Judith Trachtenberg: A Novel

by Karl Emil Franzos

In spite of himself, the magistrate had grown pale. "Please, don't mention it. It does not matter in the least. It is too unjust, too foolish! The count elopes with his daughter, and he wishes to punish me. If it grieved him so terribly, he might have employed his last energies in getting her back again. The Jews are such a clever race that it would have been easy for them to have discovered the count's hiding-place."

"Castle Borky?" said the doctor. "Nathaniel and the elders knew that the evening after the elopement. It was superfluous trouble on your part to bind me to secrecy. There were a number of men who wished to bring Judith back by main force, that she might be judged by the congregation, but Nathaniel forbade it. 'No,' he said, 'some one will lose his life, perhaps, or you will be heavily punished by the courts. It is not worth while to incur danger on account of such an outcast. And why judge her? God will do that. For you and me she is a corpse.' Yet in the secret depths of his heart he must have had some feeling for the unhappy girl, for he fought long against the fearful ceremony customary in such cases, though it is very rarely carried out. It is said this is the first time in two hundred years that a Jewess of this congregation has eloped with a Christian. When he finally agreed, he made one stipulation, which certainly would not have been granted to any one else. But they could not refuse him, their head, her father."

"I don't understand. What ceremony?"

"The funeral!"

"What!" exclaimed the magistrate, in surprise, "have they buried Judith?" He was on the point of laughing, but the expression on his companion's face sobered him.

"It was so ghastly that I shall never forget it. My colleague and I had so arranged it that the last few days one of us was always with him. We relieved each other every six hours. But we knew very well we could not detain the escaping life much longer. He had weakened considerably after the lawyer's visit. There was no fresh stroke, but the tissues were being fast consumed. He lay there as if asleep, stammering his son's name now and then; and, indeed, had he not longed so greatly to see his son he would probably have died sooner. As I entered the room about eleven o'clock, day before yesterday, to relieve my colleague, he whispered to me: 'The end is fast approaching. Stay with him, but do not interfere, no matter what occurs.' Shortly after, the elders entered the room, and with them the rabbi, all clad in their praying-garments. They bowed to him, and asked if they had his consent. He nodded, the door opened and twelve men belonging to the burial guild came in, wearing white shrouds, carrying a curious burden. It was a large, handsome rose-tree in full bloom, the damp earth still clinging to its roots. Goodness knows where they got it. Perhaps from Count Baranowski's conservatory. They took the bush to the bed, and Nathaniel put out his hand and touched its crown. His lips moved. It may have been a blessing, or it may have been a farewell greeting. While this was being done, the others hid their faces with their praying-cloths, and some sobbed aloud. The bush was then taken into the middle of the room, the rabbi stepped forward--I have never seen a more malignant face--and spoke a few words loud and rough: I think it was a curse. He then seized the bush with both hands, broke it, and threw the pieces on the floor before him. One after another the men went up, snatched a blossom and scattered the leaves, until the bush stood bare as well as broken. I went to the foot of the bed. The old man kept his eyes closed, but he knew what was going on. A feeble groan burst from his lips, and tears coursed down his cheeks. He remained in the same position when the 'soul-lamp' was lighted for her who was from henceforth to be considered dead. Nor did he move when they made the cut in his shirt, which is emblematical of the rent made in the life of the mourner. At last the bier was brought in; the broken bush was placed on it, with the leaves which had been carefully gathered up; a white pall was spread over all, and then they departed. The elders followed, and I was again alone with Nathaniel for about two hours. I held his hand in mine, for I could not speak. At the end of that time the rabbi and elders returned, and the former, stepping up to the couch, said: 'It is finished, and because thou wast a just man all the days of thy life, may the Almighty prolong it! We have done according to thy will--thy daughter's grave is between that of thy wife (may she rest in peace!) and that which thou hast chosen for thyself. And when the Lord shall call her to judgment, and she dies in our own faith, that grave shall be open for her. We swear it to thee!' Nathaniel nodded. His breathing became more and more quiet, but he lasted ten hours, until yesterday noon, when he fell asleep--"

The doctor drew a long breath. "Excuse me, but not just now," he exclaimed, abruptly, as he saw the magistrate about to speak; "when I think of that empty grave and of her to whom I am going--" He pulled the carriage window down and leaned out, as if to breathe more freely, until the rain beat upon his hot forehead.

"Another sentimental fool!" thought the magistrate. "Curious, but most people are sentimental." But he dared not speak. So they drove slowly along. The twilight has given place to night, and as they were nearing the mountains, and the ground was ascending, the tired horses dragged the carriage through the mud at walking pace. At last they came to a standstill.

"What is the matter?" the magistrate asked, leaning out of the window.

"I don't know," was the answer. "Two horsemen with torches, followed by a carriage, are coming to meet us. I must stop so they can pass on this narrow road."