MEMOIR OF HEINRICH GRAETZ.

I. YOUTH.

The disruption and final partition of the Polish kingdom by its three neighboring states occurred in 1795. With its dissolution a new era began in the history of the numerous Jewish communities in that part of the Polish territory which passed under Prussian and Austrian sovereignty. The event that thus ushered them into the world of Western civilization may justly be considered as marking for them the transition from the middle ages to modern times. Prussia allowed no interval to elapse between the act of taking possession of her newly acquired domain and its organization. It was incorporated into the state as the provinces of South Prussia and New East Prussia. But after 1815 the Prussian crown remained in possession only of the Grand Duchy, or the Province, of Posen, the district that had constituted the kernel of Great Poland. This piece of land was of extreme importance to the Jews, being the home of the most numerous, the oldest, and the most respectable congregations. It was situated at only a short distance from the Prussian capital, to which it appeared to have been brought still nearer by the organic connection established with the older parts of the state. It was natural to expect that, in consequence of the political union, the economic relations with Berlin, always close, would become more intimate and more numerous, and would develop new business advantages. On the other hand, the capital was viewed with distrust as the home of the movement radiating from Mendelssohn and his school, which aimed at something beyond the one-sided Talmud study then prevalent, and strove to bring modern methods of education and modern science within reach of the younger generation.

The rigorous system of organization by which the Polish districts were placed upon a Prussian basis induced so radical a transformation of all the relations of life that the Jews experienced great difficulty in adjusting themselves to the new order of things. Opposition to the state authorities and the economic conditions was futile; there was nothing for it but to try to adapt oneself without ado. By way of compensation, the efforts to keep religious practices and traditional customs pure, untouched by alien and suspicious influences, in the grooves worn by ancient habit, were all the more strenuous. Talmudic literature was to continue to be the center and aim of all study and science, and religious forms, or habits regarded as religious forms, were not to lose an iota of their rigidity and predominance. The urgent charge of the Prussian government to provide properly equipped schools to instruct and educate the young in a manner in keeping with the spirit of the times was evaded, now by subterfuges, now by promises. But in the long run the influences of the age could not fail to make themselves felt. Sparks from the hearth of the emancipation movement were carried into the Province, and burst into flame in one of the great congregations, that of the city of Posen, particularly proud and jealous of the Talmudic renown and the hoary piety of its Ghetto.

The position of rabbi in Posen had become vacant, and in 1802 it was proposed to fill it with Samuel ben Moses Pinchas from distant Tarnopol, the brother of the deceased rabbi. He was the author of בית שמואל אחרון {Hebrew: Beyt Shmuel Acharon}, and an arch-Talmudist of the old stamp. Under the shelter of assumed names, a number of the younger men ventured to send the government a protest against the choice of an “uncouth Polack.” It was alleged that the mass of the people favored him on account of

“the Kabbalistic fable which constructs a genealogy for this Podolian that makes it appear that he belongs to the stock from which the Jewish Messiah is to spring, etc.”

The government took the petition into consideration, and so informed the signers. On account of the fictitious names the answer went astray. Instead of reaching the petitioners, it fell into the hands of the directors of the congregation and into those of the deputy rabbis, the B’ne Yeshiba.

“They immediately assembled all so-called scholars and Talmud disciples after the manner of the ancient Synhedrin, and invited the parents, parents-in-law, and relatives of all persons suspected of harboring heterodox ideas. Then they summoned each of us singly, put him into the center of a terrifying circle of rough students, and upbraided him in the following words, accompanied by the most awful curses: ‘Thou devilish soul that hast vowed thyself unto Satan! Thy appearance gives evidence of thy antipathy to our statutes; thy shaved beard, thy apparel (thy Jewish garb is only a sham), everything proves thee, thou impious one, a betrayer of Jewish mysteries to Christians. Thou readest German books. Instead of holy Talmud folios, thou keepest maps, journals, and other heathenish writings concealed in thy attic. Therefore, confess thy sin, that thou art one of the authors of the accursed memorial! Do penance as we shall direct. Deliver up to us thy unclean books immediately. Subscribe without delay to this sacred election of our rabbi; else, etc., etc.’”1

The hotly contested election of the rigidly Talmudic yet none the less gentle rabbi was carried, but no effort availed to check the spread of the new spirit. Steadily though slowly modern views gained the upper hand, and in 1816 a Jewish private school of somewhat advanced standing was successfully established in Posen. Now and again men of independent fortune mustered up courage to send their children to the Gymnasium or to the higher Christian schools, of which, to be sure, not a large number existed at the time. In 1824 the state interfered, and ordered the establishment of German elementary schools in all the Jewish communities of the Province giving evidence of vitality. The situation now assumed a peculiar aspect. General culture, acquaintance with the classic literature of Germany, France, and England, came to be esteemed an accomplishment and a personal charm; yet beyond the three R’s the rising generation was not given the opportunity of acquiring a general education. On the contrary, the desire was to limit study to that of rabbinic and Hebrew writings. In the larger communities, like Posen and Lissa, the centers of Talmud study, a conscious effort was made to frighten off young people, especially Talmud disciples, from the acquisition of secular culture. It should be mentioned, however, that in many of the smaller communities the longing for education was encouraged as much as possible. So it came about that the highly endowed, ambitious spirits of that generation in the Province had to struggle most bitterly and painfully to make headway. But their hardships were counterbalanced by the advantages they derived from the conflict. Their intellectual energy and self-reliance came forth from the contest steeled. Impregnated as almost all of them were with the spirit of the Talmud, they had pierced to its essence, and, filled with enthusiasm for the rabbinical heroes, they had breathed in devotion to the ideals of Judaism.

This was the soil upon which Heinrich Graetz grew up, and such were the conditions and agencies moulding the development of a man destined to create an historical work, at once monumental and popular; embracing thousands of years, the most widely separated regions, and the most diversified fields of human activity; retracing with all the resources of learning and ingenuity the magic, faded, illegible characters of the evolution of Judaism, and illuminating them with colors of fairy-like brilliance;--an historical work, which, by reason of the warmth of its narrative style, has come to be a book of edification, in the best sense of the word, unto the author’s brethren-in-faith.

