Simon Eichelkatz; The Patriarch. Two Stories of Jewish Life

"You exaggerate, Fannsherl. The imagination and the eloquence of the Friedländers are awakening in you. We know how they think and speak, always in superlatives," he teased good-humoredly, in order to calm her excitement.

"But you see how it is yourself, Joshua. We get here together cozily, in order to chat a bit, to rest ourselves after the strain of entertaining, we have no sinister intentions, in fact, we are ready to reproach our relatives with indiscretion, and before we know it, we are in the thick of it."

"In the soup, I should have said," he added, trying to give the talk a jesting turn.

"Joshua, please, don't joke. I am in earnest. Isn't it very sad that all our thoughts should be dominated by this one subject? That we can't free ourselves from it any more? That we can't rise superior to it? That it intimidates us, makes us anxious, petty, serious, and embittered?"

"Yes, dearest, since you ask me to be in earnest, I must agree, that conditions are, indeed, very sad, even though great concessions are still made, have to be made, to us merchants who are in the world of commerce and finance. But for how long? Who knows? A festering wound spreads, despite morphine injections, as Freudenthal says. He could tell tales! One of the most talented of architects, full of spirit and taste, with artistic skill and training seldom met with in his profession, especially here in Berlin, and although he has been a royal Government architect since the year '78, he has been so completely pushed aside that he has been forced to put all his energies into land and suburban speculations out there on the Kurfürstendamm, in the Grunewald suburb, and in the elaborate business-houses on the Leipzigerstrasse. Naturally this brings him a large income, and that is one more reason why his work becomes a reproach."

Mrs. Benas sighed.

"And Friedheim? His capabilities, his thoroughness, and his valuable achievements entitle him to a place in the ministry. Instead of that he has actually reached the exalted point of being Justizrat, a title of seniority like Sanitätsrat among physicians. What difference does it make that as an attorney he has a practice worth one hundred thousand marks? He is ambitious, has aspirations, like all prominent professional men, and finds himself set aside in the prime of his powers. Lesser, too, told me recently that he is going to resign. He has exhausted the last possibility in his career, he cannot hope for further advancement, so he is going to give up official life, devote himself to his scientific researches, and indulge in travel. As soon as Hedwig is married, he and Betty can get away easily. They can leave the boys behind, they have enough money for that."

"That is and will always remain the only thing that gives us independence, and dignity, too," she said bitterly. "We have the money – and then the world is surprised that we strive so persistently to obtain it, hold on to it with such tenacity, and enlarge our fortunes once we have them."

"Nobody wonders at that nowadays. Only the envious and spiteful who have no money themselves. But we may as well admit it; what is true of our own small circle is true everywhere. Well-deserving persons are trammelled in their activities. So far and no farther! Wherever we look, we see them chained to the lowest stages. 'Not beyond the boundary we have mapped out for you,' says the Government. 'You want to climb, you are equipped to be brave mountaineers, you lack nothing you need to reach the summit, neither courage, nor endurance, nor strength. Yet remain below, remain below!' The foot-hills reached at the first spurt, mere child's play for their abilities, are the only heights they are allowed to scale. The way is barred, the natural course of their energies repressed. It is frightful that restrictions other than considerations of capacity should hold back the aspirants; that ostracism should be decreed because of a mere chance adherence to a certain faith."

"Then Hugo and his friends are not so greatly in the wrong as you sometimes declare?" she asked with tense expectancy in her voice.

"No, not in principle, but in their aims. Those are phantoms, fantasies! A dream which foolish boys dream, – and clever women."

Rita had followed her parents' conversation, partly in absent revery, partly with alert interest. "No, you can't get rid of it," she said in a soft, reflective voice. "I myself experienced it this evening, when I was speaking with Dr. Weilen. Suddenly we, too, had arrived at the fateful subject."

"Well, that settles it. You, too – and he!"

Her father kissed her tenderly on her forehead, and added jestingly, "Pray, don't tell Hugo or Henry of this. Good-night, Rita."

"Good-night, papa. Good-night, mamma." She respectfully kissed her parents' hands.

"Sleep well, dear child," her mother said, also kissing her upon her forehead.

