On either side was an official of the Kahal--the small, lithe Reb Jankiel, with his white, freckled face and fiery red beard, and David Calman, one of the dignitaries of the town. Morejne, a rich cattle merchant, tall, stiff, and dignified, with hands in the pockets of his satin halat and a sweet smile of satisfaction on his fat lips, walked near. Behind these three people, and on both sides, were several others more or less humble and smiling. The whole crowd was preceded by Reb Moshe, in such a way that he faced the Rabbi and had his back in the direction in which they walked. Consequently he could not be said to walk, but draw back, in the meantime jumping and clapping his hands, bending low to the ground, stumbling, and jumping again, raising his face to the sky and shouting for joy. Finally, a certain distance behind, a throng of children followed them and looked with great curiosity at the retinue, and on seeing the melamed's jumping and dancing, they began to imitate him, jumping and gesticulating also and filling the air with wild noise.
After a while the door of the Ezofowich house was violently opened and through it rushed the melamed--he was red, out of breath, bathed in perspiration and beaming with great joy. He rejoiced heartily, loudly, passionately. What for? Poor melamed!
"Reb Saul!" he said with a hoarse voice, "meet the great happiness the great honour coming to you."
From Saul's face it would be seen that a secret fear was fighting with the great joy within him. But his family evidently rejoiced exceedingly, for their faces beamed with pride and satisfaction except Ber, who was always silent and apathetic if the question was not one of business and money. Old Saul stood near the threshold of the parlour. On the piazza Rob Jankiel and Morejne Calman seized the Rabbi under either arm, lifted his thin body above the ground, and having carried him through the hall and over the threshold they placed him opposite Saul. Then they bowed profoundly, left the house, sat on the piazza waiting for the moment to reconduct the Rabbi.
In the meanwhile Saul bent before the guest his grave and reverent head. Everyone present followed his example.
"He who greets a sage greets the Eternal," said he.
"He who greets a sage . . ." the choir of male and female voices began to repeat after Saul, but at that moment Isaak Todros raised his index finger, looked around with his fiery eyes, and said:
"Sh-a-a-a!"
In the room there was the silence of the tomb.
The finger of the guest made a large circle, taking in the row of people standing near the wall.
"Weg!" (get out) shouted he.
Within the room the rustling of dresses and the sound of swift steps were heard; faces grew frightened and sorrowful, and crowding together the inmates squeezed through the door leading to the interior of the house, and disappeared.
In the larger room only two men remained--the silver-haired, broad-shouldered patriarch, and the thin, fiery-looking sage.
When the Rabbi imperatively drove out his host's family--the gray-headed sons, dignified matrons, and beautiful girls, Saul's gray eyebrows quivered and bristled for a moment. Evidently his pride rose within him.
"Rabbi," said he, in a muffled voice, and with a bow that was not as low as the first one, "deign to take under my roof the place you think the most comfortable."
He did not call his guest "prince"; he did not give him the name of Nassi.
Rabbi Isaak looked t him gloomily, crossed the room, and sat on the sofa. At that moment he was not bent; on the contrary, he sat bolt upright, looking sharply into the face of the old man who sat opposite to him.
"I have driven them out," said he, pointing to the door through which the patriarch's family had made their exit. "Why did you gather them?
I wished to talk with you alone."
Saul was silent.
"I bring you news," again said the Rabbi quickly and gloomily. "Your grandson Meir has not a clean soul. He is a kofrim (infidel)."
Saul still sat silent, only his frowning brows quivered nervously above his faded eyes.
"He is a kofrim!" the Rabbi repeated loudly. "He speaks ugly words of our religion, and he does not respect the sages. He violates the Sabbath, and is friendly with the heretics."
"Rabbi!" began Saul.
"You must listen when I speak," interrupted the Rabbi.
The old man tightened his lips so that they disappeared under his gray moustache.
"I came to tell you," continued Todros, "that it's your fault that your grandson is bad. Why did you not permit the melamed to whip him when he was in the heder, and did not want to study German, and laughed at the melamed, and instigated the others to laugh at him?
Why did you send him to Edomita, living there among the gardens to make him study the reading of the Gojs and also their writing and the other abominations of the Edomites? Why did you not punish him when he violated the Sabbath, and contradicted the melamed at your table?
Why did you spoil his soul with your sinful love? Why don't you force him to study holy science? And why do you look on all his abominations as though you were a blind man?"
This vehement speech tired the Rabbi, and panting, he rested.