Heinrich Hirsch Graetz was born October 31 (Cheshwan 21), 1817, in Xions (pronounced Kshons), a wretched little village of 775 inhabitants in the eastern part of the Province of Posen. In a family of two brothers and one sister he was the first-born. His father, Jacob Graetz, was a man of tall stature, who, dying in 1876, reached an age of over ninety years. His mother, Vogel, of the family of Hirsch of Wollstein, was of average height and robust physique, with lustrous gray eyes. She died in 1848 only fifty odd years old. To her the son showed most resemblance, both spiritually and physically. A little butcher-shop yielded them an honest but paltry livelihood. In the hope of improving their material condition, the family removed to Zerkow, a few miles off, some years after Heinrich’s birth. At the time the village contained not more than 800 inhabitants, among them a single person able to read, a real estate owner, to whom all letters were carried to be deciphered on the open street in solemn public assembly.2 But the Jewish congregation consisted of one hundred members, and a remarkable increase in the population of the little town seemed to give fair promise of a prosperous future. It is worthy of mention, besides, that the scenery of Zerkow, wreathed round with hill and stream, forest and meadow, is not so flat and unattractive as that of most parts of the Province.

Here the boy received his first impressions, and here he enjoyed his first instruction in a school distinguishable from a genuine Cheder only inasmuch as it began in a measure to accommodate itself to the modest demands made by the government upon a Jewish primary school. He was taught reading, writing, ciphering, and the translation of the Bible. Great love of study and marked talent became apparent in him; he was therefore introduced to a knowledge of Hebrew and the Talmud. When he was confirmed at thirteen, the age at which the boys of that period were in the habit of deciding definitely on their careers, his parents did not for a moment question the propriety of continuing their son’s intellectual training. It would have been most natural to send him to Posen, where a popular Talmud school was flourishing under the direction of the highly esteemed Chief Rabbi Akiba Eger. But his parents’ means were too slender to suffice for his maintenance, and shyness and pride prevented young Graetz from making his way after the fashion of beggar students. There was but one course, to send him to Wollstein, where his mother had sisters and other relatives. Though by no means possessed of great wealth, they were willing to give him assistance. The Wollstein sojourn proved eminently favorable to his development. The town, situated in the western part of the Province, was not destitute of natural charms, to which the boy’s impressionable mind eagerly responded. The population, chiefly German, numbered 2258 persons, among them 841 Jews,3 by no means an inconsiderable congregation. Besides, it was in fairly comfortable circumstances. It had always taken pride in maintaining a Talmud school, which, at the time of Graetz’s advent, was distinguished for the liberal, enlightened spirit pervading it and the active encouragement accorded its students in their desire for culture. Rumor had it that the rabbi, Samuel Samwel Munk, who had been called from Bojanowo to Wollstein at the beginning of the century, knew how to read and write German, and was in the habit of reading German books and even journals in the hours that are “neither day nor night.” At all events, he did not put obstacles in their way, when his disciples, spurring each other on in the impetuous rivalry of youth for pre-eminence, sought to slake their thirst for secular knowledge.

Graetz arrived in Wollstein at the end of the summer of 1831, fourteen years old. At that youthful age, the Bachur had ventured to undertake, in a Hebrew far from perfect, it must be confessed, a work on the calendar entitled, “חשבון העתים {Hebrew: Cheshbon Ha’itim}, Jewish and German Chronology.”4 He was a zealous attendant upon the rabbi’s Talmudic lectures, and derived great profit from them. His teacher conceived a lively and kind interest in him, as well as a high opinion of his ability, though he did not suspect his future eminence. Rabbinic studies did not occupy his mind to the exclusion of other pursuits. Inextinguishable thirst for knowledge had taken possession of him, and all books that fell in his way were read with avidity. Most of the available literature consisted of romances of chivalry, of the kind in vogue at that time. Among them “Raspo of Felseneck,” now completely forgotten, made a particularly deep impression upon him. Reproved by one of his patrons, and provided with more suitable books by him, he read with keen enjoyment Campe’s narrative and moral writings. At the same time historical books began to attract him strongly. Though he had to confess to himself, somewhat crestfallen, that he did not understand the greater part of what he read in them, he studied Bredow’s short compendium of universal history, Becker’s large work on the same subject, and a biography of Napoleon. He soon realized the necessity of acquiring Latin and French. Without teacher, without guidance, without counsel other than that afforded by like-minded companions, he devoted himself to Meidinger’s French grammar and later to Bröder’s Latin grammar, until he had gotten all between their covers by heart. He was overjoyed when he could begin to read the classic writers of foreign countries in their own languages. In his zeal, he permitted himself to be governed by chance. Whatever fortune played into his hands, he grasped at with instantaneous ardor, and pursued with sporadic industry. He picks up a translation of Euclid, for instance. At once he devotes himself to it heart and soul, difficult though he finds it to gain a clear notion of geometric concepts and methods. An itinerant rabbi from Poland, offering his own commentary upon the Book of Job for sale, comes to Wollstein, and meets with appreciation and respect. Reason enough for the enthusiastic and ambitious Talmud disciple to take interest in nothing but Bible exegesis and Hebrew grammar for months thereafter. Keen, discriminating love of nature, to whose attractions he remained susceptible until his last days, develops in him. He spares no effort to acquaint himself with the flora of his native province and with the mysteries of the starry heavens. Success was a foregone conclusion with one whose equipment consisted of miraculously quick comprehension, a retentive memory, and industry oblivious of all but its object; coupled with an iron constitution and indestructible working powers, not in the least impaired by lack of food and sleep.

