“Bernard Peixada had been the black beast of my childhood. When I would go with my mother to the Synagogue, and sit with her in the women’s gallery, I could not keep my eyes off Bernard.. Peixada, who occupied the president’s chair downstairs. The sight of him had an uncanny fascination for me. As I grew older, it was still the same. Bernard Peixada personified to me all that was evil in human nature. He was the Ahriman, the Antichrist, of my theology. He made my flesh creep—gave me a sensation similar to that which a snake gives one—only incomparably more intense.
“Well, one evening in the early spring of 1878, I was seated in our little parlor over the shop, striving to entertain a very dull young man—a Mr. Rimo, Bernard Peixada’s nephew—when the door opened, and who should come gliding in but Bernard Peixada himself? I had never before seen him at such close quarters, unless my father or mother or Mr. Nathan was present too; and then I had derived a sense of security from realizing that I had a friend near by. But now, here he was in the very room with me, and I all alone, except for this nephew of his, Mr. Rimo. I had to catch for my breath, and my heart grew faint within me.
“Bernard Peixada simply said good evening and sat down. I do not remember that he spoke another word until he rose to go away. But for two hours he sat there opposite me, and not for one instant did he take his eyes from off my face. He sat still, like a toad, and leered at me. His blue lips were curled into a grin, which, no doubt, was intended to be reassuring, but which, in fact, sent cold shivers chasing down my back. He stared at me as he might have stared at some inanimate object that had been offered to him in pawn. Then at last, when he must have learned every line and angle of my face by rote, he got up and went away, leading Mr. Rimo after him.
“I lay awake all that night, wondering what Bernard Peixada’s visit meant, hoping that it meant nothing, fearing—but it would take too long for me to tell you all I feared. Suffice it that the next afternoon—I was seated in my bed-room, trying to divert my imagination with a tale of Hawthorne’s—the next afternoon my father called me into his office behind the shop, and there in the presence of my mother he corroborated the worst fears that had beset me during the night.
“‘Judith,’ he said, ’our neighbor, Mr. Peixada, has done us the honor of proposing for your hand. Of course we have accepted. He designates the eighth of August for the wedding-day. That will give you plenty of time to get ready in; and on Sundays you will stay at home to receive congratulations.
“It took a little while, Mr. Hetzel, for the full meaning of my father’s speech to penetrate my mind. At first I did not comprehend—I was stupefied, bewildered. My senses were benumbed. Mechanically, I watched my father’s canary-bird hop from perch to perch in his cage, and listened to the shrill whistle that he uttered from time to time. I was conscious of a dizziness in my head, of a sickness and a chill over all my body. But then, suddenly, the horror shot through me—pierced my consciousness like a knife. Suddenly my senses became wonderfully clear. I saw the black misery that they had prepared for me, in a quick, vivid tableau before my eyes. I trembled from head to foot. I tried to speak, to cry out, to protest. If I could only have let the pain break forth in an inarticulate moan, it would have been some relief. But my tongue clove to the roof of my mouth. I could not utter a sound. ’Well, Judith,’ said my father, ’why don’t you speak?’
“His words helped me to find my voice.
“‘Speak!’ I cried. ’What is there to say? Marry Bernard Peixada? Marry that monster? I will never marry him. I would a thousand times rather die.’
“My mother and father looked at me and at each other in dismay.
“‘Judith,’ said my father, sternly, ’that is not the language that a daughter should use toward her parents. That is not the way a young lady should feel, either. Of course you will marry Mr. Peixada. Don’t make a scene about it. It has all been arranged between us; and your betrothed is coming to claim you in half an hour.’