The Jew Part 66

"Yes, but it could not be avoided. It was written that Poland should be bathed in blood. It was a trial or a chastis.e.m.e.nt of Providence; it is not for me to say which."

"You still believe in Providence? What an incorrigible child! All Europe suffers from your folly. You have revealed to the world the weakness of England, the nullity of the imperial government of Napoleon III., and the abas.e.m.e.nt of the moral level of all society. Formerly other countries at least sympathized with nations that were so oppressed, and looked with disfavour upon the cruel tyrants who caused such suffering. Under Louis Philippe France did nothing for Poland, but the two chambers at least protested against her being utterly crushed.

To-day policy reigns, and they bow before superior force. Formerly many hearts beat at the words 'liberty' and 'fraternity.' To-day these words provoke only a smile. Lord Byron, when he risked his life for the independence of Greece, pa.s.sed for a Don Quixote. And the country of these heroes has legislators who pretend that humanity is not a family, that there is no union among the people. Every one for himself! Every one for himself! Behold a summary of the actual moral situation!

Neither you nor I will ever see the sun of liberty!"

Von Kreig, terrified, whispered in his wife's ear:--

"This Russian is a red revolutionist."

Henri interposed. He changed the subject of the conversation, and from Poland pa.s.sed to the Jews. Segel maintained that the Israelites ought to profit by the situation of things, without caring what became of Poland. Jacob held to his opinion that it was better to be with the oppressed against the oppressors. Segel, laughing heartily, replied:--

"This is romantic, poetic, heroic, magnificent; but it is not practical."

"Whatever you may think," replied Jacob, "it is our duty to convince the Christians that our morals are not inferior to theirs, that love of one's neighbour is taught in our books as in their Gospels, and that between the Mosaic law and the Christian law there is accord and not contradiction."

"Words, empty words," said Henri, "nothing but words! Material interest should be the motive of nations as well as individuals. Liberty, equality, fraternity are a triple aberration of mind! Behold their result: fields strewn with dead men and bones!"

"Yes; but the dead will rise, the bones will be reanimated as in the vision of Ezekiel."

Jacob commenced to recite the pa.s.sage, then, remarking that no one listened to him, turned gayly to his wife and asked:--

"Is not Italy beautiful?"

"It never seemed so lovely before," replied Mathilde tenderly.

"And what do you think of it, madame?" asked he of the baroness.

"Bah!" replied she. "I suppose one must conform to the fas.h.i.+on and admire Italy. It is a picturesque country; but, all things considered, this land filled with tombs and ruins has nothing agreeable for me.

Prosaic as it is, I prefer Paris."

"Now, I do not like Paris," said Jacob.

"Is it permitted not to like Paris?" cried Von Kreig. "You are joking, monsieur."

"Not at all. The same places do not suit all characters or all dispositions. To dreamy and poetic temperaments I recommend Italy; Germany, to those who are positive and prosaic; England, to men of enterprise and activity; and Paris, to high livers, and to ladies who love the excitements and gayeties of society."

"And Poland?" asked Henri.

"To those who thirst for martyrdom," replied Jacob sadly.

"But now-a-days every one laughs at these Polish theories of suffering and of sacrifice!"

"Oh, dear and charming Paris!" cried the baroness.

"One vegetates elsewhere, one lives only in Paris," added her husband, "and perhaps a little in London."

"Do not compare London with its fogs to my dear Paris," replied his wife.

In the midst of this desultory chatting Henri remained obstinately near, until the veturino which he had ordered was announced. He could not deny himself the bitter pleasure of seeing side by side her who had been his wife, and her who was to have been. He seemed unable to leave the place.

Meanwhile the dinner drew to a close. The dessert was brought in, consisting of figs, spoiled pears, green grapes, and musty peaches.

"No comparison is possible," said the baron, "between these wretched fruits and the delicious fruits we get at Paris."

"These are horrible!" added his wife, biting into the bad part of a peach. Then she turned to Mathilde and asked her if she should return to Genoa.

"Yes; but not until evening," she replied.

"Well, we must make haste, for we are going to the theatre," said Muse.

They all arose from the table. The baron offered cigars to Jacob and Henri Segel, but he hastened to quit their society. One appeared to be compromising, the other altogether odious.

Gromof and the Tsigane chatted together. Muse drew Mathilde into an obscure corner of the grotto to ask her this question:--

"Are you happy?"

"Above all expression," replied she. "I have only one sorrow,--to see our native land in such an unhappy condition."

"And Jacob?"

"He is the best of men; he is my ideal."

"What do you think of that horrid Henri?"

"I had to summon all my courage when he looked at me so fixedly, a cold sweat came on my forehead. He is capable of killing both of us."

"No! He is not susceptible of so violent an emotion. We ought to pardon him, for he suffers keenly."

"Oh, no! I know better than that. He will easily console himself."

The baron was impatient to depart, and coughed to bring back his wife from the grotto. At last the two friends separated, saying farewell, and Muse bowed to Henri from the distance, with a grave dignity. The brilliant star entered her carriage and disappeared in a cloud of dust on the highway. Jacob conducted his wife to her room in the inn and descended to the grotto.

Gromof and the Tsigane came to talk with him. The Russian saw the future outlook dark and gloomy. Jacob was rather optimistic.

"Man," said he, "ought never to abandon himself to despair. If he object to his own individual lot, it is narrow-minded and weak. If he complain of the lot of humanity, it is blindness or error. In the annals of the world human events are submitted to a normal development, an intelligent fatality which is not arrested by the stupidity and malevolence of men. The law of destiny, whatever we may do, will prevail. Patience, and the storm will disappear."

"And we,--we cannot expect to live to see the sun appear!"

"Our children will see it, perhaps. In the collective existence of humanity there is a cohesion of facts which do not exist in the same individual existences. Individuals are only the stones of a vast edifice."

"You are a happy man from all points of view," declared Henri. "You have faith in the aim of life, you possess serenity of soul; nothing is lacking."

"And you? Can you not acquire the same happiness?"

"No. I have squeezed life like a lemon. There remains to me only the bitter peel. I exist aimlessly; I believe in nothing; everything seems to me senseless or ridiculous. It is the malady of the age. Your dreams are worth more than the reality."

"They are not dreams. For me it is the living reality. Your materialism is what is false. You will soon return to Poland; there is much to do there. Do your duty there, and life will have a new meaning for you."

Henri laughed ironically and said:--