Despite his modest demands, he constantly had to battle against want and distress. His nature was proud, self-reliant, and, it must be admitted, unpractical. An exaggerated sense of honor forbade his seeking help even when a petition would have been justified. He preferred to conceal his troubles. For example, he ate dry bread on many a Sabbath, a day on which it was considered a privilege to entertain Talmud disciples. Regardless of wind and weather, he would slip off into the country, a book in his pocket, in order not to reveal his helpless condition. Finally, in spite of his secretiveness, some friend or other discovered his plight, and found ways and means of relieving his distress. Of sanguine temperament, he sought and found consolation in books. Graetz managed to read and study an amazing quantity in the four years and a half of his Wollstein sojourn. His most determined efforts were applied to the acquisition of the French language and literature, his favorite studies, at that time ranking high in the scale of accomplishments. The more important works of Fénelon, Voltaire, Rousseau, and others, and the dramas of Racine and Victor Hugo he knew thoroughly. He had read Lessing, Mendelssohn, Schiller, and other classic writers of Germany, and was attracted particularly to Wieland, to whose works he devoted earnest attention. It is curious that the diary which he then kept does not contain a single reference to Goethe, as if by chance or for some reason he had remained in ignorance of the great poet’s works. On the other hand, he became acquainted towards the end of the Wollstein period with the writings of Börne, Heine, and Saphir, which vivified the proneness to irony and satire dormant in him. The Latin authors gave him most trouble. Yet he mastered Cornelius Nepos, Curtius, and several books of Ovid’s Metamorphoses and of Virgil’s Æneid. That he accomplished extensive reading of rabbinic literature at the same time, and did not neglect his Talmudic studies, is attested by the distinction with which Rabbi Munk honored Graetz, much to his surprise. At New Year 5595 (October, 1834), he was invested with the title Chaber, a degree conferred only upon most worthy and most rarely endowed Talmud disciples of his youthful age.

But now fermentation set in, and white flakes began to rise to the surface of the young wine. Wholly self-taught, he had devoted himself to reading without plan or method, following blind chance or humoring his whims. In this way he had laid up a store of knowledge, promiscuous as well as rich. A chaotic mixture of irreconcilable, disparate ideas and opinions surged through his head, and excited tumultuous commotion in his world of thought and feeling. In November, 1835, the following entry was written in his diary:

“By the various contradictory ideas that perplexed my brain--heathen, Jewish, and Christian, Epicurean, Kabbalistic, Maimonidian, and Platonic--my faith was made so insecure that, when a notion concerning God, eternity, time, or the like, assailed me, I wished myself into the abyss of the nether world.”

Although his humor and his opinions were somewhat unsettled, he by no means had drifted from his moorings. The existence of God and the immortality of the soul were the fixed poles of his emotional world to which he clung. Another entry a little further on in his diary says:

“Like furies such thoughts tugged at my heart-strings, when, as often happened, they arose, suggested by my poverty as well as by certain classes of books. Only the clear, star-studded sky, upon which my eyes were wont to rest with delight on Saturday evenings after sundown, renewed the blessed comforting consciousness in me: Yes, there is a God beyond the starry canopy!”

On the other hand, he began to chafe against the daily religious practices of Judaism, which he had always observed with scrupulous conscientiousness, as he had been taught to do. Even then he did not neglect them, but he was offended by the multiplicity of ceremonies and still more by the petty, poor-spirited, unæsthetic manner in which the people among whom he lived observed them. They no longer were religious observances; they were habits. Attributing the responsibility for these conditions to the Talmud, he bore it ill-will. His repugnance grew whenever he contrasted its style and method with those of the great works of literature with which he had recently become conversant. Comparisons of this kind did not serve to enhance the credit of the rabbinic collection with him. There was another cause for irritation. Up to that time he had lived, or rather studied, heedless of practical concerns. Now his parents and relatives were probably beginning to urge upon him the necessity of considering the choice of a vocation or of turning to professional studies. So just a demand he could not disregard, especially in the sensitive state of mind in which he then found himself. Often he brooded over the question, “What next?” and elaborated the most bizarre plans only to reject them. A seemingly slight incident occurred which quelled the commotion in his breast. His craft, helplessly driving among perilous crags, was guided into smooth waters by a little book appearing just then under the title, “אגרת צפון {Hebrew: Igeret Tzafon}, Nineteen Letters on Judaism, published by Ben Usiel.”5

The partisans of the reform movement, who proposed to remodel or set aside religious customs and traditional observances of historical Judaism as incompatible with modern life, had up to that time maintained the upper hand in the literary discussion of religious affairs. They were exerting constantly increasing attraction upon the younger generation, and were growing bolder and more impetuous in their propaganda for the obliteration, as far as possible, of religious peculiarities. Bent upon the preservation of old faith and custom unimpaired, their opponents had at first refused to make any concession whatsoever to the modern demands, and had even failed to provide themselves with new weapons of defense. When the movement assumed threatening dimensions, the conservatives faced it unprepared and impotent. Bewildered strangers in the great world, habituated to the social forms of the Ghetto, enmeshed in the web of Talmudic ideas, they were wholly unable to put up an efficient leader or regenerator. Suddenly that which had long been painfully lacking seemed to incorporate itself in a young theologian. In the above-mentioned anonymous work, “Nineteen Letters,” Samson Raphael Hirsch, rabbi at Oldenburg, championed the undiminished value of all religious usages with skill, eloquence, and intrepidity. His manner held out the hope that he would breathe a new spirit into the old forms. The boldness of the work in frankly presenting this point of view with all the consequences springing therefrom produced the effect of a sensational occurrence upon the Jewish public. Into the mind of Graetz, casting about for an anchor for his disturbed feelings, it fell like a flash of lightning, revealing the path to be followed in the search for his ideals. He reports:

“Often I spoke of it [religious doubt] to B. B., the only one to whom I could tell my thoughts on such subjects. Then he would allege the urgent necessity for reforms in view of the gradual decay of religion. But I realized, that reform, that is, the omission of a number of laws organically interwoven with the rest, would abrogate the whole Law. How delighted I therefore was with a new book, ‘אגרת צפון {Hebrew: Igeret Tzafon}, Nineteen Letters on Judaism, anonymous,’ in which a view of Judaism I had never before heard or suspected was defended with convincing arguments. Judaism was represented as the best religion and as indispensable to the salvation of mankind. With avidity I devoured every word. Disloyal though I had been to the Talmud, this book reconciled me with it. I returned to it as to a mistress deemed faithless and proved true, and determined to use my utmost effort to pierce to its depths, acquire a philosophical knowledge thereof, and, as many would have me believe that I might become a so-called ‘rabbi-doctor of theology’ (studirter Rabbiner), publicly demonstrate its truth and utility. I set about my task at once, beginning with the first folio ברכות {Hebrew: Berachot} and the first Book of Moses. I dwelt upon every point with pleasure, treating them not as remnants of antiquity, but as books containing divine help for mankind. My endeavor was materially advanced by the knowledge I had acquired here, among other things of theology, which only now I learned to esteem as a branch of science; of geometry--I had studied nearly the whole of the first three books of Euclid; and of history.”