Then old Saul began to talk:
"Rabbi, your soul must not be angry with me. I could not act otherwise. This child is the son of my son--the youngest among my children, and who disappeared very quickly from my eyes. When his parents died I took this child to my home, and I wished that he might never remember that he was an orphan. I was then already a widower, and I carried him in my own arms. His old great-grandmother took care of him also, and she would give her soul for the happiness of his soul. In her crown he is the first jewel, and now her old mouth opens only for him. These are, Rabbi, the reasons why I have been more indulgent with him than with my other children; these are the reasons why my soul was ill when the melamed scolded and whipped him in the heder, as the other children. I sinned then. I rushed into the heder like a madman, spoke ugly words to the melamed, and took the boy away with me. Rabbi, I sinned, because the melamed is a wise and saintly man; but this sin will disappear from your mind, Rabbi, if you will but think that I could not bear to look at the bruises on the body of the son of my son. When such bruises appeared on the bodies of the children of my son Raphael, and my son Abraham, and my son Ephraim, I was silent, for their fathers were living--thanks be to God!--and could look after their children. But when I saw the black-and-blue marks on the back and shoulders of the orphan, Rabbi, then I cried--then I shouted, and I sinned."
"That is not your only sin," said the Rabbi, who listened to Saul's speech with the motionless severity of a judge, "and why did you send him to Edomit?"
"Rabbi," answered Saul, "and how could he go through the world if he did not understand the tongue of the people of this country, and could not write his name to a contract or a note? Rabbi, my sons and grandsons conduct large business transactions, and he will do the same when he is married. His father's wealth belongs to him. He will be rich and will have to talk with great lords, and how could he so talk if I had not sent him to study with an Edomit?"
"May Edom perish with his abominable learning, and may the Lord not forgive him!" grumbled the Rabbi, and after a while he added: "and why did you not make of him a scholar instead of a merchant?"
"Rabbi," answered Saul, "the Ezofowich family is a family of merchants. We are merchants from father to son--that is our custom."
Saying this, he raised his bent head. The mention of his family caused him to grow proud and bold. But nothing could be compared with the disdain with which, repeating after Saul, the Rabbi hissed:
"The Ezofowich family! It was always a grain of pepper in Israel's palate!"
Saul raised his head higher.
"Rabbi!" he exclaimed, "in that family there were diamonds which caused the Edomites themselves, in looking on them, to respect the whole of Israel."
The ancient hatred between the Ezofowichs and Todros began to bubble up.
"In your family," spoke the Rabbi, "there is one ugly soul which passes from one Ezofowich to another, and cannot be cleansed. For it is written that all souls which flow from the Seraphim flow like drops of water from an inclined bottle, carrying Ibur-Gilgul--travel through bodies, from one to another, until they are cleansed from all sin, when they return to the Seraphim. If a man is pious and saintly his soul returns to the Seraphim, and when the soul returns there another soul goes into the world and enters a body. Misery and sadness, sorrow and sin will dwell upon the earth as long as all souls taken from the Seraphim have not fulfilled the Ibur-Gilgul and pass through the bodies. And how will they be able to pass all the bodies if on the earth there are many which are abominable, unclean, and do not respect the holy teachings? These unwholesome ones keep the souls in their bodies, and there above the other souls are waiting. And they must wait, because there are not as many bodies in the world as there are souls among the Seraphim. And the Messiah himself is waiting, because he will not come until the last soul enters the body and Ibur-Gilgul begins. These abominable ones, occupying one body after another, do not permit the waiting souls to enter in, and postponing to a remote period the Jobelha-Gabel, the day of the Messiah,--the great festival of joy! In your family there is such an abominable soul. It entered first into the body of Michael the Senior, then it entered Hersh's body, and now it sits in the body of your grandson Meir! I recognised the proud and rebellious soul in his eyes and face, therefore my heart turned from him!"
While Todros explained to the old man sitting opposite him this doctrine of the migration of souls, and its consequences, in the old man a striking change took placer Before he had grown bolder, and even raised his head with a certain pride and dignity. Now he bent it low, and sorrow and fear appeared among the wrinkles of his face.
"Rabbi!" said he humbly, "be blessed for having disclosed to my eyes your holy learning. Your words are true and your eyes can recognise the souls which dwell in bodies. Rabbi, I will tell you something.
When my son Raphael brought little Meir, I took the child and began to kiss him, for it seemed to me that he looked like my son Benjamin, his father; but the old great-grandmother took him from me, put him opposite her on the floor and began to look at him very attentively, and then she exclaimed: 'He does not look like Benjamin, but like my Hersh!' The tears flowed from her old eyes and her lips repeated: 'Hersh, Hersh! my Hersh!' and she pressed the child to her boom and said: 'He is my dearest Kleineskind! He is the eyes of my head and the diamond in my crown, made for me by my grandsons and great-grandson, for he looks like my Hersh.' And she is fond of him.
Now she knows only him and calls him to her because he looks like her husband, Hersh."
"Michael's soul entered Hersh's body, and from his body it passed into your grandsons Meir's," repeated the Rabbi, and added: "It's a proud rebellious soul! There is no peace and humility in it."
It seemed that Todros was softened by Saul's submissiveness, and the respect shown in his words.
"Why don't you marry him? He has already long hair on his face," said the Rabbi.
"Rabbi, I wished to marry him to the daughter of the pious Jankiel, but the child lay at my feet and begged me not to force him."
"Why then did you not put your feet on his back, and make him obey you?"
Saul dropped his eyes and was silent. He felt that he was guilty.
Love for the orphan made him sin always.