“It seems as though at any moment these tombs, overgrown with shrubbery, are ready to open, these stones growing for thousands of years are ready to raise themselves, and to let out into the world the restless wanderer with a pack upon his shoulder, with a staff in his hand, in order to go again to strange peoples,—to cheat and combat them and to seek a new Canaan—his dominion! The Jewish cemetery in Prague is the very oldest cemetery known. It was closed by order of the government a hundred years ago. For foreigners it is a historical landmark; for the Jews it is a sacred place. The impression of this deserted spot is intensified by its surroundings. Amidst the closely crowded tombs and monuments, overgrown with moss, only a narrow passage remains which is almost entirely covered with shrubbery of thorn-bushes and mat-weed.
“During the inspection, the watchman will tell the visitor the history of the death of Rabbi Ben Manasseh, the great conqueror of death, and Rabbi Loewe, the most learned Rabbi of the 17th century; he will speak of Simon the Just and of the Polish princess Anna Shmiless. He will then lead the visitor to the monument of Anna Kohn on which can be read the mysterious figure 606, which shows that the Jews, more than twelve hundred years ago, had buried their dead here, in the legendary times of Lyubush and her daughters.
“If we are not to believe this figure, we must nevertheless agree with the opinion of the Jews that this is the oldest settlement and the first Jewish community in Europe.
“Silently the Jewish guide and the curious foreigner go by one place where under an old lilac bush a heap of stone stands out, and when the foreigner asks, ‘What is this?’ the guide gives an evasive answer——
“‘Beth Chaim—the house of life.’ Thus is the cemetery called. Yes, indeed, this place of rest is a house of life, for from here is given the mysterious impulse which makes the exiles masters of the earth and tyrants of nations,—the impulse which directs the golden calf to the chosen tribe.
“The Jewish town has assumed a holiday aspect. The stands of the petty retailers have disappeared; Jewish boys and girls were strolling about in their holiday attire. The houses and windows were adorned with green branches. On the old benches sat men, talking seriously; in the alleys youths were chatting. From time to time men and women in their best Sabbath clothes were going to the synagogue, carrying prayer books in their hands; while poor Christian women whom need had forced to work in this quarter were running with keys and dishes in order to prepare for the feast.
“It was the last day of the Feast of Booths, the day of Assembly, and dusk was gathering over the narrow streets, while the Christian part of the city was still brightly illumined by the last rays of the setting sun. Two men (the older wore a black silk mantle, with long earlocks, which showed that he was a Polish Jew; the other was middle aged, in modern clothes, with diamond studs in his shirt and a heavy golden chain on his vest) walked along the narrow streets, without paying any attention to the crowd.
“The younger seemed to be the guide. Having come with his companion to the little house where the watchman of the cemetery lived, he knocked at the closed door, through a crevice of which the bright light of wax candles was seen, showing the watchman’s holiday mood. It was a good summer—a large number of foreigners had visited the cemetery and were generous in their gifts.
“In the doorway appeared the thin face of the watchman, whose short-sighted eyes began to look fixedly into the darkness.
“‘Come out into the street, Joel, somebody wants to talk to you!’