“Judith, you must not speak of this to Mr. Nathan,’ cried my father, hastily. ’He must not know but that your marriage to Mr. Peixada is an act of your own choice. I—to tell you the truth—I have already borrowed from Mr. Nathan as much as I dare to ask for.’
“To cut a long story short, Mr. Hetzel, my father drew for me such a dark picture of his misfortunes, he argued so plausibly that all depended upon my marrying Bernard Peixada, he pleaded so piteously, that in the end I said, ’Well, father, I will do as you wish.’——
“I do not think it is necessary to dwell upon what followed: how my father and mother embraced me, and wept over me, and thanked me, and gave me their benediction; how Bernard Peixada came from his lair across the street, and kissed my hand, and leered at me, and called me ’Judith’ in that voice of his; how then, for weeks afterward, my life was one protracted, hopeless horror; how the sun rose morning after morning, and brought neither warmth nor light, but only a reminder that the eighth of August was one day nearer still; how I could speak of it to no one, but had to bear it all alone in silence; how at night my sleep was constantly beset by nightmares, in which I got a bitter foretaste of the future; how evening after evening I had to spend in the parlor with Bernard Peixada, listening to his voice, watching his fingers writhe, feeling the deadly light of his eyes upon me, breathing the air that his presence tainted; how every Sunday I had to receive people’s congratulations! the good wishes of all our family friends—I need not dwell upon these things. My life was a long heart-ache. I had but one relief—hoping that I might die. I did not think of putting an end to myself; but I did pray that God, in his mercy, would let me die before the eighth of August came. Indeed, my health was very much broken. Our family doctor visited me twice a week. He told my father that marriage would be bad for me. But my father’s hands were tied.
“The people here tell me that there is a man confined in this prison under sentence to be hanged. The day fixed for his execution is the first Friday of next month. Well, I think that that man, now, as he looks forward to the first Friday of September, may feel a little as I felt then, when I would look forward to the eighth of August—only he has the mitigation of knowing that afterward he will be dead, whereas I knew that I should have to live and suffer worse things still. As I saw that day steadily creeping nearer and nearer to me, the horror that bound my heart intensified. It was like the old Roman spectacle. I had been flung ad bestias. I stood still, defenseless, beyond the reach of rescue, hopeless of escape, and watched the wild beast draw closer and closer to me, and all the while endured the agony of picturing to myself the final moment, when he would spring upon me and suck my blood: only, again there was this difference—the martyr in the arena knew that after that final moment, all would be over; but I knew that the worst would then just be begun. Yet, at last—toward the end—I actually fell to wishing that the final moment would arrive. The torture, long drawn out, of anticipation was so unbearable that I actually wished the wild beast would fall upon me, in order that I might enjoy the relief of change. Nothing, I felt, could be more painful than this waiting, dreading, imagining. The eighth of August could bring no terror that I had not already confronted in imagination.
“Well, this one wish of mine was granted. The eighth of August came. I was married to Bernard Peixada. I stood up in our parlor, decked out in bridal costume, holding Bernard Peixada’s hand in mine, and took the vows of matrimony in the presence of a hundred witnesses. The canopy was raised over our heads; the wine was drunken and spilled; the glass was broken. The chazzan sang his song; the rabbi said his say; and I, who had gone through the performance in a sort of stupor—dull, half conscious, bewildered—I was suddenly brought to my senses by a clamor of cheerful voices, as the wedding-guests trooped up around us, to felicitate the bridegroom and to kiss the bride. I realized—no, I did not yet realize—but I understood that I was Bernard Peixada’s wife—his wife, for good and all, for better or for worse! I don’t remember that I suffered any new pain. The intense suffering of the last few months had worn out my capacities for suffering. My brain was dazed, my heart deadened.
“The people came and came, and talked and talked—I remember it as I remember the delirium I had when I was sick once with fever. And after the last person had come and talked and gone away, Bernard Peixada offered me his arm, and said, ’We must take our places at the wedding feast.’ Then he led me up-stairs, where long tables were laid out for supper.
“A strange sense of unreality possessed me. In a vague, dreamy, far-off way, I saw the guests stand up around the tables; saw the men cover their heads with hats or handkerchiefs; heard the voice of Mr. Nathan raised in prayer; heard the company join lustily in his ’Baruch Adonai,’. and reverently in his final ’Amen’ saw the head-gear doffed, the people sink into their seats; heard the clatter of knives and forks mingle with the tinkling of glasses, the bubble of pouring wine, the uproar of talk and laughter; was conscious of glaring lights, of moving forms, of the savor of food, mixed with the perfume of flowers and the odor of cologne on the women’s handkerchiefs: felt hot, dazzled, suffocated, confused—an oppression upon my breast, a ringing in my ears, a swimming in my head: the world was whirling around and around—I alone, in the center of things, was motionless.
“So on for I knew not how long. In the end I became aware that speeches were being made. The wedding feast, that meant, was nearly over. I did not listen to the speeches. But they reminded me of something that I had forgotten. Now, indeed, my heart stood still. They reminded me that the moment was not far off when Bernard Peixada, when my husband, would lead me away with him!
“The speeches were wound up. Mr. Nathan began his last grace. My mother signaled me to be ready to come to her as soon as Mr. Nathan should get through.
“‘Judith,’ she said, when I had reached her side, ’we had better go up-stairs now, and change your dress.’