After that he could not content himself with life in Wollstein; the place had nothing more to offer him. The resolution to quit the town, which had grown into his heart as his second home, was facilitated by the removal of an uncle, depriving him of his strongest support; by the usual disappointment and revulsion of feeling following the usual extravagance of a youthful, fantastic love-affair; and by conflicts with companions and patrons, caused to some extent doubtless by the disharmonious state of his mind and aggravated by tittle-tattle. But whither was he to turn to satisfy the yearnings of his soul? He decided on Prague, the Mecca of the young Jewish theologians of the day, “a city most famous for learning, hospitality, and other virtues.”

II. THE APPRENTICE.

Graetz left Wollstein in April, 1836, and went to Zerkow to acquaint his parents with his intentions and consult with them. Letters of recommendation to families in Prague were obtained, and his parents and other relatives made up a small purse for him. Graetz secured a passport, packed his modest belongings in a handbag, and set out on his journey in high spirits. Partly afoot, partly by stage when the fare was not forbidding, he made his way to Breslau, and thence through the Silesian mountains to the Austrian boundary, which he reached not far from Reinerz. Here, though he was fortified with a passport, the frontier inspector, like a cherub with a flaming sword, opposed his entrance into Austria. He was unable to produce ten florins ($5) cash, the possession of which had to be demonstrated by the traveler who would gain admission to the land of the double eagle, unless he came as a passenger in the mail-coach. Dismayed our young wanderer resorted to parleying, and appealed to his letters of recommendation. In vain; the official would hear of no compromise. Too proud and inflexible to have recourse to entreaty or trickery, Graetz grimly faced about, and much disheartened journeyed as he had come, over the same road, back to Zerkow. His parents were not a little astonished at his return, and equally rejoiced to have their son with them for some time longer. The adventure may be taken as typical of the curious mishaps that befell him in practical life, particularly at the beginning of his career. They often cut him to the quick, but never shook his belief in his lucky star. His originative and impressionable nature carried with it the power of discerning important points of view and valid aims, but he seems to have been too far-sighted and impetuous to lay due stress upon the means and levers necessary for the attainment of ends.

For the moment he sought to drown remembrance of his abortive journey in study. He became absorbed in Latin works; he read Livy, Cicero’s de natura deorum, which compelled his reverential admiration, Virgil’s Æneid, and the comedies of Terence. Besides, he busied himself with Schrökh’s universal history and with his Wieland, whose “Sympathies,” “Golden Mirror,” and other works “delighted, refreshed, and fascinated” him “inexpressibly.” The Talmud and Hebrew studies claimed no less attention; he was especially zealous about the exegesis of the Earlier Prophets. Downcast by reason of the uncertainty of his future, and his scorn piqued by the pettiness and narrow-mindedness of his provincial surroundings, he found an outlet for his restlessness in all sorts of wanton pranks, such as high-spirited youths are apt to perpetrate in their “storm and stress” period. He ridiculed the rabbi, played tricks on the directors of the congregation, annoyed the burgomaster, always escaping unpunished, and even horrified his parents by accesses of latitudinarianism, such as the following. On the day before the eve of the Atonement Day, it is a well-known custom for men to swing a living rooster and for women to swing a living hen several times about their heads. At the same time a short prayer is recited, pleading that the punishment due for the sins committed by the petitioner be transferred to the devoted fowl. At the approach of the holy season, Graetz announced that he would certainly not comply with the Kapores custom, but his words were taken to be idle boastfulness. The fateful evening came, and the seriocomic celebration was long delayed by the non-appearance of the eldest son. The father’s wrath was kindled, and he threatened to burn all books other than Hebrew found in the possession of his heretic offspring. The mother set out to search everywhere for her erring son. When she finally found him, he went home with her in affectionate obedience, but nothing could induce him to manipulate the rooster in the customary way. Unswung and uncursed the bird had to be carried to the butcher, and only on the following day a touching reconciliation was effected.

After the Fast, a bookdealer at Wollstein, a friend of his, who usually kept him informed about new books on Jewish subjects, sent Graetz the “Nineteen Letters by Ben Usiel,” which he had longed to possess. The book again electrified him, and he conceived the idea of offering himself as a disciple to its author, whose identity had meantime been revealed. Samson Raphael Hirsch appeared to him to be the ideal of a Jewish theologian of the time and of the confidence-inspiring teacher for whom he had yearned, to obtain from him guidance and, if possible, a solution of the manifold problems occupying his mind. Accordingly, Graetz wrote to the District Rabbi (Landesrabbiner) of Oldenburg. He did not conceal his views, but clearly and frankly laid bare the state of his feelings and the course of his intellectual development. He was successful. After a short time, Hirsch addressed the following letter to him:

“My dear young Friend:--With pleasure I am ready to fulfill, as far as in me lies, the wish expressed in your letter to me. You know the sentence of our sages, יותר משעגל רוצה לינק הפרה רוצה להניק {Hebrew: Yoter mishe’egel rotzeh linak, haparah rotzah l’hanik},6 and if, as I should gladly infer from your letter, the views therein expressed are more than an evanescent mood; if it is your resolute determination to study Torah for its own sake, you are most cordially welcome, and I shall expect to see you after פסח הבע''ל {Hebrew: Pesach haba aleynu l’tovah}.7 But I have one request to make. In the ardor of your feelings, you have conceived an ideal picture of the author of the ‘Letters’ by far exceeding the real man in size. Reduce the picture by half, by three-fourths, indeed, and ask yourself whether you are still attracted by it. Do not expect to find an accomplished master, but a student occupied with research. If your heart still says yes, then come. I should like to be informed as soon as possible, whether I may expect you after Pessach, as I shall have to modify another relation accordingly. Be kind enough, too, if you have no objection, to let me know how you expect to support yourself here. I trust that you will neither take umbrage at this question nor misconstrue it. It was put only because I wanted to express my willingness to assist you as much as I can during your stay here, if it should be necessary. Therefore, I beg you to be as frank and unreserved in your answer as I ventured to be in my question. With kindest regards, etc.

Oldenburg, December 26, ’36.”

To this letter Graetz replied, that he did say “yes” from the bottom of his heart; that it was his dearest ambition to devote himself to genuine Judaism and its doctrines; that he especially desired to learn the methods of Talmud study, particularly of the Halakha, pursued by a man whom he admired profoundly; that as for his livelihood, the satisfaction of the most elementary needs sufficed for him; and that his parents would give him a small allowance.