* * *

On the twenty-third of December a company of young men gathered at the house of Hugo Benas, in his roomy, comfortable study on the second floor. They were in the midst of an exciting debate, when Dr. Henry Rosenfeld entered.

"Why so late, Henry?" one of the young men called to him.

He glanced around at the bright, clear-cut faces. Two decidedly showed the racial type, but in the others the keenest eye could not detect even a slight indication of their origin; they were blonde and blue-eyed, and crowned broad-shouldered figures. Dr. Rosenfeld himself answered this description, and no one would have suspected him to be a Jew.

"We have been expecting you this last half-hour. Magnus told us that you would be here at eight o'clock," said Hugo as he drew out his watch. "It is half-past eight now."

"I was detained by Professor Lisotakis, in the Oriental Seminar." He placed his note-books and volumes on the table and accepted the ready courtesy of one of his companions, who helped him to remove his overcoat.

"Have you been working until now?" Tender solicitude was expressed in Hugo's voice. "Come, sit here," he pointed to a comfortable arm-chair, near the fire-place. "It is very cold this evening, and I am sure you are half-frozen without having noticed it."

They all laughed, but the smile that played about Rosenfeld's lips was a bit forced.

"Perhaps you are right, Hugo. I have been walking fast, lost in thought; and when you think hard, you forget the weather."

"I wager Henry was wandering under cedars and palms on his way here, when in reality he was passing under snow-laden trees along the Linden, through the Tiergarten," laughingly cried out a young man of dark complexion, as he twisted his black moustache, and pushed his gold-rimmed eyeglasses closer to his near-sighted eyes.

He caught a curious glance from Rosenfeld; his deep blue eyes, fixed upon an imaginary point in the far distance, seemed to carry the suggestion of energy and fanaticism.

"That's possible, Sternberg," he answered, "why not?"

"I cannot understand, Sternberg, how you can profane and make a joke of a matter that is sacred to us, the memory of the history of our race," said Hugo.

"Never mind, Hugo, why shouldn't dreams become realities?" said Rosenfeld, with sadness and longing in his voice.

"Not in wanton jests, however."

"A fellow might be allowed a joke now and then," muttered the culprit.

"Hardly! Everything that belongs to our past is too beautiful; and now that it is a departed glory, a lost sanctuary, it is too sad to make mock of. I find it quite out of place to assuage the irritating wounds of the soul with scorn. It is a sign of degeneracy in us to banter and to scoff, and cynically to vulgarize the ridicule and the contempt heaped upon us by others. It is undignified, and makes for disintegration. That's the reason I object to the type of drama in which Jewish manners and peculiarities of the most degenerate and pitiable of our race are exposed on the pillory. They are considered as typical, and people say: 'Look you, such they are!' If I had the authority, I should prohibit them. And then, too, I hate those wretched money jokes, those translations of words from the noble language of our race, which give them a distorted, ambiguous meaning. We are not raised so high out of the mire as to allow ourselves such privileges. We are in the midst of it, in the midst of sorrow and enmity, struggle and defense, and we are far from victory, and we alone are at fault. This lukewarmness, this indifference, this hushing-up, this self-ridicule, they are our misfortune. The tactics of an ostrich! Keep your eyes tight shut! Don't peep! Imagine others are blind! But they are only too well aware of our helplessness, our weakness, our cowardice, our lack of courage. Where could they find a more suitable object on which to let out their bad humor? I tell you, I would do the same thing. He who grovels on the ground, must expect to be spat upon, and he mustn't complain."

His words poured forth in a torrent. He breathed hard, and his face turned ghastly white. Deep silence followed his speech. Sternberg, embarrassed, fingered a book lying before him. His eyeglasses slipped down on his nose, and his near-sighted eyes roved with searching glances from one to the other of the company. At last a young man spoke:

"There's a good deal of truth in what Benas says. We dare not deceive ourselves; indeed, we are the very last to do it, even if one of us does occasionally make a poor joke about it. Every one of us feels the same passionate pain in his soul as Hugo does, and every one is possessed by the same pride and the same enthusiastic desire for a different order of things."

