From the Heart of Israel: Jewish Tales and Types

by Bernard Drachman

The unfortunates who had been selected by some mysterious dispensation of Providence to bear the hard burden of poverty were the objects of real and genuine commiseration, and every effort was made to alleviate their sad condition. And if some of them did occasionally resort to deception or petty misrepresentation in order to secure a larger benefaction than would otherwise have fallen to his share, there was no horror-stricken outcry, no show of virtuous indignation, such as our high-salaried or amateur charity experts would indulge in; but people merely shook their heads, rather pityingly than otherwise, and would say: “Poor fellow! he has little enough in this world, God knows. No wonder that he tried to get a little more.” Indeed, if the Schnorrer was really a shrewd fellow and his trick a well-devised one, he was far more apt to arouse amusement than resentment, and would actually profit by his nimble wit. This I saw well illustrated shortly after my arrival in Nordheim. One day a Schnorrer presented himself with an expression of utter woe upon his countenance before Uncle Koppel, and in heart-breaking accents informed him that he had just received news that he had become an Ovel. “Alas, woe is me,” he wailed. “My poor, dear wife in Poland is dead! What shall I do without her? Who will care for my poor, unfortunate orphans? How shall I keep the Shivah for her, as is due to her memory, I who have no home and no means?” It need hardly be stated that the sad case of the stricken widower aroused the most profound sympathy among the Jews of Nordheim. Uncle Koppel at once placed his house at the disposal of the unfortunate man in order that he might properly observe the seven days of mourning, and most of the members of the congregation offered to attend the mourning services morning and evening. Aunt Caroline looked well after his comfort, provided him with four or five square meals daily and a good bed at night. At the conclusion of the seven days a substantial purse was made up for his benefit and he departed, showering blessings upon the heads of all the Nordheim Kehillah, and vowing that he would never forget their kindness and their true spirit of brotherliness.

A few weeks later Uncle Koppel had occasion to make a trip on business to Römhild, a somewhat distant town in the grand duchy of Meiningen. As he never ate dinner when away on these trips, it was customary to keep his dinner for him, and all the household would remain up until his return. It was rather late before he returned, after nine in the evening. As soon as he had strode through the door we all noticed that something unusual had befallen him during the day, and that that something had been of an amusing nature. His face was wreathed in smiles and he was silently chuckling to himself. We all became, of course, curious to know the cause of his amusement, but none, except Aunt Caroline, ventured to ask. “For goodness’ sake, husband,” said she, “what is the matter? Let us know.” “Give me my meal first, wife,” said Uncle Koppel. “I need strength before I can tell you.” All during the meal Uncle Koppel sat with sides shaking with ill-suppressed laughter, while curiosity and impatience consumed us all. At last, his meal concluded and grace recited, Uncle Koppel began his story. “I heard something in Römhild to-day of our Schnorrer,” said he; “the one who kept Shivah in our house.” “Indeed,” we all vociferated, “what was it?” “I called first on Moses Rosenbaum,” he resumed, “in reference to some cattle that I wished to buy of him; and after we had finished our business, he said to me: ‘By the way, Koppel, there is a very sad case in town at present, and it would be a real Mitzvah for you to help us a little in relieving it.’ ‘What is it,’ said I. ‘A poor man,’ said he, ‘has suddenly received news that his wife died, and he is so destitute that he cannot support his orphans without help, or even keep Shivah. We have helped him some and he has been keeping Shivah in my house during the week.’ ‘Aha,’ said I, beginning to smell a rat, ‘this is strange. We had just such a case in Nordheim a few weeks ago. I think I shall go over and see your man.’ We went over to Rosenbaum’s house, and, sure enough, it was the same fellow. The Shivah-keeping business in Nordheim had suited him so well that he was trying it again in another place. When I saw him I said: ‘My friend, I believe I have met you before.’ He looked at me, not in the least abashed, and said: ‘Oh, yes, in Nordheim, a few weeks ago.’ ‘What do you mean by this brazen-faced fraud,’ I asked, ‘pretending to have lost your wife and swindling people into charitable gifts by pretending to keep Shivah?’ ‘Oh, my good sir,’ said he, with great pretence of earnestness, ‘it is no deceit at all. The first time it was a false report. My wife had not died. But this time she is really dead, really indeed; and if you don’t believe me you can go yourself to Pitchichow in Poland, my native town, and convince yourself. You can, indeed.’ We all laughed heartily at the fellow’s impudence, and warning him to be sure that his wife was dead before he sat Shivah for her next time, we bade him begone. He went off with great alacrity, evidently glad that he had fared no worse.”

