The Jews of Barnow: Stories

by Karl Emil Franzos

"Or else she will remain the good obedient child of a father who will one day give her to wife, whether she will or not, to some rude illiterate member of the Chassidim. And as she possesses more intelligence than most women, she will sooner or later feel the whole misery and humiliation of her lot very keenly, and will at length die a poor broken-hearted creature in some corner of a Podolian Ghetto."

"You take too black a view of the subject."

"I see things as they are. You need not tell me what the Chassidim are. Don't let us discuss the matter further. Good-by for the present."

So we parted, and although we spoke of meeting again, our words were cool.

We did not give ourselves any trouble to bring about another meeting. But accident at length brought us together again, and for a longer time.

Early in spring, I moved into new lodgings, and the first time that I looked out at my window, I saw the face of my old school-fellow at Barnow, in an opposite window, side by side with that of the skeleton he was studying. He lived in the same house and in the same quadrangle as I did. We therefore renewed our acquaintance in some measure, and gradually even became friends—that is to say, as far as it was possible for students of such different standing (he was in his fourth year, I only in my first), and for characters so dissimilar as ours, to be friends.

As regards his character, one saw in him a clear proof of the truth of the old saying, that "the impressions of childhood are the most deeply rooted of all." Adolf Lieblinger, student of medicine, was the same in character as black Aaron. The metamorphosis of the reserved ugly boy, into the able, worldly, interesting young man, had left the basis of his character untouched: he still possessed the same defiant spirit and the same consciousness of his own powers, and the same hatred as of old was hidden away at the bottom of his heart. Besides that, he was unchanged in his gratitude for every kindness, however small, and in his thirst after knowledge. When he first left Barnow, he had had a hard struggle for existence, and yet he had passed his examination at the gymnasium in an incredibly short space of time. He made his way both there, and afterward at the University of Vienna. And so he still regarded the old proverb, "Where there's a will there's a way," as essentially true.

He was only changed in one respect; his ideas of God and religion were fundamentally altered. In the old days, partly because he was so proud, he had clung all the more tenaciously to the religious teaching of his childhood that he had been persecuted for holding it, and his God had been more or less the God of his own vengeance; for he had never tired of imploring Him to send down a flash of lightning to destroy the Christian boys who bullied him, and our stupid, rough-mannered teachers. But now he was indifferent to God, and hated the Jewish faith with a bitter hatred. He always spoke of Jews and Judaism with passionate virulence. Herr Thaddäus Wiliszewski, who had written some verses for his friends, and not for the "Ladies' Journal" this time, which he called a "Poem against the Jews," was mild as a dove in comparison. But still he remained in appearance a member of the old faith. "My coat is uncomfortable," he used to say, "and doesn't fit me well, but I can't find any other on the face of the earth that would fit me better; and, as you know, one can't go about coatless—people would stare so!"

I grew very fond of Adolf—as fond as I used to be of Aaron when I was a boy; so when the vacation approached, I invited him to accompany me to my eastern home, and was heartily glad when he accepted my invitation.

During this journey our conversation chanced to turn on Rachel as we speeded through the night in the railway toward Barnow. Her name had never been mentioned by either of us since the day on which we had first met in Vienna.