These soothing words made a good impression. Dr. Eric Magnus, a young physician, the scion of a very prominent and wealthy family, always found favor as a peacemaker when differences arose among his comrades. It was he who always did the reconciling, and eased the jars inevitable among young men of such various dispositions. They called him the "Olive Branch," and he was proud of the nickname. "Little Olive Branch is right as usual," said Hugo, and extended his hand to Sternberg across the table.

"I meant no harm, Siegfried; and besides it was quite impersonal, you know that. The subject made me forget myself."

Sternberg was ready to give in; he clasped Hugo's hand heartily. The "Olive Branch" raised his glass, and turning to the two disputants and then to the others, drank to their health:

"Prosit."

"Prosit," they cried as they all touched glasses. And the little unpleasantness that had seemed imminent was averted.

Thereupon Dr. Rosenfeld took a letter from his portfolio, and said: "I have brought a most curious note that I received to-day from Francis Rakenius of Frankfort-on-the-Main. He is visiting his relatives there for a few days, before starting for East Africa. You know that he is a faithful Protestant, the son of a pastor, and belongs to a very pious family. His grandfather was school superintendent, his uncle was the celebrated professor of canonical law at Halle, and the opinion of such a family concerning our status seems to me of some value."

He had spoken in a low voice while unfolding the letter. Then he looked at the assembled company. Interest and expectancy were depicted on the faces of all. They knew that years ago, during the first semesters of their college life, an intimacy had existed between Rosenfeld and Rakenius. They had attended the same lectures, prepared for the same examinations, and received their degree of doctor of philosophy on the same day. Rakenius then went to Halle to continue his special study of theology, and Rosenfeld remained in Berlin. Even as a student Rosenfeld had been much interested in the various schemes to improve the shameful conditions which a continually increasing anti-Semitism had brought about. He attended meetings, joined various societies, at one time was a Zionist, and finally accepted with enthusiasm the idea of providing places of refuge for the persecuted Jews by the foundation of agricultural colonies in Palestine. No one knew whether he harbored greater ideas; but at all events, he changed his views and he gathered about him a considerable following, not only from among the poor, downtrodden sons of the Orient, who, while studying in Berlin, suffered hunger and torment and the scorn and contempt of their Aryan fellow-students, but also from among the young men of the most prominent, wealthy, and respectable families.

There was something winning in Rosenfeld's nature. Everyone who came in contact with him was devoted to him. His very appearance, which suggested endless sweetness despite the strength of his physique, won him immediate sympathy. And his appearance did not belie his disposition, – honest, simple, and modest. But one felt that his amiable manners concealed the energy and the fearlessness of a true demagogue, and, if need be, he would give clear, vigorous, and absolutely truthful expression to his convictions. Of late he had become entirely occupied with questions concerning the Jews. All political and social events he interpreted only in their bearing upon what was dearest to his heart. In this way he had obtained a strong influence over his companions, and he became their leader. Hugo Benas, Eric Magnus, and Siegfried Sternberg were devotedly attached to him; and they formed a circle within their circle, which zealously served the general interest. At meetings they were the spokesmen, peculiarly fitted by education and circumstances, for each one of them, by birth, wealth, and station, could have laid claim to and achieved a good social position, such as is ordinarily open to young physicians, lawyers, and scholars. Yet they had but one aim, – to devote themselves to the cause of their unfortunate, persecuted race. And they spoke of nothing else whenever, as on the present occasion, they met for confidential, friendly intercourse. With some impatience, therefore, they awaited Rosenfeld's communication.

"Let us hear what Rakenius writes," demanded Sternberg. Henry read aloud to them:

"I can perfectly understand your sense of uneasiness, and I sympathize with you. It requires a degree of self-renunciation that cannot be expected, and in my view should never be demanded, of men with proud natures, men of intellect and spirit, men of marked individuality, to suffer what is put upon the Jews. Yet such is the situation, and whether it is justified or not, is a point upon which at this time I do not care to express an opinion. You know how truly devoted I always have been and still am to you. I have never had a better friend, a dearer companion than you. Our friendship was secured by our agreement on the philosophic questions that used to occupy us, by the similarity of our views in regard to things in general, and by our wholly concordant attitude toward the various problems of social life. I need give you no further assurances in regard to that; and whether I separate the personal from the more general view, I am unable to say.

