"Edom and Ishmael will lie at the feet of Israel like broken cedars, and the thunderbolt of the Lord will fall upon them and crush them to powder."
It was now the Edomite's turn to look astonished, for he did not understand a word. He looked not unlike a tall, stately cedar as he stood there, but not like one that could be easily crushed to powder.
His face was rippling over with laughter, which he carefully tried to suppress.
"What does he say?" he asked the people at the window.
There was no answer. All eyes were riveted upon the sage, and on the melamed's face there was an expression of ecstatic rapture.
"My good people, tell me what he said," repeated the nobleman.
A deep voice, as if in sarcastic retribution, answered with another question.
"Did the gracious lord not understand?"
This ingenuous question put an end to the young man's self-control, and he burst out into a peal of laughter and turned towards the door.
"Savages!" he murmured to himself, and he still laughed as he crossed the precincts, and the people who crowded round the Rabbi's window looked after him with astonished and deeply-offended eyes. The young man laughed, tickled by the ludicrous aspect of the whole scene; yet under his apparent merriment there was an under-current of resentment and anger, that the Wise Men of Israel should have shown themselves to him like savages, who did not even speak the language of the country whose air they breathed, and that had nourished them for many centuries. The people around the Rabbi's hut followed him with looks of displeasure almost amounting to hatred, because he had blasphemed what they loved and revered beyond anything. Poor sages of Israel with their worshippers! Poor Edomite laughing at the sage and his worshippers! But poorest of all, the country, the sons of which after journeying together for so many centuries do not understand each other's heart and language.
At the gate of the precincts Jankiel Kamionker met the young nobleman.
"Well, Jankiel," he said, "you have indeed a wise and learned Rabbi."
Jankiel did not reply to this, but began at once to speak about the agreement and the Kamionka distillery. He spoke glibly and easily, and did not appear to remember what had occurred or refer to it.
Neither did the lord of Kamionka, upon whom the whole scene had left an impression of astonishment and amusement. The young prophet, and Jankiel with his red curls trying to evict him; the Rabbi, who only spoke the Jewish language, and his companion in the wonderful costume: it was as good as a play. How his friends would enjoy his description; how the good-natured Sir Andrew would laugh, and his daughter, the beautiful Hedwiga, of whom he thought night and day as the believer in his paradise, would smile!
Thinking of her he jumped into the carriage, and looking at the west, he exclaimed:
"How long you have kept me!"
He nodded to Jankiel and called to the coachman:
"Drive on."
The four grays and the light carriage carried him swiftly through the town till he disappeared in a cloud of golden dust. In the western sky the red clouds died gradually away, and the transparent dusk of an August evening enveloped the town and darkened the sitting-room in the Ezofowich house. Loud and angry cries had reverberated in that usually peaceful household. The shrillest and angriest among them was that of Reb Jankiel, who abused all the members of the family one after the other, who answered either angrily or quietly according to their different characters. After that, the accusing and threatening man, shaking with fury, or perhaps terror, had rushed out of the house towards the Rabbi's dwelling; and those who remained behind sat silent and motionless, as if riveted to their chairs by their angry and perplexed feelings.
Saul sat on the sofa with his head sunk upon his breast, his hands lying motionless upon his knees, and sighed loudly and heavily.
Around him sat on chairs Raphael, Abraham, and Ber. The wives of Raphael and Ber, the much-respected and beloved women, entered quietly and sat down behind their husbands. In a corner of the room, not noticed by any one, sat young Haim, Abraham's son and Meir's devoted friend.
It was Saul who interrupted the silence.
"Where is he gone to?"--meaning Jankiel.
"He is gone to denounce him before the Rabbi," said Abraham.
"He will bring Meir before the ecclesiastical tribunal," said Raphael.
Saul rocked himself and moaned aloud:
"Ai! ai! my poor head! Did I live to see a grandson of mine brought up to judgement like a thief or robber?"
"It is as informer he will appear before the judges," said Abraham swiftly and passionately.
"Something must be done with Meir, father."
"Think of it and tell us what to do with him. Things cannot remain as they are. He will ruin us and our sons and bring shame upon the whole family. Father! people used to say that it was always an Ezofowich who tried to undermine the faith of Israel: that the house of Todros and the house of Ezofowich are like two rivers than run in opposite directions, but meet now and then, and struggle to see which is the stronger, and to push the other underground. This talk had subsided, people began to forget, till Meir stirred it up again. Something must be done. Think of it, father, and we will do as you command us."
Two red spots appeared on Saul's face.
"What is to be done with him?" he asked in a voice that sounded like a smothered sob.
Raphael said:
"He must be married as quickly as possible."
Ber, who had until now remained silent, observed:
"Why not send him into the world?"
Saul thought a long time, and then replied:
"Your advice is not good. I cannot punish him severely. What would my father Hersh say to it, in whose footsteps he wishes to go, and whom I am not at liberty to judge. I cannot marry him quickly, because the child is not like other children--he is proud and sensitive, and does not brook any fetters. Besides, he is so disgraced and openly rebuked already that no wealthy or respectable Israelite will give him his daughter in marriage."
Again Saul's voice shook. He had lived to see his grandson, the most beloved of all his children, come down so low that no respectable family would receive him as son-in-law.
"I cannot send him away either," he continued, "because I am afraid that in the world he will lose all that is left of his father's faith. I am in the position of the great and wise Rabbi of whom it is written that he had a reckless son who ate pork in secret. People advised him to send his son out into the world and expose him to misery and a wandering life. But he replied: 'Let my son remain at home. The sight of his father's troubled and sorrowful face may soften his heart and lead him to a better life; stern misery would change it into hard stone.'"
Saul became silent--all around were silent; nothing was heard but now and then a sigh from the women.
The room became darker and darker.
After a while, in a subdued, almost timid, voice, Ber began:
"Allow me to open my heart before you to-day. I speak but seldom, because as often as I want to speak the remembrance of my younger years seems to rise before me and smother my voice; therefore it is the voice least heard of all the voices in the family. I left off speaking or advising, and looked only after my business and my family. But I must speak now. Why trouble so much about Meir? Give him his liberty; let him go into the world, and do not punish him either by your anger or by dooming him to poverty. What wrong has he done? He keeps all the commandments faithfully; has studied the holy books; all the members of our family, and even the poor, ignorant people love him like their own soul. What do you want from him? What has he done? Why should you punish him?"
Ber's speech, delivered in a lazy, half-timid voice, made a deep impression on all those present. His wife Sarah, evidently frightened, pulled him by the sleeve and whispered:
"Hush, Ber! hush! they will be angry with you for your rash words."
Saul raised his head several times arid bent it down again. One might have said that gratitude for Ber's defence of his grandson struggled with his rising anger.
"Ber, your own sins have spoken through your mouth. You stand up for Meir because you were once what he is now," said the passionate Abraham.
Raphael, with his usual gravity, said:
"You say, Ber, that he has not sinned against the ten commandments.
That is true; but you forget that the covenant does not stand alone upon the ten commandments which Moses brought from Sinai, but also upon the six hundred and thirteen which the great Tanaites, Amoraits and Gaons, with other Wise Men, have put down in the Talmud. We not only owe obedience to them, but also to the six hundred and thirteen of the Talmud; and Meir has transgressed many of them."
"He has sinned greatly," called out Abraham, "but the greatest and blackest sin be committed to-day, when he denounced a brother Israelite before the stranger, and thus broke the solidarity and faith of his people. What will become of us if we accuse each other before the stranger? Whom shall we love and shield if not our brethren, who are bones of our bones and our blood. He felt more sorry for a stranger than for a brother Israelite, and for that he ought to--"