Here Todros paused again to draw breath into his exhausted lungs. His voice had become every minute more laboured, and his sentences more broken. His face was burning, and his arms waved wildly over his head.
"From this moment," he shouted again, "from this moment the curse has fallen upon him; let him not dare to approach the house of prayer nearer than four yards. Under the threat of excommunication, let no Israelite approach nearer to him than four yards distance, nor open to him his house, nor give him bread, water, or fire, though he see him dying with thirst, hunger, and disease; nay, let everybody spit upon him, and throw stones under his feet, that he may stumble and fall. Let him not have any fortune, either what he has earned himself or what comes from his parents; let it be given up to the elders of the Kahal, to be used for the poor and needy."
"This curse which has fallen upon him, let it be made public all over Israel wherever you go, and we will send the tidings of it to all our brethren to the farthest confines of the world."
"This is our decree, and you all who remain faithful unto the Lord and his covenant, live in peace."
He had finished; and, at the same time, by some prearranged contrivance, all the lights in the seven chandeliers grew dim, and in the four corners of the edifice trumpets began to sound in a low, mournful wail, in which joined a chorus of sobs and loud moans. A heart-rending cry came from the portico, which was all the more terrible as, it came from the breast of a young and powerful man. There was the noise of many feet, and the sound of somebody driven out. Meir disappeared from the house of prayer. Among the benches near the altar came the sound of rent garments, and grave men fell on their faces.
"In the dust lies the mighty house of Ezofowich," said several voices, pointing at them.
From the gallery came the loud sobs and wailing, of women, and in the background of the edifice people without silver ribbons round their talliths wrung their hard, work-stained hands.
Todros wiped the perspiration from his brow with his ragged sleeve, and, leaning upon the balustrade with heaving breast and twitching lips, looked at the singer. He did not leave the platform, for, according to the prescribed rules, a blessing for all the people ought to follow the curse. It was the singer's duty to intonate it. Todros waited for it. Why did the singer delay so long? Why did he not take up his last words, "Live in peace," and intonate the blessing? Eliezer stood with his face turned to the altar. Whilst the Rabbi pronounced the curse his whole frame had shook under the folds of the tallith. By and by he grew quieter, stood motionless, and his eyes seemed to look far, far in the distance. At last he raised his arms. It was the sign for silence and prayer. The trumpets, which had kept on the low, mournful wailing, grew silent, the human sobs and cries ceased. The dim light blazed up again, and amidst the deepest silence, interrupted by some stifled sobs, rose the pure and silvery voice of Eliezer:
"O Lord, who blessed our fathers, Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, Moses, Aaron, David, the prophets of Israel, and all righteous people, pour down thy blessing upon the man who this day has been injured by an unjust curse."
"God in thy mercy shield and guard him from all unhappiness, prolong the years of his life, and bless all his undertakings. Release him from distress, and darkness, and fetters, together with all his brethren in Israel."