"What do you wish?" the stranger now asked. The old man looked cautiously about to see if anyone was listening, closed the door, then the window-shutters and lit a lamp. "See," he now began, "see, as I looked at you, it affected me so differently, impressed me so far otherwise than when I look at any other strange student. I know you are not so wicked as the others are, all, all of them, that despise, ill use, unsparingly laugh to scorn a poor old man; they know no pity, have no mercy, are not aware what it is to suffer as I suffer. They bring me to naught, they have all sworn together against me, and whom ever I question, he answers falsely, falsely, falsely!"--
The old man spoke with frightful excitement, all the blood that flowed through his withered body seemed to have gathered itself into his cheeks flushed with a hectic red, the veins of his forehead swelled to an unnatural size. "Tell me, tell me, tell me truly," he whispered, suddenly becoming again quite humble. "Do you know the ten commandments? but I conjure you by the God of Israel, that made heaven and earth, by the head of your father, by your mother's salvation, by your portion in the world to come, answer truly, without deceit."
"My good old man," said the stranger quietly, "I will do all that you desire, I will repeat to you the ten commandments, all the six hundred and thirteen laws, provided always, I can still recollect them, I will be entirely at your service, for I see, that you are a poor worn-out man--you live pretty well alone here in this narrow room, you receive no visits?" asked the student after a short pause.
"Since I have found out that no one will come home with me, to read me the ten commandments out of my small Bible, I let no one in. Many too are afraid--no one comes to me, no one, you are the first that for many years has set foot in my hovel.--But now be so good, let me hear the ten commandments, quickly, I implore you!"
The young man passed his hand over his forehead, as though he would call back to memory something long forgotten, and then began in a loud powerful voice to utter by heart those ten sayings of the Lord, that were revealed on Sinai. The old man sat resting his head which he bent forward upon both hands--as though greedily to suck up every word that fell from his lips--and gazed into the face of the stranger. All the blood seemed to flow back slowly to his heart, his face became deadly pale, his eyes seemed bursting from their wide opened lids, and the longer the stranger spoke, the deeper blue became his thin spasmodically quivering lips. Had not the beating of the tortured old man's heart been audible, one must have believed that life was extinct in that frail body. The stranger went quietly on, but as he uttered the seventh commandment 'Thou shalt not commit adultery' a fearfully horrible cry, a cry that made the very bones creep, escaped from the breast of the poor tormented creature, a cry shrill as that which, a bird of prey sore wounded by an arrow, launches through the air in its death struggles, a cry, such as naught but the deepest most unspeakable grief of the soul can tear from a man's breast. The stranger stopped, the old man sank in a heap, covering his face with both hands. There was a moment of deepest silence, at length the old man broke forth into loud sobbing.--
"You too! I had hope of you. Oh, how I would have loved you, how I would have honoured you, how I would have worshipped you, if you had read differently to the others, but no, no, no! he read. Thou shalt not commit adultery. "Thou shalt not commit adultery.' Lord of the World, have I suffered too little, repented too little, done insufficient penitence? And yet Thou still lettest it stand in Thy holy scripture? Must I for ever be tormented in this world and the next? But Thou art righteous, and I a sinner--I have sinned, I have gone astray, I have"--then beating his breast he muttered the whole confession of sins.
"I grieve to have been the cause of pain to you, but see"--the student at these words opened a Bible that was lying on the table at the passage in point--"see, it is as I have read it." The characters were quite effaced by the marks of tears, and it was clear that this especial page had been read and reread countless times.
"Yes, yes, so is it written," cried the old man in a tone of the profoundest dejection and despair. "You were right, my brother was right, all were right, the students, the little boys from school, all, all read it so--all are right, except me, except me,--I am guilty!"--and again he began, striking both his clenched hands upon his breast, to utter the confession.
The student had risen from his seat, and paced the chamber up and down. The old man's illimitable grief seemed to awaken a slight feeling of sympathy in him. "Every one is not like thee, a giant in spirit and thought," said he softly to himself, "every one cannot like thee strip off his faith like a raiment that has become useless, and rouse a new life from the inner fire of the soul." The man was not always mad, a milder light must once have shone out of those weird dark eyes--but he sank through his own guilt! One bold flight of his free spirit had saved him from everlasting night, but he would not! Was he constrained to give credence to a dead word out of the Bible? Did he stand upon flaming Sinai, when the words were thundered down upon humanity? Could not he free himself from the blind faith of his fathers? Must that appear to him true and holy, that appeared true and holy to his father and forefathers? His fathers ecstatically smiling could mount the smoking pyres, and while flames consumed their body, sing psalms and hymns of praise, they could do all this for they looked for the bliss of Paradise in a world they hoped to come: and what is the bitterest, saddest moment of torment compared with an eternity that never ends! His fathers could breath out their lives with a smile under the axe of the persecutor; with faith they had life's highest gift, Hope. But this fool? He has sinned, good!--tear then from thy lacerated and bleeding heart the foolish faith, that torments thee, what good does it do thee, thou poor lost one, in this world or the next?--Yet there is a mighty too constraining power in Faith!----"How if I tried yet to believe?--the sweet fable can heal wounds too!--but I, I cannot, I cannot--they have cast me forth, they have compelled me to it, the Bible, men--all, all--I, indeed, I could not otherwise."
Then he stopped again suddenly before the old man, who without paying further attention to his guest, had lapsed into a gloomy brooding.