Gendarmes.

The gendarmes or rural policemen were the second bane of village life; but while the Schnorrer was looked on with charitable eye, for these latter gentry no one had a good word. They were detested, thoroughly and intensely. As a rule they well deserved the detestation in which they were held, for they were pompous, insufferable individuals, egregiously proud and conceited because of the little authority they possessed, and over-eager to display their power; in a word, petty tyrants of the worst kind. They were equally hated by Jew and Gentile, and were not popular even with the judges and magistrates, who were often liberal-minded gentlemen, and who knew well the tyrannical disposition of their rustic retainers. The multiplicity of laws and regulations in the German statute book, particularly those referring to trade and commerce, gave the gendarmes the much-desired opportunity for the display of their power; and as the Jews were the chief element engaged in commercial pursuits, they were also the chief victims of these rustic arbiters of weal and woe. To defeat or discomfit a gendarme was a highly meritorious deed, and all the community rejoiced in concert when one of these potentates had been made the victim of some particularly ingenious trick.

An incident which had happened some time previous to my arrival in Nordheim, and which all the community were highly enjoying at the time of my arrival, will illustrate this disposition. There lived in Nordheim a poor, half-witted Jew named Meyer, an unfortunate fellow without relatives or home or means of subsistence, who depended for his support on the charitable gifts of the kind-hearted villagers. Despite his mental infirmity, Meyer possessed, as is not seldom the case with the weak-minded, quite a stock of humor; and as he was always cheerful and pleasant, and was continually doing odd and amusing things, “Shoteh Meyerle,” or “Little Meyer the fool,” as he was called, enjoyed considerable popularity. Everybody, rich and poor, high and low, Jew and Gentile, knew him well. Everybody had a friendly greeting for him when met on the road; nobody, not even the most unruly boys, would harm him in any way or permit him to be harmed by others. He had free access to every house, and enjoyed altogether liberties and privileges not possessed by any other member of the community. One day it chanced that Shoteh Meyerle determined, in accordance with his wont, to visit the adjoining village of Willmars to obtain some gifts. The day was hot, the road was long and dusty, and Meyer soon felt that rest and recuperation would be agreeable. These could not be had on the dusty road, and he, therefore, stepped aside into a field where there was a fine tree, in whose cool shade he sat him down and reposed. This act, it is true, was illegal, for the agrarian regulations of the Bavarian state strictly prohibit the stepping upon cultivated fields on the part of others than the proprietors, or those to whom they give permission. But what recked Meyer for that; he was, in a measure, above the law. He could violate the solemn enactments of the code with impunity, for the light in which he was viewed by the community enabled him to say, like a celebrated American politician of later date, “What’s the Constitution between friends?” Meyer, therefore, sat him down on the cultivated field of Farmer Dietrich without having obtained his formal permission, but without the least fear of consequences. This time, however, he was in error. A new gendarme had recently come to Nordheim, a stranger from a different region, unacquainted with the people and their ways, but with a soul longing to acquire distinction by making some brilliant arrests. His reputation as a surly and churlish fellow had preceded him, and every one had scrupulously avoided him and taken particular care not to come into conflict with any of the numerous statutes and police regulations; so that hitherto no one had fallen into his clutches, and his ambition for distinction had as yet had no opportunity to be gratified. This particular morning he was walking along the road, meditating upon his ill luck (as he considered it), and cursing the people of Nordheim and vicinity for an absurdly law-abiding crowd. What especially grieved him was that no Jew had yet fallen into his hands, for he was a true anti-Semite; and to haul up one of the accursed Semites on some good and heavy charge was incense to his soul. While thus marching along the highway and meditating, he beheld a man sitting upon a stone in a field, whose appearance clearly indicated that he was not a peasant nor a field laborer, and who, therefore, had probably no right to be there. It was, of course, our friend Meyer; but our doughty gendarme knew him not, and was not aware of the peculiar status of immunity which he possessed. “Aha!” thought the gendarme, his soul filled with joy at the idea of at last making an arrest. “A law-breaker! Probably a wandering apprentice (Wandersbursch) or itinerant merchant (Handelsman) who does not know that I, the zealous and faithful watchman of the law, am in the neighborhood, and who has therefore dared to invade the sacred precincts of the fields! I must approach cautiously lest he see me while still afar, and escape.” Thus thinking, he began cautiously to draw near to the neighborhood of the suspected violator of the law, slinking behind bushes and walls so as not to reveal his presence until he should be in the immediate vicinity of his intended victim, when he would pounce upon him as the tiger springs upon his prey.

