Part 17 (1/2)
”Why so late, Henry?” one of the young men called to him.
He glanced around at the bright, clear-cut faces. Two decidedly showed the racial type, but in the others the keenest eye could not detect even a slight indication of their origin; they were blonde and blue-eyed, and crowned broad-shouldered figures. Dr. Rosenfeld himself answered this description, and no one would have suspected him to be a Jew.
”We have been expecting you this last half-hour. Magnus told us that you would be here at eight o'clock,” said Hugo as he drew out his watch. ”It is half-past eight now.”
”I was detained by Professor Lisotakis, in the Oriental Seminar.” He placed his note-books and volumes on the table and accepted the ready courtesy of one of his companions, who helped him to remove his overcoat.
”Have you been working until now?” Tender solicitude was expressed in Hugo's voice. ”Come, sit here,” he pointed to a comfortable arm-chair, near the fire-place. ”It is very cold this evening, and I am sure you are half-frozen without having noticed it.”
They all laughed, but the smile that played about Rosenfeld's lips was a bit forced.
”Perhaps you are right, Hugo. I have been walking fast, lost in thought; and when you think hard, you forget the weather.”
”I wager Henry was wandering under cedars and palms on his way here, when in reality he was pa.s.sing under snow-laden trees along the Linden, through the Tiergarten,” laughingly cried out a young man of dark complexion, as he twisted his black moustache, and pushed his gold-rimmed eyegla.s.ses closer to his near-sighted eyes.
He caught a curious glance from Rosenfeld; his deep blue eyes, fixed upon an imaginary point in the far distance, seemed to carry the suggestion of energy and fanaticism.
”That's possible, Sternberg,” he answered, ”why not?”
”I cannot understand, Sternberg, how you can profane and make a joke of a matter that is sacred to us, the memory of the history of our race,”
said Hugo.
”Never mind, Hugo, why shouldn't dreams become realities?” said Rosenfeld, with sadness and longing in his voice.
”Not in wanton jests, however.”
”A fellow might be allowed a joke now and then,” muttered the culprit.
”Hardly! Everything that belongs to our past is too beautiful; and now that it is a departed glory, a lost sanctuary, it is too sad to make mock of. I find it quite out of place to a.s.suage the irritating wounds of the soul with scorn. It is a sign of degeneracy in us to banter and to scoff, and cynically to vulgarize the ridicule and the contempt heaped upon us by others. It is undignified, and makes for disintegration. That's the reason I object to the type of drama in which Jewish manners and peculiarities of the most degenerate and pitiable of our race are exposed on the pillory. They are considered as typical, and people say: 'Look you, such they are!' If I had the authority, I should prohibit them. And then, too, I hate those wretched money jokes, those translations of words from the n.o.ble language of our race, which give them a distorted, ambiguous meaning. We are not raised so high out of the mire as to allow ourselves such privileges. We are in the midst of it, in the midst of sorrow and enmity, struggle and defense, and we are far from victory, and we alone are at fault. This lukewarmness, this indifference, this hus.h.i.+ng-up, this self-ridicule, they are our misfortune. The tactics of an ostrich! Keep your eyes tight shut! Don't peep! Imagine others are blind! But they are only too well aware of our helplessness, our weakness, our cowardice, our lack of courage. Where could they find a more suitable object on which to let out their bad humor? I tell you, I would do the same thing. He who grovels on the ground, must expect to be spat upon, and he mustn't complain.”
His words poured forth in a torrent. He breathed hard, and his face turned ghastly white. Deep silence followed his speech. Sternberg, embarra.s.sed, fingered a book lying before him. His eyegla.s.ses slipped down on his nose, and his near-sighted eyes roved with searching glances from one to the other of the company. At last a young man spoke:
”There's a good deal of truth in what Benas says. We dare not deceive ourselves; indeed, we are the very last to do it, even if one of us does occasionally make a poor joke about it. Every one of us feels the same pa.s.sionate pain in his soul as Hugo does, and every one is possessed by the same pride and the same enthusiastic desire for a different order of things.”
These soothing words made a good impression. Dr. Eric Magnus, a young physician, the scion of a very prominent and wealthy family, always found favor as a peacemaker when differences arose among his comrades.
It was he who always did the reconciling, and eased the jars inevitable among young men of such various dispositions. They called him the ”Olive Branch,” and he was proud of the nickname. ”Little Olive Branch is right as usual,” said Hugo, and extended his hand to Sternberg across the table.
”I meant no harm, Siegfried; and besides it was quite impersonal, you know that. The subject made me forget myself.”
Sternberg was ready to give in; he clasped Hugo's hand heartily. The ”Olive Branch” raised his gla.s.s, and turning to the two disputants and then to the others, drank to their health:
”_Prosit._”
”_Prosit_,” they cried as they all touched gla.s.ses. And the little unpleasantness that had seemed imminent was averted.
Thereupon Dr. Rosenfeld took a letter from his portfolio, and said: ”I have brought a most curious note that I received to-day from Francis Rakenius of Frankfort-on-the-Main. He is visiting his relatives there for a few days, before starting for East Africa. You know that he is a faithful Protestant, the son of a pastor, and belongs to a very pious family. His grandfather was school superintendent, his uncle was the celebrated professor of canonical law at Halle, and the opinion of such a family concerning our status seems to me of some value.”
He had spoken in a low voice while unfolding the letter. Then he looked at the a.s.sembled company. Interest and expectancy were depicted on the faces of all. They knew that years ago, during the first semesters of their college life, an intimacy had existed between Rosenfeld and Rakenius. They had attended the same lectures, prepared for the same examinations, and received their degree of doctor of philosophy on the same day. Rakenius then went to Halle to continue his special study of theology, and Rosenfeld remained in Berlin. Even as a student Rosenfeld had been much interested in the various schemes to improve the shameful conditions which a continually increasing anti-Semitism had brought about. He attended meetings, joined various societies, at one time was a Zionist, and finally accepted with enthusiasm the idea of providing places of refuge for the persecuted Jews by the foundation of agricultural colonies in Palestine. No one knew whether he harbored greater ideas; but at all events, he changed his views and he gathered about him a considerable following, not only from among the poor, downtrodden sons of the Orient, who, while studying in Berlin, suffered hunger and torment and the scorn and contempt of their Aryan fellow-students, but also from among the young men of the most prominent, wealthy, and respectable families.
There was something winning in Rosenfeld's nature. Everyone who came in contact with him was devoted to him. His very appearance, which suggested endless sweetness despite the strength of his physique, won him immediate sympathy. And his appearance did not belie his disposition,--honest, simple, and modest. But one felt that his amiable manners concealed the energy and the fearlessness of a true demagogue, and, if need be, he would give clear, vigorous, and absolutely truthful expression to his convictions. Of late he had become entirely occupied with questions concerning the Jews. All political and social events he interpreted only in their bearing upon what was dearest to his heart. In this way he had obtained a strong influence over his companions, and he became their leader. Hugo Benas, Eric Magnus, and Siegfried Sternberg were devotedly attached to him; and they formed a circle within their circle, which zealously served the general interest. At meetings they were the spokesmen, peculiarly fitted by education and circ.u.mstances, for each one of them, by birth, wealth, and station, could have laid claim to and achieved a good social position, such as is ordinarily open to young physicians, lawyers, and scholars. Yet they had but one aim,--to devote themselves to the cause of their unfortunate, persecuted race. And they spoke of nothing else whenever, as on the present occasion, they met for confidential, friendly intercourse. With some impatience, therefore, they awaited Rosenfeld's communication.