In answer thereto, the formal invitation to come to Oldenburg was extended by Hirsch on February I, 1837. He offered Graetz board and lodging in his own house, with the understanding that his parents would provide for other needs, and he expected his disciple after Passover (in May). Wishing to visit relatives on the way and see the sights of Berlin and Leipsic, Graetz set out as early as the beginning of April. In Berlin the museum and the picture-gallery made a deep impression upon him. That he was a remarkably sharp observer is shown in the following accurate characterization of the preacher Solomon Plessner, with whom he became acquainted in Berlin:

“This famous man I also visited, and I found attractive features indicative of acuteness, but a neglected exterior and careless, ungrammatical speech, not guiltless of the Jewish sing-song (mauscheln). This surprises me, for his language in his sermons is pure and choice. He is between forty and fifty years old, wears a beard, and seems to be honestly and genuinely religious. But his manner is excited; he speaks with rapid utterance, all the while running to and fro and arranging his books absent-mindedly.”

In Leipsic he visited his countryman Fürst, concerning whom he reports:

“A little man whose face was familiar to me from my childhood days came towards me. I handed him the letter given me by his mother. He said indifferently: I shall write in a few days. But when I told him the goal and purpose of my journey, and showed him the letters [from Hirsch], his attitude changed, and he talked with me in a very friendly way. Finally, when he recognized that I was not an ignoramus, he confided several matters to me, told me about his scientific adversaries, and boasted that he had taught Gesenius, that he had become reconciled with Ewald, that the greatest scholars corresponded with him, etc.... Our conversation grew more and more confidential, and finally we parted as friends. He invited me to visit him again, if I changed my mind and staid over פסח {Hebrew: Pesach}.... In case I did not remain, I had to promise that I would enter into correspondence with him.... I was particularly pleased to find, that Fürst has no intention of accepting baptism, and that he means to promote the cause of Judaism.... To work for Judaism, he says, is the prime obligation of every Jew that devotes himself to study, by which he means strictly scientific, possibly also philologic study.”

In order not to fritter away all his time while traveling, Graetz began to study Greek, and the Greek conjugations served to beguile dreary hours, banishing remembrance of the mishaps that could not fail to befall one with straitened means on so long a journey, and counteracting the despondency which in consequence often seized upon him. In a miserable village, in which he was forced to spend a whole day on account of the Sabbath, he found a copy of the New Testament, and read it for the first time. He describes the impression made upon him by this first reading in the following words:

“Despite the many absurdities and inconsistencies, the mildness of the character of Jesus attracted me; at the same time I was repelled, so that I was altogether confused.”

On May 8, finally, he arrived in Oldenburg, where a new world opened before him.

In Samson Raphael Hirsch he met a man whose spiritual elevation and noble character compelled his profound reverence, and who fully realized all the expectations that he had harbored concerning him. Hirsch was a man of modern culture, and his manner was distinguished, even aristocratic, although he kept aloof from all social intercourse. He was short of stature, yet those who came in contact with him were strongly impressed by his external appearance, on account of his grave, dignified demeanor, forbidding familiarity. With great intellectual gifts and rare qualities of the heart, he combined varied theological attainments and an excellent classical education. Comprehensive or deep ideas cannot be said to have been at his disposal, but he scintillated with original observations and suggestive sallies, which put his new pupil into a fever of enthusiasm. He was the only teacher from whom Graetz’s self-centered being received scientific stimulation; perhaps the only man to exercise, so far as the stubborn peculiarity of Graetz’s nature permitted it, permanent influence upon his reserved, independent character.

On his arrival in Oldenburg, the new-comer was most kindly received by Hirsch, and was at once installed in his house, of which thenceforth he was an inmate. Instruction was begun on the very next day. The forenoons were devoted to the Talmud, the late afternoons to the Psalms. The disciple was singularly attracted and stimulated, fairly elevated by the brilliant, penetrating method applied to the exegesis of these works. Plan, order, and coherence were now imposed upon his scientific acquirements. Hirsch took true fatherly interest in his protegé; he exerted himself to discipline his mind and fix his moral and religious standards. At the same time, as though even then a suspicion of the unusual force and talent of this youth panting for knowledge and instruction had dawned upon him, he guarded against assuming the airs of a domineering pedagogue. Despite the difference in age between them he treated him as an equal. He was endowed with truly marvelous power to stir his disciple’s soul-life to its depths. Every chord of Graetz’s being was set in vibration, and he solemnly vowed to remain a true son and an honest adherent of Judaism under all circumstances. Added years may have contributed to the result; but at all events it is certain that Graetz developed visibly under this master’s guidance.

The services required of him in the house of his teacher were mainly those of an assistant. He accompanied the District Rabbi on his tours of inspection, the tedium of their journeys being relieved with discussions on Talmudic and Biblical subjects. He revised with Hirsch the last part of the latter’s “Horeb,” helped him read the proof of the last sheets of the book, which delighted and thrilled the young man, and assisted him in various similar ways. How flattering an opinion the punctilious rabbi must have held of his assistant is proved by the fact, that when he had to go to a resort for the restoration of his undermined health, he authorized him to render decisions on questions of religious law (שאלות {Hebrew: Sh’eylot}) during his absence. The assistant fulfilled his duties so conscientiously that the responsibility oppressed him. He confessed that he had imagined the rendering of correct decisions much easier. His enthusiasm burst into flame when he received the following affectionate letter from Hirsch:

“My dear Graetz:--I still owe you cordial thanks for your kind lines. I am delighted to hear that you are industrious, and that you keep to my time-schedule so well. Continue to study, for I, on my part, shall soon have forgotten how to study, and literally shall have to begin to learn all over again. Before my departure, I wanted to call your attention to something, and I do now what I then forgot. I have frequently seen you read the works of Bayle. They are a treasury of learning, and much information can be derived from them, but the man takes peculiar pleasure in laying stress upon דברי ערוה {Hebrew: Divrei ervah};8 things of that kind are טמא {Hebrew: tamei} and מטמא {Hebrew: M’tamei}9. Pass lightly over such passages; they are unprofitable and harmful; read only what is purely scientific. Follow my advice, etc., etc.”

