Words cannot describe the tremendous revulsion of feeling which the words of Olga, so unexpected, produced in the breast of our hero, whom we shall henceforth call only by his Hebrew cognomen of Saul Isaac. He was transported from the depth of misery and apprehension to the seventh heaven of joy by this so pleasing solution of a difficulty which he had looked upon as almost insoluble. But Olga was also filled with joy, and the radiant gladness which shone from her beautiful eyes showed that she considered that hour, which meant for her the beginning of exile and, perhaps, of poverty, as the happiest of her life.
The husband and wife, now joined by a new and profound sympathy, embraced each other with a fervor of love they had not known before, after which they sat down to write a letter to the parents of Saul Isaac. In this letter Saul Isaac gave expression to the happiness which filled his heart, and Olga wrote a few kindly lines, closing with the words, “Your loving daughter and faithful handmaid of Abraham.”
The happy couple now made quiet preparations to leave the land. Gradually the general disposed of his property and turned it into cash. When this had been accomplished, after several months, the General and his wife left the town of their residence quite openly, under the plausible pretext of making a short foreign tour. Their first destination was a frontier town of Roumania, whither Israel and Malka Feige had preceded them. From this place Saul Isaac wrote to the Minister of War, resigning his commission in the Russian army and frankly stating his reasons for his action. Then they proceeded to Jerusalem, where the parents of Saul Isaac had resolved to pass their declining years in pious seclusion and the service of God. In the holy city Olga was formally received into the community of Israel, the name of Sarah being conferred upon her.
Here they lived for twenty years. Six children were born unto them, all of whom received an excellent Hebrew and secular training, and were reared to industry, virtue, and the fear of God. After the death of the parents, which occurred in the twentieth year of their sojourn in the holy city, Saul Isaac and Sarah thought it desirable, in the interest of their children, to emigrate to America. Accordingly they settled in New York some years ago. Saul Isaac and his wife selected for their residence a portion of the city mainly inhabited by Russian co-religionists, for in their midst they felt themselves most at home.
Saul Isaac finds his chief pleasure in attendance at synagogue, and it is a question open to debate which affords him the most pleasure, the sermons of the Maggid or the gossip and anecdotes in which the congregation indulges in the intervals of services.
As for Sarah, she is so thoroughly Judaized, so punctual and exact in the fulfilment of her religious duties, so particular in maintaining the Kosher character of her household and such a fluent speaker of the Russo-Jewish jargon, that one would never suspect in her anything but a genuine Russian Jewess, native and to the manner born. Their children have grown up to be handsome and talented young men and women, good Jews and good Americans.
Saul Isaac and Sarah are happy and contented. No tinge of regret for their former state ever enters their hearts. But often as they worship in the synagogue there comes spontaneously to their lips the words of Solomon: “Blessed be the Lord God, who hath given rest to His people Israel.”
TOO LATE, BUT ON TIME
Moses Levinsky awoke with a start upon his humble couch in the little hall bedroom in the sixth story of the immense and crowded tenement-house in Eldridge Street, New York City, in which he dwelt. He very much feared that he had overslept himself and would be late at the early morning service of the Congregation Sons of Peace. The light which shown through the narrow window of his room was much brighter than the pale illumination which usually greeted his early waking eyes and seemed to show that the day was further advanced. A glance at the cheap silver watch which lay upon his trousers on the chair next to his bed showed him that his apprehensions were only too well founded.
The Congregation Sons of Peace invariably began its devotions at 6 A.M. Moses Levinsky was in the habit of rising at half-past five; his toilet and the walk to the little meeting-room in the next block required twenty-five minutes, and he was regularly in his place five minutes before the voice of the Chazan or precentor, chanting in classic Hebrew, “Exalted be the living God and praised,” betokened that the service of adoration and supplication, with which modern Israel supplies the place of the ancient sacrificial worship, had begun. But to-day the watch which usually indicated about a quarter past five when he first glanced at it in the early mornings, stood at half-past six. The congregation had already been engaged in prayer for a full half-hour, and he could hardly hope to be with them before the services, which usually lasted somewhat less than an hour, were concluded. Watches and clocks are obstinate creatures. They persist in their opinions, which can be plainly read in their faces. They care not at all how disagreeable or unpleasant their statements may be to those who consult them, and they can neither be reasoned with nor stared out of countenance. And so Moses Levinsky’s watch did not recede at all for all the hard stares which that rather confused individual directed at it; but, on the contrary, advanced a minute or so, while he, who had now risen upon his side and rested upon his left arm, gazed at it with puzzled and rueful countenance.