The Jews of Barnow: Stories

by Karl Emil Franzos

"Who told you?" I asked.

"I got to know by a strange accident," he replied. "I happened to go into one of the surgical wards of the infirmary yesterday evening; suddenly I heard some one call me by my name. I went to the bed from which the voice had come, and there I found a Jewish lad lying—it was Salomon Pinkus, brother of Chaim Pinkus, the cattle-dealer at Barnow. Salomon told me sadly that he had brought some cattle belonging to his brother to Vienna, had sold them well, and was preparing to return home, when he slipped on some ice in the street and broke his arm. 'I didn't want to go to Vienna,' he whined—'I was afraid; but I had to do it, as my brother could not leave home just then—he is to be married to Rachel, daughter of the butcher at Barnow, next week.'—'To whom did you say?' I cried, catching his sound arm in such a firm grip that he shrieked out that I wanted to break it too. Well, he afterward told me that his brother's bride was Rachel Welt—he was sure that I must know her—I think he chuckled when he said it—'she had refused to marry Chaim for a long time, but had suddenly come to her senses again, and was now quite willing to take him....'

"He told me a good deal more, and though I answered him, I can't remember what I said. I only know that I ran away from him in the end, and, rushing out-of-doors, paced the streets all night like a madman, unheeding the storm and the cold. What I felt I can never describe, nor would you understand if I were to attempt to do so...."

"Poor fellow!" I answered, compassionately.

"No," he cried, passionately, "you couldn't understand, nor would any one. It was not a mere boyish affair, you see—such a thing would have been impossible to me. It was the first great passion of my life, and it will be the last. I have poured out all the love my nature is capable of feeling at that girl's feet, and if she has deceived me, I shall go mad or die. Believe me, I am not exaggerating—I can read my own case as clearly as if it were physical illness from which I am suffering: as a proof of this, let me tell you that love never made me blind; I always saw the difficulties that would beset Rachel's path and mine. I know that no one could well imagine anything more opposite than our habits of mind and opinions on every subject. She and I have both to thank orthodox Judaism for this. But I also know that the barriers between us are not insuperable. If I have been man enough to make my own life and open a career for myself, I shall also be man enough to raise my wife to my own level. There is only one thing that could crush me—only one: if Rachel were untrue!..."

"And do you think that possible?" I asked.

"I am unwilling to believe it; no one yields at once to a belief that would make his life worthless in his eyes for evermore—and so I cling to a last hope. That was why I asked you to telegraph. Although it is very improbable that Salomon should have lied to me, yet it is possible that he may have done so;... still, I confess that I have very little hope, for she used to write to me every week regularly, and I haven't heard from her for the last fortnight...."

"But," I asked, "even supposing that the marriage is really fixed for next week, may you not suspect the girl unjustly? What if she were not faithless after all, but forced into this marriage by her relations, God knows how?"

"Impossible," said Adolf, firmly. "If I could have believed in the possibility of such a thing for a single moment, I should have been on my way to Barnow instead of sitting here. I know the girl far too well to entertain such an idea. Rachel is simple-hearted, clear-minded, and immovable. She could not be forced to do anything against her will. If the worst came to the worst, she would rather have run away from her parents and come to me, than have given way, even though she'd had to beg her bread from Barnow to Vienna. I know her...."

Adolf and I talked long together on that gloomy winter morning. At last I persuaded him to go to the hospital and do his usual work, promising at the same time to bring him the telegram, whatever it might contain, the very moment that it arrived.