"The noble lord has guessed it," said Eli, but he added at once. "He is very young, and will yet be a decent man."
"Which means that he is not a decent man at present? I see."
"This way, please," said Jankiel, showing the gates of the synagogue court.
"And where does your Rabbi live?"
Kamionker pointed to the little black hut close to the synagogue.
"What, in that little cottage?"
And he went towards it with Jankiel alone, as Witebski, guessing that some unpleasant business had brought them hither, directly took his leave, and, bowing politely, left them.
The door of the hut was already closed, but a little group of worshippers still lingered at the open window. It was very silent within; but the Rabbi did not rest, he never rested, as the few hours spent in broken sleep could scarcely be called by that name. He was bending over his books, which he knew by heart, but still pondered over, and of which he strove with his whole mind and soul to penetrate the mystery.
Reb Moshe rested, but not altogether. He sat in the corner of the fireplace, his knees drawn up to his chin, and his hands buried in his beard. He looked fixedly at the Master, not unlike a fanatic savage worshipping his fetish, or as a scientist watches the universe. The eyes of Reb Moshe expressed deep veneration, wonder, and utter devotion.
Suddenly the door opened, and upon the threshold stood the lord of Kamionka who, turning to Jankiel, said:
"Remain outside; I will speak alone with the Rabbi."
Saying this, he stooped in order to enter the low doorway, and then looked around.
Opposite him, near the wall, sat a man with a mass of coal-black hair, slightly tinged with gray, about him a worn-out garment, and with a yellow, wrinkled face, who, looked at the intruder with amazed and piercing eyes. In a far corner squatted another man, only dimly visible; upon him the young gentleman bestowed only a passing glance.
It did not even enter his mind that the man in the tattered clothes and with the piercing eyes could be the celebrated Rabbi, whose fame, spreading over the Jewish communities, had sent a faint echo into the Christian world.
He approached the man very politely. "Could I see the Rabbi of Szybow for a few minutes?"
There was no answer.
The man sitting near the wall craned his long yellow neck, and opened his eyes and mouth wider.
The sudden amazement, or perhaps other feelings, gave him the appearance of stupidity, almost idiotism.
No wonder that Isaak Todros looked like one turned to stone at the sight of the nobleman standing before him. He was the first Edomite who had ever crossed his threshold--the first he had ever seen closely, and the first time he had heard the sonorous language, which sounded strange and unintelligible to his ears. If the angel Matatron, the heavenly patron and defender of Israel, or even the foremost of the evil spirits had stood before him, he would have been less appalled: with supernatural beings he was in constant though not direct communication. He studied them--their nature and their functions. But this tall, stately man, in his abominable garment which reached barely to his knees, with the white, effeminate forehead and unintelligible language, who was he? Was he a Philistine? a cruel Roman, or perhaps a Spaniard--one of those that murdered the famous Abrabanel family, and drove his ancestor Todros out of Spain?
The lord waited a few minutes, and not getting an answer, repeated the question:
"Could I speak with the Rabbi of Szybow?"
At the sound of the somewhat raised voice the squatting figure in the corner moved and rose slowly. Reb Moshe, with open mouth and stupid, glaring eyes, came into the light, and in his hoarse voice uttered the monosyllable "Hah!"
At the sight of the man dressed in such primitive and now-a-days unseen simplicity, the lord's face twitched all over with suppressed merriment.
"My good sir," he said, turning to the melamed, "is that man deaf and dumb? I asked him twice whether I could see the Rabbi of Szybow, and got no answer."
Saying this, he pointed at Todros, who, craning his neck in the melamed's direction, asked:
"Was sagd er? Was will er?" (What does he say? What does he want?)
Reb Moshe, instead of answering, opened his mouth still wider. At the same time murmurs and whispers became audible from the open window, and the young gentleman, looking in that direction, saw a cluster of faces peeping into the room: the faces looked inquisitive, and a little frightened. He turned towards them and asked:
"Does the Rabbi of Szybow live here?"
"He does," said some voices.
"Where is he, then?"
A great many fingers pointed at the bench near the wall.
"What! That man is your wise and celebrated Rabbi?"
The faces framed in the open window radiated with a peculiar blissfulness, and nodded.
The young man made an heroic effort to control his risible muscles, and with twinkling eyes he pointed at the melamed.
"And who is this?"
"He is the melamed," said several voices; "a very wise and pious man."
The nobleman turned again to Todros.
"Reverend sir," he said, "could I speak alone with you for a few minutes?"
Todros remained silent as the grave, but his breath went faster and his eyes grew fiercer.
"Mr. Melamed," said the nobleman to the barefooted man in the long coarse shirt, "perhaps this is a day when your Rabbi is not allowed to speak?"
"Hah?" asked Reb Moshe drawlingly. The nobleman, half-amused, half-angry, turned towards the people.
"Why do they not answer?"
There was a momentary silence. The faces looked perplexedly at each other. One of them at last said:
"They only understand the Jewish language." The owner of Kamionka looked at them in open-eyed amazement; he could scarcely believe that he heard aright.
"What! You don't mean to say they do not understand the language of the country they live in?"
"Well, they do not understand it."
There was some indefined resentment in the voice that said that.
At this moment Isaak Todros drew himself up, and raising both arms above his head, began to speak quickly:
"And a day will arrive when the Messiah, who sleeps in Paradise, will wake up and descend to the earth. Then a great war will spread over the world. Israel will stand up against Edom and Ishmael, until Edom and Ishmael will fall at his feet like shattered cedars."
His gestures were at once solemn and threatening, his eyes blazing, and catching his breath, he repeated again: