SUSSKIND.
Noble lords,
Burghers, and artisans of Nordhausen,
Wise, honorable, just, God-fearing men,
Shall ye condemn or ever ye have heard?
Sure, one at least owns here the close, kind name
Of Brother—unto him I turn. At least
Some sit among you who have wedded wives,
Bear the dear title and the precious charge
Of Husband—unto these I speak. Some here,
Are crowned, it may be, with the sacred name
Of Father—unto these I pray. All, all
Are sons—all have been children, all have known
The love of parents—unto these I cry:
Have mercy on us, we are innocent,
Who are brothers, husbands, fathers, sons as ye!
Look you, we have dwelt among you many years,
Led thrifty, peaceable, well-ordered lives.
Who can attest, who prove we ever wrought
Or ever did devise the smallest harm,
Far less this fiendish crime against the State?
Rather let those arise who owe the Jews
Some debt of unpaid kindness, profuse alms,
The Hebrew leech's serviceable skill,
Who know our patience under injury,
And ye would see, if all stood bravely forth,
A motley host, led by the Landgrave's self,
Recruited from all ranks, and in the rear,
The humblest, veriest wretch in Nordhausen.
We know the Black Death is a scourge of God.
Is not our flesh as capable of pain,
Our blood as quick envenomed as your own?
Has the Destroying Angel passed the posts
Of Jewish doors—to visit Christian homes?
We all are slaves of one tremendous Hour.
We drink the waters which our enemies say
We spoil with poison,—we must breathe, as ye,
The universal air,—we droop, faint, sicken,
From the same causes to the selfsame end.
Ye are not strangers to me, though ye wear
Grim masks to-day—lords, knights and citizens,
Few do I see whose hand has pressed not mine,
In cordial greeting. Dietrich von Tettenborn,
If at my death my wealth be confiscate
Unto the State, bethink you, lest she prove
A harsher creditor than I have been.
Stout Meister Rolapp, may you never again
Languish so nigh to death that Simon's art
Be needed to restore your lusty limbs.
Good Hugo Schultz—ah! be those blessed tears
Remembered unto you in Paradise!
Look there, my lords, one of your council weeps,
If you be men, why, then an angel sits
On yonder bench. You have good cause to weep,
You who are Christian, and disgraced in that
Whereof you made your boast. I have no tears.
A fiery wrath has scorched their source, a voice
Shrills through my brain—"Not upon us, on them
Fall everlasting woe, if this thing be!"

SCHNETZEN.
My lords of Nordhausen, shall ye be stunned
With sounding words? Behold the serpent's skin,
Sleek-shining, clear as sunlight; yet his tooth
Holds deadly poison. Even as the Jews
Did nail the Lord of heaven on the Cross,
So will they murder all his followers,
When once they have the might. Beware, beware!

SUSSKIND.
So YOU are the accuser, my lord Schnetzen?
Now I confess, before you I am guilty.
You are in all this presence, the one man
Whom any Jew hath wronged—and I that Jew.
Oh, my offence is grievous; punish me
With the utmost rigor of the law, for theft
And violence, whom ye deemed an honest man,
But leave my tribe unharmed! I yield my hands
Unto your chains, my body to your fires;
Let one life serve for all.

SCHNETZEN.
You hear, my lords,
How the prevaricating villain shrinks
From the absolute truth, yet dares not front his Maker
With the full damnable lie hot on his lips.
Not thou alone, my private foe, shalt die,
But all thy race. Thee had my vengeance reached,
Without appeal to Prince or citizen.
Silence! my heart is cuirassed as my breast.

RABBI JACOB.
Bear with us, gracious lords! My friend is stunned.
He is an honest man. Even I, as 't were,
Am stupefied by this surprising news.
Yet, let me think—it seems it is not new,
This is an ancient, well-remembered pain.
What, brother, came not one who prophesied
This should betide exactly as it doth?
That was a shrewd old man! Your pardon, lords,
I think you know not just what you would do.
You say the Jews shall burn—shall burn you say;
Why, good my lords, the Jews are not a flock
Of gallows-birds, they are a colony
Of kindly, virtuous folk. Come home with me;
I'll show you happy hearths, glad roofs, pure lives.
Why, some of them are little quick-eyed boys,
Some, pretty, ungrown maidens—children's children
Of those who called me to the pastorate.
And some are beautiful tall girls, some, youths
Of marvellous promise, some are old and sick,
Amongst them there be mothers, infants, brides,
Just like your Christian people, for all the world.
Know ye what burning is? Hath one of you
Scorched ever his soft flesh, or singed his beard,
His hair, his eyebrows—felt the keen, fierce nip
Of the pungent flame—and raises not his voice
To stop this holocaust? God! 't is too horrible!
Wake me, my friends, from this terrific dream.

SUSSKIND.
Courage, my brother. On our firmness hangs
The dignity of Israel. Sir Governor,
I have a secret word to speak with you.

SCHNETZEN.
Ye shall enjoy with me the jest. These knaves
Are apt to quick invention as in crime.
Speak out—I have no secrets from my peers.

SUSSKIND.
My lord, what answer would you give your Christ
If peradventure, in this general doom
You sacrifice a Christian? Some strayed dove
Lost from your cote, among our vultures caged?
Beware, for midst our virgins there is one
Owes kinship nor allegiance to our tribe.
For her dear sake be pitiful, my lords,
Have mercy on our women! Spare at least
My daughter Liebhaid, she is none of mine!
She is a Christian!

SCHNETZEN.
Just as I foretold!
The wretches will forswear the sacred'st ties,
Cringing for life. Serpents, ye all shall die.
So wills the Landgrave; so the court affirms.
Your daughter shall be first, whose wanton arts
Have brought destruction on a princely house.

SUSSKIND.
My lord, be moved. You kill your flesh and blood.
By Adonai I swear, your dying wife
Entrusted to these arms her child. 'T was I
Carried your infant from your burning home.
Lord Schnetzen, will you murder your own child?