"Ever since you wrote that the Jewish question occupies you to the exclusion of all else, I have been concerning myself with it. In fact it is an insistent issue. It forces itself upon me in my profession, in the world in which I live. You know that I am devoted, body and soul, to my priestly calling, and my attachment grows stronger the more I steep myself in the spirit of the Protestant doctrine. How it is to be deplored that the best among you cannot partake of its blessings; for whoever has had the fortune to call you friend, knows how to value you; and I am just enough to recognize that there must be many other Jews like yourself. But whether it is that you cannot, or that we do not wish it, the result remains the same; and this result cannot be gainsaid. A few days ago, I came across an expression of Feuerbach's, which perhaps gives an explanation of the reproach, often brought against the Jew, of pushing aggressiveness. 'To do away with the meaninglessness of our individual existence,' he says, 'is the purpose of our lives, the motive of our enterprises, the source of our virtues as of our faults and shortcomings. Man has and should have the desire to be individual. He properly desires to attain significance, to achieve a qualitative value. As a mere individual, he is lost like a single drop of water, indistinguishable in the wearisome stream of a meaningless aggregate. If a person loses the interests that express his individuality, if he becomes conscious of the insignificance of his bare personality, he loses the distinction between existence and non-existence, life becomes loathsome, and he ends it in suicide; that is, he annihilates his non-entity. It is natural that this striving for individual distinction comes out most clearly in a class of society socially subordinated, as a foreign race or a religious sect, subject to the persecution of the majority. Everybody wishes to stand for something; and to this end grasps at the best means to secure position or distinction in the domain of science. It is on this account that the Jews form so large a contingent to the student class, and they do not shrink from mediocrity, the consequence of a lack of talent.'

"Ah, my dear Rosenfeld, if each of you could only carry Feuerbach's analysis with you and let it plead for you on your way through life! But even then the world would cry out with Conrad Bolz: 'It is an excuse, but not a good one;' and above all, we do not wish to accept it. For it interferes with us, it restricts us. We do not wish to grant so large a field to others for the development of their individuality, we need the room ourselves. The result would be that the aliens would have to renounce the development of their individuality, their striving for the distinctiveness that raises them above the level of general mediocrity. To this you would not submit; why should you? There is so much talent, so much spirit, so much vigor among your co-religionists. It would be suicide committed by individuals of your race, if they passively submitted to absorption by the mass, instead of saving themselves for the welfare of their own people.

"Whether this end can be attained, I cannot judge. It may be difficult! Exceedingly difficult! But at one time there was One among you who accomplished the most difficult of all things – the salvation of the world.

"If this scheme should prove impracticable, then I can see only one solution: Acknowledge yourselves as disciples of Him who went forth from your midst. Your best, your greatest, your most distinguished men would have to take the lead. Generations may pass before the traces are wiped out, before the recruits are recognized as veterans; but time will bring maturity. If ever you should think otherwise than you do now, then come to me…"

"That is pure proselytizing," Sternberg burst forth.

"You do not know Rakenius," answered Rosenfeld, sadly. "It merely shows how the very best, the most unprejudiced, and the clearest minds among them think."

"And I cannot say that I find the letter remarkably unprejudiced," said Hugo, impatiently.

"But that's the way they think and feel. It crops out even in those that are anxious to understand our peculiarities. Rakenius never gave me the least occasion to mistrust him. He was the one who made the approaches in our friendship, because, as is natural, we are always the ones to hold back for fear of being misunderstood, of being considered aggressive. What he writes is his honest conviction. They know no other solution for our difficulty. But his letter has shown me anew that at least he tries to understand the other man."

"It is always the same story; even our defenders are our accusers," said Magnus, sadly.

"While on the one hand Feuerbach shows our course to be justifiable, he on the other hand admits our inferiority, our mediocrity."

"Among the masses."

"But the masses among the others do not study at all, and so we come back to the same point. Despite mediocrity and weakness we push forward; and that is just what as aliens is not our right."

After further discussion of the topic, Magnus and Sternberg left. Henry and Hugo were alone. Occupied, each with his own thoughts, they remained in silence for some moments. Then Hugo asked his friend with concern in his voice: "Are you tired?"

"O no, just a bit unstrung."

"May I speak to you of another matter this evening?"

"Certainly."