Such friendly and tactful admonitions, permitting the pupil to follow out his own bent, were always employed by Hirsch, and they but served to enkindle Graetz’s enthusiasm anew. In spite of the young man’s critical propensities combined with a sanguine temperament, his devoted attachment to his master by no means waned under the strain of daily intimate intercourse, not even when he could no longer doubt his ideal’s lack of historic depth and scientific, or rather philosophic insight. Graetz’s nature strongly impelled him to form friendships, and his attachments were fervent. He always felt a lively interest in what went on about him, and even at that early time he was fond of taking an active part in shaping the occurrences of the day, whenever he thought, that by assuming the rôle of Providence he might be useful to his friends in the ordering of their affairs--a disposition that redounded later to the benefit of many of his pupils. In January, 1837, for instance, the belated news reached him from his home, with which he kept up a steady correspondence, that the Chief Rabbi Akiba Eger had died in Posen. Without being commissioned to do so, he wrote to the directors of the Posen congregation, and brought Hirsch, whose yearning for a wide sphere of activity he knew, to their notice. When the directors entered into negotiations with Hirsch he broke out into jubilation. In fact, a party favoring the pretensions of the Oldenburg District Rabbi formed in Posen, but nothing more resulted. The procedure was repeated when the Wollstein rabbinate fell vacant in 1840, except that Hirsch, to his disciple’s great disappointment, would not share Graetz’s enthusiasm for Wollstein. From this it appears that Graetz was not a recluse nor a bookworm. In Oldenburg, as everywhere, he sought to meet people and cultivate friendly intercourse with them, and his joyous nature readily yielded to the innocent gayety of social pleasures.

At the same time he neglected neither his duties nor his studies. While with Hirsch he acquired the English language, and finding some Syriac books in the rabbi’s library, he began to devote himself to Syriac. The study of the former language his master seems to have encouraged, but not of the latter. Hirsch met his disciple with uniform kindness, and returned his enthusiastic devotion with fatherly benevolence. Graetz was treated as a member of his family. In the third year of his Oldenburg sojourn, his relations with the mistress of the house were disturbed by slight discords, such as cannot fail to arise in long-continued, familiar intercourse, and tend now to strengthen, now to abridge intimacy. With Graetz’s proud sense of independence they finally sufficed to ruffle the tranquillity of a soul wholly absorbed by the present. Anxiety about his future began to disquiet him. The desire to decide definitely upon a career and the longing to see his parents, who in the meantime had removed from Zerkow to Kosten near Posen, a somewhat larger town, united to make his departure from Oldenburg seem advisable.

III. THE JOURNEYMAN.

The adieux were said with touching cordiality, and after an absence of more than three years Graetz set his face homeward, and arrived in Kosten in the middle of August, 1840. The younger people everywhere received Hirsch’s disciple with joyous welcome, and induced him to preach at Wollstein, Kosten, and Zerkow. His sermons, to be sure, did not transport his audiences with enthusiasm, but they were ample guarantees of the preacher’s fund of knowledge and originality. All his friends, therefore, agreed, that it would be advisable for Graetz to “study,” in the technical sense of the German word, that is, go through the university and obtain a degree. They adduced the fact that the smaller congregations at least, such as Wreschen, Wollstein, and Kosten, in part had appointed “graduate rabbis” (studirte Rabbiner), in part had resolved to fill their rabbinates with them.

To secure means for a university course, he agreed to accept a position as tutor in Ostrowo, and entered upon his work at the end of 1840. Ostrowo is a little town in the south-eastern part of the Province, the seat of a large Jewish community, which at the time was still completely under the sway of the graceless habits of Ghetto life. Graetz felt thoroughly uncomfortable. His position in the house at which he was engaged to teach did not please him, and in the town he found no one with whom he cared to cultivate friendly intercourse. He had submitted to tutoring, by no means an arduous occupation, in order to lay by money, but he lacked financial talent and the ability to economize. In fact, his devotion to his family connections, his good nature, and his improvidence involved him in pecuniary embarrassments so serious that the monologues in his diary overflow with pessimistic, melancholy reflections. He sought indemnification in frequent excursions to neighboring towns, in composing a Hebrew biography of Mishna teachers under the title תולדות אבות {Hebrew: Toldot Avot},10 and, it appears, in reading the works of the Fathers of the Church. On one of his little trips, the occasion being the betrothal of a friend of his, he met the sister of the fiancée, a very young girl, who attracted and pleased him, and who was destined to exert decisive and salutary influence upon his life. The meeting acted like a soothing charm upon his ill-humor, though he was far from anticipating the consequences it bore. He remained in his position at Ostrowo for one year and a half, until July, 1842, when a trivial occurrence ruptured the irksome relation in a manner not altogether pleasant.

Now he went straightway to Breslau to the University. As he had not been graduated from a Gymnasium, Graetz had to obtain ministerial permission to attend the University. His petition was granted, and, in October, 1842, he was matriculated. With reverential awe and expectation the self-taught student entered the mysterious lecture halls consecrated to pure science, only to leave them shrugging his shoulders at the wisdom proclaimed, disappointed, his longings unsatisfied. The knowledge of which he was master when he began his University course was richer and more varied than ordinary students are likely to start with, and though it was not systematically ordered nor well-balanced, it formed a unit, and had already begun to crystallize about a center. His apprenticeship years, in short, were over; the maturity of his views and his judgment is unmistakable.

While at the University, he heard lectures on a wide variety of subjects--on history, philosophy, Oriental languages, even physics--but it does not appear that any left deep traces upon his mind. Even Professor Bernstein, an Orientalist of considerable reputation, who drew him into the circle of his close associates, did not understand how to kindle his pupil’s zeal, usually so impetuous, for the thorough study of Syriac and Arabic. Apparently Graetz had relinquished the ambition to gain mastery of them. The only one to have success was Professor Braniss, a philosopher in high esteem in his day, with whom also Graetz cultivated intimate relations. He at all events must have been instrumental in acquainting him with the Hegelian system of philosophy, and in imbuing him with the recognition, that even in the world of liberty, that is, man’s world of mental endeavor, phases of development succeed each other in conformity with absolute laws, chiefly of an ideal, non-mechanical nature; that therefore the spiritual powers that produce the history of mankind by the realization of ever higher ideas not only follow their indwelling laws, but at the same time submit unconditionally to the law of cause and effect; and that the paradox of opposites, the principle of thesis, antithesis, and synthesis, is particularly helpful in the consideration of historical phenomena.

