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Written
for the Occident, by
Miss Celia Moss, one of the Authoresses of the
“Romance of Jewish History,” “Early Efforts,” Etc.
Chapter
1.
But
for the late persecution of the Jews of Damascus, and the yet impending
fate of our unhappy brethren in Russia, we, who live under the
protection of an equitable government, might be inclined to doubt the
dreadful details handed down to us of the sufferings endured by our
forefathers, in the various countries of Europe, during the middle ages.
Driven successively from one kingdom to another, hunted like wild beasts
from the homes they had begun to love, and the graves where reposed the
ashes of their fathers, well might the poet say of them:
“Tribes of the wandering foot and
weary breast,
How shall ye flee away and be at rest?
The wild bird hath her nest, the fox his cave,
Mankind their country—Israel but a grave.”
In
one of the streets, near the Jews’ Synagogue, in St. Mary Axe, then
and at present known by the name of Bevis Marks, in the year 1290,
during the reign of King Edward I.; dwelt a Jewish Rabbi, celebrated for
his learning and piety.
The
family of Mordecai—so was the Rabbi named—consisted of his wife,
daughter, and an orphan whom they had taken from charity, the grandson
of the Rabbi, and a boy of about fourteen years of age, whose fair
complexion, light hair, and blue eyes, proved him not to be of Eastern
origin.
A
few years previous to the commencement of our tale, family misfortunes
had compelled Rabbi Mordecai to leave the home of his fathers, the
lovely land of Spain, and seek a new settlement in England. Here the
fame of his learning procured him the situation of Reader to the
Synagogue near which his house was situated.
Age
and suffering had left their marks stamped upon the brow of Rabbi
Mordecai; while his wife, of a more buoyant temperament, showed fewer
marks of their ravages,—and in her unceasing affection he found a
solace for his sorrows, and an assistance in his toils. Their daughter
Estella was a spirit-bowed woman, whose face bore marks of the premature
blight which had fallen on her heart, although she shared in an eminent
degree her father’s piety and firm trust in the God of Abraham, Isaac,
and Jacob. Wise, prudent, and instructed by the Rabbi, whose only child
she was, in the sublime truths of our holy religion, it was to Estella
the Rabbi looked as his friend and adviser in times of peril; for
Esther, his wife, although gentle and affectionate, was timid, and
therefore an unfit companion in times of danger.
Rachel,
the orphan girl already mentioned, was betrothed to the son of Estella;
and the character of both will best be described in the course of events
we are about to narrate.
One
other person remains to be described,—and this was the fair-haired
boy, the knowledge of whose history was confined to the Rabbi alone. All
that his family knew of Albert was, that he was a Christian whom chance
had thrown on the Rabbi’s protection, and whom it was necessary for
his own sake to keep in secrecy, as the knowledge of his being yet in
existence might prove fatal to his safety.
Circumstances
had rendered Albert sad and thoughtful beyond his years. Debarred from
all society, save that of the Rabbi’s family, of the world without he
knew nothing,—and his sole pleasure was in receiving the instructions
of the Rabbi, and reading the ponderous volumes which composed his
library, and which were the sole remains of former opulence. There were
times, however, when Albert’s countenance would assume its natural
joyous expression, and his eyes would light up with sudden animation,
and this was when the Rabbi, who dearly loved the desolate boy, would,
to please him, recount the history of the warriors of old, or the more
recent achievements of Richard of England and King Edward in Palestine,
and Albert sighed when he heard the wise Mordecai stigmatize those wars
which had desolated Europe from the days of William Rufus as unholy
battles, begun in folly and fanaticism, and ending in vain conquests
lost as soon as gained. “The Mussulmen and Christians may struggle for
the holy land,” he would say, “and destroy each other in their
bloodthirstiness; but it is to the exiled Jew alone that the holy land
of right belongs, and to him in his own good time will the Guardian of
Israel restore it.”
The
religion of his charge the Rabbi never sought to weaken; but he
impressed on the ductile mind of the boy those precepts of universal
toleration little known and less practised in that age and country.
