,
scarcely recognizing in the form before him, his chubby nephew of a week
ago. Then he opened his arms and drew the little fellow to his breast.

"Is it indeed you, Mendel?" he cried. "_Sholem alechem!_ (Peace be with
you!) God be praised that He has brought you to us!" and he led the boy
into the room and closed the door.

"Miriam," he called to his wife, who was engaged in her household duties
in an adjoining room; "quick, here is our boy, our Mendel. I knew he
would come."

Mendel was lovingly embraced by his cheerful-looking aunt, whom he had
never seen, but whom he loved from that moment.

"What ails you, my boy? You look ill; your head is burning," said
Miriam, anxiously.

"Yes, aunt; I fear I shall be sick," answered Mendel, faintly.

"Nonsense; we will take care of that," replied Hirsch. "But where is
Jacob?"

Mendel burst into tears, the first he had shed since his enforced
departure from home. In as few words as possible he told his story,
accompanied by the sobs and exclamations of his hearers. In conclusion,
he added:

"Either Jacob wandered away in his delirium and is perhaps dead in some
deserted place, or else the soldiers have recaptured him and have taken
him back to Kharkov."

"Rather he be dead than among the inhuman Cossacks at the barracks,"
returned his uncle. "God in His mercy does all things for the best!"

"The poor boy must be starving," said Miriam, and she set the table with
the best the house afforded, but Mendel could touch nothing.

"It looks tempting, but I cannot eat," he said. "I have no appetite."

The poor fellow stretched himself on a large sofa, where he lay so
quiet, so utterly exhausted, that Hirsch and his wife looked at each
other anxiously and gravely shook their heads.

A casual stranger would not have judged from the unpretentious exterior
of Bensef's house, that its proprietor was in possession of considerable
means, that every room was furnished in taste and even luxury, that
works of oriental art were hidden in its recesses. Persecuted during
generations by the jealous and covetous nations surrounding them, the
Jews learned to conceal their wealth beneath the mask of poverty.
Robbers, in the guise of uniformed soldiery and decorated officers of
the Czar, stalked in broad daylight to relieve the despised Hebrew of
his superfluous wealth, and thus it happened that the poorest hut was
often the depository of gold and silver, of artistic utensils, which
were worthy of the table of the Czar himself. Nor was this fact entirely
unknown to the surrounding Christians. Not unfrequently were
persecutions the outcome of the absurd idea that every Jewish hovel was
the abode of riches, and that every hut where misery held court, where
starving children cried for bread, was a mine of untold wealth. The
condition of the race has changed in some of the more civilized
countries, but in Russia these barbarous notions still prevail.

Hirsch Bensef, by untiring energy and perseverance as a dealer in curios
and works of art, had become one of the wealthiest and most influential
men in the community. He was _parnas_ of the great congregation of Kief,
and was respected, not only by his co-religionists, but also by the
nobles with whom he transacted the greater portion of his business.

His wife, who had in her youth been styled the "Beautiful Miriam," even
now, after twelve years of married life, was still a handsome woman. Her
dark eyes shone with the same bewitching fire; her beautiful hair had,
in accordance with the orthodox Jewish custom, fallen under the shears
on the day of her marriage, but the silken band and string of pearls
that henceforth decked her brow did not detract from her oriental
beauty. Hirsch was proud of her and he would have been completely happy
if God had vouchsafed her a son. Like Hannah, she prayed night and
morning to the Heavenly throne. Such was the family in whose bosom
Mendel had found a refuge.

After a while, the boy asked for a glass of water, which he swallowed
eagerly. Then he asked:

"When did you leave Togarog, uncle; and how are father and mother?"

Bensef sighed at the recollection of the sad parting and tearfully
related the events of that memorable night.

"After the soldiers had carried you off," he said, "the little band that
followed you to the confines of the village, returned sorrowful to their
homes. I need not tell you of our misery. It appeared as though God had
turned his face from his chosen people. We spent the night in prayer and
lamentations. In every house the inhabitants put on mourning, for
whatever might befall the children, to their parents they were
irretrievably lost."

"Poor papa! poor mamma!" murmured Mendel, wiping away a tear.

"On the following morning," continued Bensef; "all the male _Jehudim_
went to Alexandrovsk and implored an audience of the Governor. He sent
us word that he would hold no conference with Jews and threatened us all
with Siberia if we did not at once return home. What could we do? I bade
your parents farewell, and after promising to do all in my power to find
and succor you and Jacob, I left them and returned home, where I arrived
yesterday. Thank God that you, at least, are safe from harm."

Mendel nestled closer to his uncle, who affectionately stroked his
fevered brow.

"Oh! why does God send us such sufferings?" moaned the boy.

"Be patient, my child. It is through suffering that we will in the end
attain happiness. When afflictions bear most heavily upon us, then will
the Messiah come!"

This hope was ever the anchor which preserved the chosen people when the
storms of misfortune threatened to destroy them. The belief in the
eventual coming of a redeemer who would lead them to independence, and
for whose approach trials, misery and persecution were but a necessary
preparation, has been the great secret of Israel's strength and
endurance.

During the evening, a number of Bensef's intimate friends visited the
house and were told Mendel's history. The news of his arrival soon
spread through the community, awakening everywhere the liveliest
sympathy. Many parents had been bereft of their children in the
self-same way and still mourned the absence of their first-born, whom
the cruel decree of Nicholas had condemned to the rigors of some
military outpost. Mendel became the hero of Kief, while he lay tossing
in bed, a prey to high fever.