Though Graetz was immersed in his studies, he did not fail to give close attention to the occurrences in the Breslau Jewish community. The events happening there in those days were not merely of local interest. They cast their light and their shadow far beyond the Silesian frontier, and were the cause of intense excitement in all Jewish circles of Germany. In Breslau the orthodox and the reform views of Judaism for the first time rushed at each other with full force in the struggle for supremacy. Storm and conflict raged violently between the old and the new. Blind to the conditions of the time, orthodoxy stubbornly opposed a non possumus to every offer looking to an adjustment of difficulties. The representatives of the two parties, the orthodox Solomon Tiktin on the one side and the progressive Abraham Geiger on the other, sought to get the better of each other with remorseless acrimony. Geiger won the upper hand, and even the disruption of the Breslau congregation caused by Tiktin’s defeat did not derogate from the reform champion’s victory.

Dr. Abraham Geiger should be classed among the most prominent rabbis of his time. The modern development of the religious life had been proceeding quietly though steadily, when it was convulsed to its depths by the storm announced by his first appearance upon the rabbinical scene. As a speaker and as a writer he handled a popular style with masterful skill, which manifested itself in felicitous copiousness rather than in the concentration of precise, forcible language. One of the best pulpit orators among Jews, he succeeded in holding attention and stimulating thought by his simple manner and brilliant turns of expression. His published sermons, very limited in number, give not even an approximate idea of the powerful impression produced by his spoken words, totally unaided though they were by charms of person.11 His scholarly contributions to Jewish science are of pre-eminent and of permanent value. He has rendered particularly valiant service by his researches into the history of literature, a field in which he was master. On the other hand, one sometimes misses thoroughness of scholarly culture in his early productions, especially those of the first part of his Breslau period. Besides, he was fond of obtruding his reform bias. In spite of his scientific attainments, his historical sense lacked profundity, and in spite of his great achievements in the province of modern liturgy, his appreciation of the needs and emotions of the people’s spiritual life was neither sufficiently delicate nor sufficiently intense. At bottom he was a doctrinaire rationalist. His religious program and aims, too, were not clearly and definitely put forth. For example, his attitude towards the radical currents at that time rolling their destructive waves over Judaism amounted to more than benevolent neutrality. The observer cannot ward off the impression, that he was inclined to steer straight for ethical deism, and was restrained only by opportunist reasons. At this above all Graetz took umbrage, and by and by his antipathy to Geiger was complete. A good deal of sham and tinsel had probably slipped into the various tentative organizations which Geiger endeavored to call into existence; perhaps they were unavoidable concomitants of such efforts. It is possible, too, that the unpleasant impression was reinforced by a tendency to officiousness observable in Geiger--at worst a pardonable foible. As Graetz was constituted, he felt so strong a repugnance to humbug and pretense that he exercised neither forbearance nor consideration towards such faults. He visited Geiger only once, possibly twice. Immediately after Graetz had made himself at home in the lecture-rooms of his department, he paid his respects to the two rabbinical party-leaders. The entry in his diary is as follows:

“I have made the acquaintance of Rabbi Tiktin. With what reverence I used to stand and look at the mail-clad names of the Tiktins on the first pages of רי''פים {Hebrew: Rifim}!12 As Charlemagne in his iron armor kept all intruders at a becoming distance, so the dignity of those theologic knights seemed to me to be enhanced by the long beards and the imposing Spanish canes13 and the Talmudic dust. There was I sitting next to a descendant of those rabbinical נפילים {Hebrew: Nefilim}.14 Ah! what a falling-off there has been! Tempora mutantur et nos mutamur in illis. To be sure, there is still the stately stature, still the Spanish cane. But the ensemble, a something not to be defined in words, is missing. Next to the rabbi, nolentes volentes, I place Dr. Geiger, a spare little man. Why he was so very kind to me I do not know. Of Hirsch we have not yet spoken, and probably shall not speak. But to what depths we have sunk! In the presence of fifty Jews, headed by a רב {Hebrew: Rav}, Dr. Freund15 dares utter words like “rabbinically erratic inferences.” Cicero and Plato, then, are to be read as antidotes to rabbinical perversions. Zounds! And to-day Geiger delivered his first lecture on the Mishna. The Mishna is a collection of religious notions, as they were formed and developed from the Exile to R. Jehuda Hanassi. What insane logic!”

When, in March, 1843, the stiff-necked, tenacious champion of an effete form of Judaism, the lion-warrior Solomon Tiktin, last representative of a race of Talmudic heroes, wounded to the quick by his defeat, was removed from the scene by death, Geiger stood at the zenith of his fame. Since many a day no rabbi’s name had been so well-known as Geiger’s in all the extent of German Jewry, none was so frequently mentioned. In Silesia there was no more popular rabbi, and in Breslau his word was potent, influential, and feared by his adversaries. His scientific eminence was generally acknowledged; his eloquence dominated the pulpit no less than the minds of his hearers. Who dared attack him was badly used, and bore ridicule as well as injury from the fray.