The
Jews of England, at the period of which we speak, groaned under a yoke
as grievous as that of their forefathers in Egypt, and every day
multiplied the acts of cruelty and oppression with which the bigotry and
intolerance of Edward Plantagenet loaded them. Fines, confiscations, and
exile, daily took place amongst them; and the unfortunate Israelites
found that fraud and force were alike employed to induce them to abjure
their religion; but in vain; for the spirit of endurance and faith was
firm amongst them, and they opposed to their persecutors that passive
courage for which the sons of Israel have been famed in all ages, and
which is nobler, because founded in firmer principles, than the animal
courage of bold resistance by force of arms. But it was for this silent
endurance that the fierce barons of England, whose law and religion was
the sword, despised and trampled upon the unhappy beings, whose
helplessness and reputed wealth left them so easy a prey. We say reputed
wealth; because a long series of oppressive exactions on the part of the
Plantagenet kings had left the Jews of England with but a remnant of
their famed opulence; and
even that remnant the king and the church looked upon with greedy eyes,
so that it was doubtful how long they might remain in possession of the
little which had been left them.
It
was the eve of the festival of Pentecost, and the Rabbi’s family were
in the Synagogue at prayers when Albert, who had been left in quiet
possession of the dwelling, was startled by a loud and impatient
knocking at the outer door. Knowing that the Rabbi and his family could
not yet have returned, the boy with some alarm prepared to answer the
summons. The person who claimed admission in so clamorous a manner was
an armed man, having a written order from the king to Rabbi Mordecai.
Albert’s heart misgave him, for he feared, and with justice, fresh
evil to his kind protectors; and when the soldier departed, it was with
a sad foreboding that he awaited the Rabbi’s return.
Albert
suffered the blessings and the meal to proceed as usual, but that over,
he beckoned the Rabbi on one side, and briefly narrated the soldier’s
errand. With a trembling hand Mordecai took the parchment and read its
contents, his blanched cheek and look of alarm and horror at once
aroused the fears of his family, although they waited in respectful
silence until it was his will to acquaint them with his cause of alarm.
For some moments Mordecai remained silent, wildly contemplating the
summons of the king; and when he at length spoke, it was in a voice so
hoarse and broken that its tones terrified them even before they
understood the purport of his words.
“Behold,”
he said, “the missive of the tyrant,” and he placed it in the hands
of his grandson; “not content with robbing us of our earthly
possessions, this cruel and bloodthirsty oppressor would rob us of the
consolations of religion also. He hath sent a summons to me and my
congregation to attend in the Dominican convent in Whitechapel,
to-morrow, the preaching of Father Eustace, a bigoted fanatic, and a
bitter persecutor of the remnant of Israel.” A wild cry of horror and
despair broke from the Rabbi’s family at this fearful announcement,
and Esther threw herself into the arms of her husband, exclaiming,
“Oh! why did we ever leave our own beautiful Spain to come into this
accursed and bloodthirsty country!” Estella burst into tears. “It
was for my sake,” she exclaimed, “and my child’s, that ye, my
beloved parents, braved the dangers of the sea and the perils incurred
in this land of barbarism. Oh! would that I had died in the hour when
sorrows first came upon me,—then might the remnant of your days have
been passed in peace and security.”
“Nay,
Estella, grieve not thus,” answered the Rabbi, drawing her fondly
towards him, and laying his feeble hand on her brow. “What is written
is written, and man vainly strives in his shortsighted wisdom to set
aside the decrees of Providence. It is to try and prove the purity of
our faith that we are here; and let us not shrink in the first moment of
danger from firmly upholding that faith, though in doing so we exchange
a life of trouble and suffering for a glorious immortality.”
“Weep
not,” continued the old man, raising his weeping wife from his bosom,
“it is to thee our children look for support in this hour of trial,
set them not the example of faint-heartedness.”
“And
wilt thou obey this summons, my father?” said Estella, striving to
imitate the firmness of Mordecai.