But, cunning as the gendarme was, Shoteh Meyerle was still more cunning. He had seen the bright uniform and shining musket of the pompous champion of the law when they first appeared at the distant turning of the Ostheim chaussée. He at once understood his intention when he saw him first pause and afterward slowly advance, seeking cover behind bushes and walls and, with the instinctive cunning of the half-witted, he at once resolved to baffle his elaborate plan and to have some sport with his would-be captor. He remained quietly sitting upon his stone, apparently in entire ignorance of the gendarme’s approach until just before the latter came into too uncomfortable proximity, when he arose and began to move leisurely across the fields in the direction of the Sommerberg, a forest-crowned hill situated somewhat to the northeast of the village. At this the gendarme was compelled to show himself. He burst forth from his covering of bushes, leaped upon the field and called upon the intruder, as he considered him to be, to stand and submit to arrest. Instead of doing so, Meyer continued to move on at a somewhat more rapid pace. To realize the meaning of this action, one must remember that in Germany a person when called upon by the police is expected at once to stand and give an account of himself, and invariably does so. Only one who has the gravest of reasons for not desiring police attention would dare to attempt to evade them when their attention had once been called to him.

Our worthy gendarme was now convinced that he had a dangerous criminal to deal with, and his soul thrilled with the hope of making a brilliant arrest; one that would secure him favorable notice from above, rapid promotion, and perhaps immortality in the annals of criminalistic achievement. He shouted to Meyer at the top of his voice to halt, breaking at the same time into a run and dashing toward him. But Meyer did not halt. On the contrary, he too began to run, and was soon speeding over hill and dale, hotly pursued by the now thoroughly enraged officer.

Who can fitly describe the terrors and the glories of that extraordinary race? Meyer was thin and light and active, possessed of splendid wind and as fleet as a deer. He led the gendarme a merry chase, indeed, over hills and down into valleys, through forests and over brooks, through corn-fields, meadows, and gardens. But the gendarme was a strong man and game, though rather heavy from overmuch eating and beer-drinking; weighed down with his heavy musket, and sadly out of condition through lack of exercise. Filled with rage and determined to make a prisoner of this extraordinary criminal, he panted and toiled on in pursuit, despite weariness and perspiration. Meyer could easily have distanced him, but had no intention of doing so; and therefore so controlled his pace as to remain always in sight of his pursuer, and not permit the latter to lose hope and give up.

Thus the chase continued until hunter and hunted, having covered more than four miles of country, found themselves at the gates of Mellrichstadt, the chief town of the district and the seat of the district court, which at that time, as Meyer well knew, was in session. Here, Meyer pretending to have grown weary, gradually slackened his pace and permitted himself to be seized by his panting and perspiration-bathed pursuer. “Aha, accursed Jew! Aha, thou rascal!” hoarsely exclaimed the latter, as he seized Meyer roughly by the collar, “at last I have thee! Now thou shalt pay bitterly for thy villainy and thy audacity. I shall drag thee straight to court, and the honorable judges will know well how to deal with an audacious wretch, such as thou art, and who undoubtedly must have committed some great crime or else he would not have thus fled from me.” Meyer vouchsafed no answer and offered no resistance, but meekly followed the gendarme to the courthouse, which was but a short distance away; although the triumphant officer in his wrath at the unprecedented chase he had been forced to make, literally dragged him thither in most ungentle manner.

The district judge, clad in his silken robes of office, and with his velvet cap upon his head, was seated at his elevated desk at the upper end of the court-room, at either side an assessor, when this remarkable pair, the stout, hot, perspiring gendarme, with face red as fire, and the comical, well-known figure of the half-witted Jewish beggar entered the room, the former holding the latter with an iron grasp and with an expression of intense excitement upon his countenance; while the latter was perfectly cool and self-possessed, and was smiling all over with an expression of perfect content, as though a run of four miles and apprehension by the constabulary were every-day and quite pleasant experiences in his life. An interesting case was going on at the time, and the court-room was crowded with a mixed multitude of peasants, working-men, Jewish merchants, and landed proprietors, among whom the arrival of this singular pair created a lively sensation, especially as the mischievous propensities of Shoteh Meyerle were well known and curiosity was rife as to what he was up to now.