"I am uneasy about Dr. Weilen's intrusion in our family circle. What does he want? What does his interest mean, his familiarity? He comes often, as if he belonged here, like a cousin, – and they like him. All of them – except myself. And I'm afraid – afraid for Rita!"

Henry turned white, he bit his lips, rested his head on his hand, and did not answer.

"What do you think, Henry? You know my sister well. During the lessons in philosophy that you give her, you surely have an opportunity to probe the girl's soul. What do you think?"

"Who dares say he knows another's soul, – especially that of such a sensitive nature as Rita?" he responded hesitatingly. "But do you know, Hugo, I am more tired than I thought I was; I think I'd better go."

"Shall I go with you?"

"No, I thank you. It is late, and there is no reason for your going out into the cold."

"Well, then, until to-morrow."

"Good-night, Hugo."

He went slowly down the stairs. The corridors were still brilliantly lighted. As he reached the hall of the main floor, a servant was holding the door open for Dr. Weilen.

"O, good evening, Dr. Rosenfeld," he greeted him good-humoredly.

"Good evening, Dr. Weilen."

"Hospitality seems to be exercised on all the floors of this house. You have just been with Hugo?"

He nodded in answer, and the two men left the house together.

* * *

It was about eleven o'clock when Dr. Rosenfeld left his friend, and Hugo was surprised when scarcely a quarter of an hour later, some one rapped at his door. Elkish, the old clerk of the firm of Joshua Benas, stepped in. His bachelor dwelling was in a wing of the house. Here his unmarried sister kept house for him according to the strictest Jewish observances. Certain privileges were extended to him as the confidant of the family. The assured devotion of the whimsical old man was the excuse for allowing him to do as he wished. In business he was all conscientiousness, faithfulness, and capability. The younger clerks knew that their weal or their woe lay in his hands, for the Geheimrat took no step in business matters without Elkish's advice. He therefore imagined he had a right to concern himself about family matters as well, and he was good-naturedly allowed his way. The Benases were confident that he held the welfare of their house dearer than his own, and though it was not always possible to yield to his peculiar wishes, his interference was tolerated without great opposition. Jewish homes often harbor such characters, to whom loyalty gives privileges justified by long service, though their manners are not in harmony with the present order of things. Even in the old days in Lissa, Elkish had been a confidant of Benas senior; and this had endeared him to the son, and later to the children of the third generation. To Rita and Hugo he used the language of the most familiar intercourse, and both of them felt a peculiar attachment to him. As children they had spent many an hour daily in his rooms. He and his sister were most ingenious in preparing surprises and pleasures for them, and it was there that they had learnt to know the charm of the old Jewish life. The services of the coming in and the going out of the Sabbath, of the Seder evenings, and of the high festivals, were strictly observed. A lost world was thus brought back to the bright and eager children. In their parents' home the old life was shown sacred respect, but without adherence to ceremonies. In Rita the ceremonies appealed to the imagination, in Hugo to the intellect. To the girl the peculiar customs had been sources of pleasure, but to Hugo of earnest reflection. Rita had frolicked and laughed when Uncle Elkish on such occasions went through the consecrated forms with solemnity and dignity; Hugo, even as a boy, had experienced a feeling of awe for the noble past from which these customs came. So the children had lived in two worlds. Their parents' household was entirely "modern." While Rita and Hugo were quite young children they had discarded – as many others of the Jewish faith had done at the same time – the observances that differentiated them from those of other faiths. When, however, the time came which forced them back upon their own resources, the son and daughter, now grown up, did not find the changed circumstances as strange as they would have, had they not come under Elkish's influence. They appreciated why sacrifices were demanded, and why they should not desert from the ranks of a religion whose principles, founded in a glorious past, formed the bond that held the race together though scattered through all countries. Elkish's importance thus increased in their eyes. Hadn't he been right in holding aloof from the stranger? As a result, he did not feel the repulses under which they suffered so intensely. Hugo was particularly affected, because as a student, soldier, and lawyer, he was brought in constant contact with a Jew-hating world, and exposed to continual mortifications and secret and open attacks. All this embittered him; and he drew closer than ever to the old man, who was inspired alike with great hate for the oppressor and with zeal for the faith. And so Hugo greeted his visitor with sincere pleasure.