“My
child,” replied the Rabbi, “for three-score years and ten I have
already endured the burden of life; and whenever it be the Almighty’s
will, I am ready to resign it. Forty years I have been a teacher in
Israel; and during the whole of that time it has been my study to
expound the word of God unto my flock, and teach them to reverence his
laws, to live in their practice, and not to forsake the holy truths if
they should even be called upon to die for maintaining them; and shall I
now, because danger threatens, be the first to abandon the precepts I
taught? Thou, mine own darling, when thou wert called upon to forsake
the law of God, by one whom thou hadst dearly loved, the husband of thy
youth, to preserve thy child from the crime of his father, fleddest from
the house, where thou hadst enjoyed wealth and queenly luxury, to brave
every hardship for thy religion’s sake; hast thou not toiled with the
labour of thy hands, thou who from thy cradle wert accustomed to every
splendour; and shall I, thy old father, who could, for his child’s
sake, seek voluntary exile, refuse to do that for his God which his
earthly affections prompted him to dare? Arouse once more, thy courage
and endurance, my Estella, and comfort thy unhappy mother in her hour of
trial. To-morrow is our holy festival, and I perform the service in the
Synagogue, as it is written, though it be the last time I glorify the
name of God on earth.”
“Oh,
Mordecai!” shrieked Esther, “peril not thy life, and leave me a
widow in a strange land; think of thy desolate daughter, her orphan
child, and Jacob—Rachel—oh, who will protect us all, if thou art
taken from us.”
“Esther,”
replied the Rabbi, “if I perish, the Husband of the widow, and the
Father of the fatherless, even He, who dwelleth in the high heavens,
will protect those whom earthly friends have forsaken; then murmur not
at his decrees, but teach thy children to bless and glorify his name;
and forbear,” he added, sternly, seeing she was about to speak, “to
show the example of weakness to those who ought to find in thee a
support in the path of righteousness, and let them not behold thee as a
backslider, who falls off on the first appearance of danger. As for me,
I will put my trust in the Rock of Ages, and neither fear nor interest
shall tempt me from my duty.”
Esther’s
habitual submission to the will of her husband kept her silent, and the
Rabbi, motioning his daughter to follow him, led the way to the
apartment solely dedicated to his use. “Come hither, Estella,” he
said, as he closed the door carefully,” in thy fortitude and courage I
know I can place confidence; and as this may be the last opportunity I
may ever have of speaking to my child, I would confide to thee the
history of the Christian boy so strangely thrown upon my care. I will
not conceal from thee, Estella, that possibly to-morrow will bring death
to thy father, and many of the persecuted remnant of Israel; thy beloved
mother, so timid and gentle, will have but thee as a support in her
helplessness. Then perchance the bread which I have cast upon the waters
will return unto thee, and the protection and love I have shown to this
child be repaid to my wife and children. Be careful and prudent,
Estella, in the use of the knowledge I am about to confide in thee, but
above all peril not the safety of the boy.” Then seeing Estella did
not speak, he continued: “Albert is of noble, nay, of royal blood; for
by his mother’s side he is nearly related to the cruel king who sways
the sceptre of England; and his sire, Reginald de Lacy, was one of the
bravest and most powerful of the barons confederates against the late
King Henry; for this, and some offence against the present king, he was
banished the kingdom six years ago, and forced to leave his wife and
child, while his lands were given to his cousin, Walter de Lacy.
“In
his eagerness to secure himself in the possession of the wealth thus
acquired, the new earl attempted to obtain possession of the persons of
De Lacy’s wife and child. The death of the former through grief, at
the exile of her husband, defeated one part of his plan and the other
has been hitherto frustrated by the Providence that conducted this
relation of Plantagenet to the dwelling of a Jew.
“It
is now five years since, walking one night in a melancholy mood by the
side of the river that washes this great city, I was aroused from a sad
revery by a low moan, followed by a cry for help in the feeble voice of
a child. Yielding rather to the impulse of the moment than the dictates
of prudence I mended my steps, and near the ruins of what had once been
a dwelling-house, I beheld a man stretched on the ground and weltering
in his blood. A boy about eight or nine years old, who was weeping
bitterly, was kneeling by his, side, striving with his little trembling
hands to staunch the blood which was welling from a ghastly wound in the
breast.