In spite of the care that was lavished upon him, he steadily grew worse.
Fear, hunger, exposure and self-reproach had been too much for his
youthful frame. For several days Miriam administered her humble
house-remedies, but they were powerless to relieve his sufferings. The
hot tea which he was made to drink, only served to augment the fever.

On the fifth day, Mendel was decidedly in a dangerous condition. He was
delirious. The doctors in the Jewish community were consulted, but were
powerless to effect a cure. Bensef and his wife were in despair.

"What shall we do?" said Miriam, sadly. "We cannot let the boy die."

"Die?" cried Hirsch, becoming pale at the thought. "Oh, God, do not take
the boy! He has wound himself about my heart. Oh, God, let him live!"

"Come, husband, praying is of little avail," answered his practical
wife; "we must have a _feldsher_" (doctor).

"A _feldsher_ in the Jewish community? Why, Miriam, are you out of your
mind? Have you forgotten how, when Rabbi Jeiteles was lying at the point
of death, no amount of persuasion could induce a doctor to come into the
quarter. 'Let the Jews die,' they answered to our entreaties; 'there
will still be too many of them!'"

Miriam sighed. She remembered it well.

"What persuasion would not do, money may accomplish," she said, after a
pause. "Hirsch, that boy must not die. He must live to be a credit to us
and a comfort to our old age. You have money--what gentile ever
resisted it?"

"I will do what I can," said the man, gloomily. "But even though I could
bring one to the house, what good can he do. It is merely an experiment
with the best of them. They will take our money, make a few magical
incantations, prescribe a useless drug, and leave their patient to the
mercy of Fate."

Hirsch Bensef was right. At the time of which we speak, medicine could
scarcely be classed among the sciences in Russia, and if we accept the
statement of modern travellers, the situation is not much improved at
the present day. The scientific doctor of Russia was the _feldsher_ or
army surgeon, whose sole schooling was obtained among the soldiery and
whose knowledge did not extend beyond dressing wounds and giving an
occasional dose of physic. Upon being called to the bedside of a
patient, he adopted an air of profound learning, asked a number of
unimportant questions, prescribed an herb or drug of doubtful efficacy,
and charged an exorbitant fee. The patient usually refused to take the
medicine and recovered. It sometimes happened that he took the
prescribed dose and perhaps recovered, too. On a level with the
_feldsher_ and much preferred by the peasantry, stood the _snakharka_, a
woman, half witch, half quack, who was regarded by the _moujiks_ with
the greatest veneration. By means of herbs and charms, she could
accomplish any cure short of restoring life to a corpse. "The
_snakharka_ and the _feldsher_ represent two very different periods in
the history of medical science--the magical and the scientific. The
Russian peasantry have still many conceptions which belong to the
former. The majority of them are now quite willing, under ordinary
circumstances, to use the scientific means of healing, but as soon as a
violent epidemic breaks out and scientific means prove unequal to the
occasion, the old faith revives and recourse is had to magical rites and
incantations."[5]

Neither of these systems was regarded favorably by the Hebrews. The
_feldshers_ were, by right of their superior knowledge, an arrogant
class; and it was suspected that on more than one occasion they had
hastened the death of a Jew under treatment, instead of relieving him.
The Israelites were equally suspicious of the _snakharkas_; not because
they were intellectually above the superstitions of their times, but
because the incantations and spells were invariably pronounced in the
name of the Virgin Mary, and no Jew could be reasonably expected to
recover under such treatment.

What was to be done for poor Mendel? Hirsch, assisted by suggestions
from his wife, cogitated long and earnestly. Suddenly Miriam found a
solution of the difficulty.

"Why not send to Rabbi Eleazer at Tchernigof?"

Hirsch gazed at his wife in silent admiration.

"To the _bal-shem_?" he asked.

"Why not? When Chune Benefski's little boy was so sick that they thought
he was already dead, a parchment blessed by the _bal-shem_ brought him
back to life. Is Mendel less to you than your own son would be?"

"God forbid," said Hirsch; then added, reflectively: "but to-day is
Thursday. It will take a day and a half to reach Tchernigof, and the
messenger will arrive there just before _Shabbes_. He cannot start on
his return until Saturday evening, and by the time he got back Mendel
would be cold in death. No; it is too far!"

"_Shaute!_" (Nonsense!) ejaculated his wife, who was now warmed up to
the subject. "Do you imagine the _bal-shem_ cannot cure at a distance as
well as though he were at the patient's bedside? Lose no time. God did
not deliver Mendel out of the hands of the soldiers to let him die in
our house."

One of the most fantastic notions of Cabalistic teaching was that
certain persons, possessing a clue to the mysterious powers of nature,
were enabled to control its laws, to heal the sick, to compel even the
Almighty to do their behests. Such a man, such a miracle worker, was
called a _bal-shem_.

That a _bal-shem_ should thrive and grow fat is a matter of course, for
consultations were often paid for in gold. To the wonder-working Rabbi
travelled all those who had a petition to bring to the Throne of
God--the old and decrepit who desired to defraud the grave of a few
miserable years; the unfortunate who wished to improve his condition;
the oppressed who yearned for relief from a tyrannical taskmaster; the
father who prayed for a husband for his fast aging daughter; the sick,
the halt, the maim, the malcontent, the egotist--all sought the aid, the
mediation of the holy man. He refused no one his assistance, declined no
one's proffered gifts.

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20