Judith Trachtenberg: A Novel

by Karl Emil Franzos

The couple did not envy their successors, who had hired their apartment at Trachtenberg's, the magistrate Graze and his wife, vulgar people and poor creatures. The new judge actually lived, with wife and children, on his salary. A Puritan--he even paid his rent.

Certainly, living in the castle was not only pleasanter, but cheaper. There was the splendid park before their windows, in which no Jew could be seen again. For the first act of Wroblewski, after his transmigration, had been the resurrection of the "notice board." Stiegle, the boor, had striven against it, and had even asked the count about it, but had been forced to give in. The flowers seemed to smell sweeter in spring, and the arbors afforded a cooler shade in summer to Herr von Wroblewski, since the board was in its old place.

The summer passed, and the anniversary of the count's introduction to his inherited estates came, and was celebrated by a mass in the parish church. Herr Stiegle distributed alms by request of the count, but the donor's whereabouts none knew. A nobleman in the neighborhood reported that he had seen the young couple in Verona, in the garden which contains the grave of Juliet; that they looked very happy, and that the servant addressed her as Madame la Comtesse. But the man had the reputation of being a liar; so that even if he spoke the truth accidentally this time, it was valueless without further confirmation, for no one believed that Agenor could marry the Jewess.

Towards the end of November another anniversary occurred, the particulars of which were firmly cemented in the memories of the people. The old synagogue could scarcely contain the worshippers who had assembled to attend the first celebration of Nathaniel's death. The services over, young and old went to the cemetery and listened with deep emotion to the prayer which Raphael delivered at the grave. "Amen! Amen!" was echoed from all sides. Afterwards the throng viewed the beautiful memorial stone erected there, and repeated the words carved upon it, better than any eulogy--"The remembrance of the righteous never faileth."

Between this grave and that of Nathaniel's wife was an empty place. Weeds covered the narrow space, and thorn-bushes spread out their ugly branches. Very few besides the elders and members of the burial guild knew that this ground, too, had been dug up a year before, and something buried there. Others suspected it, but no one asked, and of the hundreds present not one mentioned Judith's name as long as they were in the "Good Place."

"The name of the righteous never dies; but whoso dies in sin, that name shall never be mentioned." Only when they had passed that gate which separates the world of peace from that of battle did they curse the outcast.

But one was silent. He paced by the side of the elders, his form erect, his face set. Since his return, no one had seen a smile on his lips or a tear in his eye. It was only when the procession passed the Baranowski castle that his mouth quivered; and by the glance which he gave towards the white building, which stood in the midst of the leafless park, one could see his implacable hatred.

Perhaps it would have comforted him in his anguish had he known what was transpiring in one of those rooms where the manager was sitting. There Herr Michael Stiegle had sat at his writing-table since morning, and had reckoned, shaken his head, reckoned again, and then growled. He stared at the ceiling a long time, and at last plucked up courage and wrote a short, plain letter to the count, saying that when he became bailiff his intention had been to get rid of the debts with which the late lord had burdened the estate; that after the interest on the debts had been paid, twelve thousand gulden had been netted, but he had expended at least ten times that amount, while the new loans had been negotiated under very hard conditions. Would the count not lessen his expenses, and, if possible, look after his affairs a little more? Otherwise he, Stiegle, would be obliged to relinquish his position. He understood agriculture, but not the mode of dealing with usurers. The letter bore the address of "The Bank of M. L. Biedermann, Vienna, for Count Agenor Baranowski," for neither did he know of the count's whereabouts. This oppressed Herr Stiegle's mind, like some other mysterious circumstances.

Possibly it was owing to that state of mind that the announcement of a servant that a Capuchin monk was outside, who refused to leave, made him more brusque than usual, so that he fairly shouted at the bent old man, with long white beard, who entered the room with hesitating step. The monk's inquiry also annoyed him, for it was for the address of Count Baranowski.

"It is none of your business," he growled.