“What is to be done?” he asked, with a smile.
“Mr. De Broda has proved himself a true Jew,” responded Zuckermandel, gently. “Do not let him surpass you. Prove to him that you, too, are of a race which, boasting the most ancient civilization, is above all others from the humanitarian standpoint.”
Kronenfels wrote some hurried lines which Rabbi Solomon conveyed to Mr. De Broda before daybreak. The Baron’s answer was couched in these words:
“Dear Sir—I was about to address you when I received your note.
“I, too, should deeply regret having a mortal encounter with a young man upon whom so many hopes are placed.
“I accept your proposition.
“Moreover, between ourselves be it said, we are Jews—in other words, descendants of ancestors whose house is more ancient than that of the Lichtensteins or Auerspergs, ancestors who have transmitted to us two qualities which Mr. De Treitschke could scarcely possess, being as it were the offshoot of a somewhat recent civilization: and these are, repugnance to shed blood, and the ‘rachmonni’[5] of the Jewish heart.
“Kronenfels.”
The duel took place at six o’clock in the morning, the venerable oaks of De Granic forest casting an air of solemnity over the bloodless scene. The adversaries kept their word; the pistols were discharged in the air; and the witnesses declared that honorable satisfaction had been made. As De Broda and Kronenfels were shaking hands with hearty good-will, the brushwood parted, and old Rabbi Solomon slowly approached the young men. Raising his arms in benediction, he said, and the light of happiness beamed from his eyes: “Gentlemen, you are Jews!”
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