“At
the sound of my footsteps, the wounded man raised his head and entreated
assistance for himself and protection for the child. I placed his head
on my knee and carefully bound the wound which was destroying his life.
While in the act of rendering him assistance, I saw his eye rest on the
badge I wore, and he recoiled with horror when he found that it was a
Jew who was endeavouring to preserve his life.
“The
sense of danger, however, and the consciousness that both he and the
child must inevitably perish if left to themselves, conquered his
repugnance, and, in a voice becoming fainter and fainter from
exhaustion, he entreated me not to leave him.
“The
boy, who had ceased to weep, and stood pale and trembling by the wounded
man, now in low, sweet accents, entreated me not to let his good Gilbert
die, as his mother had done, and leave him alone in the wide world, with
no one to love him.
“The
child’s grief touched my heart, but an examination into the state of
Gilbert convinced me that he had but a short time to live; and of this I
warned him, taking care that the boy, whose artless affection interested
me, should not overhear what I said.
“A
convulsive spasm passed over the face of the wounded man at this
intelligence, and he muttered what appeared to be a prayer for a few
moments,—then snatching the boy to his bosom, he exclaimed, ‘The
saints aid the poor boy. Thy mother dead, thy father in exile, thy
faithful Gilbert dying,—who is there now to protect thee?’
“
‘He shall not need a protector while I have the means of sheltering
him,’ I exclaimed, forgetting every consideration in pity for the
desolate orphan.
“
‘Alas!’ answered Gilbert, ‘a Jew, a stranger, one of an accursed
race, thou become the guardian of De Lacy’s heir! Yet, what
better can I do for thee, child of my love? Could I but have seen thee
safe in the arms of thy father, that life would have been well bestowed
which insured the safety of my liege lord. Now Reginald de Lacy, in
exile and suffering, will learn from strangers the loss of all he
loves.’
“While
Gilbert spoke, the boy, who comprehended from the words of his faithful
friend that he was about to lose him, clung to him with frantic
eagerness, entreating not to be left alone. ‘Let me die with you,
Gilbert,’ he said; ‘let me die with you. Oh! leave not your Albert
as my own dear mother left me!’
“Albert’s
emotion proved fatal to the faithful Gilbert, for in striving to raise
himself to comfort the boy, his wounds burst out afresh. ‘Jew!’ he
said, ‘desert not the child; remember he is a Christian, and the heir
of De Lacy, whose foes seek his innocent life; but do thou protect him
till the cloud hath passed from the fortunes of De Lacy;’ and his
voice died away in a hollow murmur, and, striving with a last effort to
embrace the child, the loved Gilbert fell back and died.
“I
searched the body, and discovered on it a letter addressed to Earl de
Lacy, a case of jewels, and a few gold pieces; then lifting Albert, whom
grief had rendered speechless, in my arms, I regained my own dwelling as
quickly as possible. Since then this Christian boy, as thou knowest, has
been an inmate of my dwelling, and I love him even as mine own child.
All the tidings I have been able to learn of his sire are, that he
fought for many years in the Holy Land; but, as his cousin is lately
dead without heirs, it is rumoured that the banished Earl will regain
his inheritance. If it be so, Estella, and I perish, do thou restore the
child to his parent; and in return for all I have done for him,
doubtless this Christian noble will protect my helpless family. In my
cedar chest thou wilt find the letter and the jewels I have mentioned;
preserve them carefully until thou canst restore them to their rightful
owners.”
Estella
had listened in respectful silence to the recital of her father; but
when he concluded, she threw herself on his neck and wept bitterly.
“Nay, my child,” said Mordecai, pressing her to his heart,
“afflict not thyself needlessly; the issue of this affair is in the
hands of God, and to his will we must submit. Peace be with thee. I go
to acquaint our brethren with the decree of the tyrant.”
(To
be continued.) |