In the course of the year 1844, the first signs of a slowly crystallizing reaction became noticeable. Various germinating forces looking to the formation of a new theologic party on a conservative platform consolidated in that year under the leadership of Zacharias Frankel. From this place and that, single barbed arrows, followed by more and sharper ones, winged by irony and hard to parry, came whizzing through the air, striking Geiger and his followers in the most sensitive spots. A well-known weekly Jewish journal, Der Orient, under the editorship of Dr. Fürst, published reports of the more important occurrences in the Breslau community. The descriptions of the anonymous correspondent were graphic, pungent, and critical. The articles naturally aroused attention. In Breslau, as they continued to appear week after week, they created a veritable sensation. The two parties looked forward to each issue of the “Orient” with equal expectancy, though otherwise with opposite feelings. In the orthodox camp there was exultation. At last an expert writer had appeared, who laid bare all sorts of evils fearlessly and unsparingly, and who seemed to serve the cause of conservatism by his bold opposition to Geiger. But who was the archer that sped his arrow with aim so true and poise so elegant? Guesses were hazarded, a narrow search was instituted, and especially the ranks of the Jewish students of theology at that time gathered in Breslau, mostly about Geiger, were sharply inspected. It was established beyond a doubt, that it was a homo novus, a student from the Province--Graetz, who, proudly independent of every sort of patronage, was earning a scant livelihood by giving lessons. The amazement grew when Graetz, nearly simultaneously with the just mentioned contributions to the “Orient,” published a critical review, valuable even at this late day, of Geiger’s “Textbook of the Mishnic Language.”16 This critique, auspiciously ushering him into the scientific world,17 was begun in the literary supplement of the “Orient” at the end of 1844, and continued as a series of articles in the following year. It gave him the opportunity of expounding his own views upon the subject and displaying advantageously a fund of information, mastery of the material, philological tact, scientific instincts, and considerable talent as a stylist. His criticism of the book is often to the point, but rather severe and not entirely free from animosity. It was characteristic of Graetz to express his opinion clearly and directly. Geiger replied to the challenge in “The Israelite of the Nineteenth Century”18 in still more acrimonious articles, which likewise are not wholly objective. In fact, they contain approaches to personalities, and dwell upon slips and trivial details, thus demonstrating the importance attached to the appearance of his young antagonist in the arena. In any event, Graetz had drawn the attention of a wider circle to himself, and in Breslau he had become at one bound the central topic of interest in Karlsstrasse. The orthodox partisans made advances to him, although he did not for a moment leave them in doubt about his disapproval of their program and his dissent from their religious views. He told them that he was pursuing his own original ideas, and that his guiding principle was unalterable loyalty to positive Judaism. However, he restrained them from many a foolish and fanatic step. In the face of orthodox opposition Geiger had energetically organized a religious school, which was prospering. Graetz therefore advised the adherents of orthodoxy not to permit themselves to lose touch with the younger generation, but to build up a similar institution on conservative lines. The advice seems to have fallen on fruitful soil. It was intimated to the counselor, that the intention was to entrust him with the organization and superintendence of a school of that kind, provided he obtained his University degree before its opening. Besides, his name was beginning to be mentioned in connection with vacant rabbinates. It was therefore necessary to hasten his graduation. After a few weeks of severe application, he finished his thesis, De auctoritate et vi, quam gnosis in Judaismum habuerit, which secured him the doctorate from the University of Jena in April, 1845. Under the title, “Gnosticism and Judaism,”19 the dissertation was published in that year as the first original product of his pen. The work in every respect bears the peculiar stamp of his scientific character. It is distinguished by familiarity with patristic literature; by his method of explaining Talmud statements, commonly taken to be general, as particular historical cases; by lucidity of arrangement and presentation; and by his happy gift of divining the occult relation between things, which enabled him to shed the first rays of light upon the ספר יצירה {Hebrew: Sefer Yetzirah},20 the most enigmatic book of rabbinical literature. The thesis was received kindly, and it gave him a place in the Jewish world of scholarship.

Such surprising successes swelled the breast of the literary novice, who had worked his way to the front by arduous toil, with justifiable and happy hopes. The halcyon days of young fame, at the remembrance of which his face lighted up with pleasure even in old age, he planned to spend with his parents. On his way home he passed through Krotoschin. There, in his friend’s house, he met the half-grown girl of other days, now in the flush of young womanhood. Her image, faint though it had become in the background of his memory, had not faded entirely. She was the daughter of Monasch, the proprietor of the well-known Hebrew printing establishment. Each made a deep impression upon the other, and encouraged to believe that his future might be considered assured, Graetz did not conceal his feelings. They were requited, and the young people plighted their troth. Graetz did not suspect that he had won a strong womanly heart that would be his beacon and a prop to which he would cling for support during the dark days soon to break over him.

All sorts of vague, undefined hopes arose before his view, and some of them gradually assumed shape. The prospect of an honorable position, such as he had longed for and aspired to, seemed about to be realized. The rabbinate of Gleiwitz, one of the larger congregations of Upper Silesia, taking rank in wealth and perhaps in size after Breslau, was vacant, and the authorities were looking out for a man equipped with rabbinic lore, standing upon the height of modern culture, and favoring a sober, moderate reform movement. All entitled to a voice in the matter fixed upon Graetz, whose reputation as a writer had spread to them. He seemed the most suitable incumbent. By virtue of his native talent and his attainments, it was thought that he would be able to overrule or to meet the manifold, rather hazy views and demands of the members of the congregation. The leading spirits among them declared themselves in favor of his election. Nothing more was necessary than to attract all the other circles of the community by proving his homiletic ability in several trial sermons, the success of which seemed a foregone conclusion. Before the great Holy Days of 1845 (5606) Graetz received a Hebrew communication from the directors of the Gleiwitz congregation, couched in the most flattering terms, assuring him of the reversion of the rabbinate, and inviting him to preach the sermons in their synagogue on the Day of Atonement.

At the appointed time, on the eve of the sacred day, he ascended the pulpit, and the result was--a thoroughly unexpected fiasco, the more deplorable as it shattered his own confidence in his oratorical powers. He had forgotten his memorandum completely. Losing his presence of mind, he had to leave the pulpit after saying a few words. His friends and followers stood by him loyally, and did their utmost to secure for him the opportunity of repairing the damage. He succeeded in rehabilitating himself only partly; the ground lost could not be recovered. The surprising mishap, it must be confessed now after the lapse of time, was a stroke of good fortune for the ambitious scholar and his life-work, ungentle though the impetus was that forced him into the path for which he was peculiarly equipped and gifted. In those days of universal fermentation, the religious life of Jewish communities was crossed and agitated by opposite, confused, and stormy currents. A man of uncontrollable impulse to be active and to exert independent, direct influence whenever it might seem necessary, and prone to give utterance to his convictions in truthful, incisive, and caustic language--a quality of dubious value--would hardly have succeeded in steering his rabbinical boat among the crags of party strife, usually carried on with fanatic violence. He would either have had to become faithless to his nature and genius, or, if that were not possible, eventually be wrecked. At best, in case he had a high degree of tact and prudence at his disposal, he would have consumed his finest powers in putting more or less salutary measures into effect on a restricted field. Graetz, who knew himself thoroughly, had always feared that he would not be in his proper place in a rabbinical position. From the first he had felt a shrinking at the thought of the duties and responsibilities of a rabbi. A few days before he left for Gleiwitz he wrote in his diary:

“Of all positions I am least adapted for that of rabbi; in every way I lack force of manner, an imposing presence. My knowledge, too, is highly defective, but my will is strong, energetic. If God’s service can be performed by an instrument of such caliber, then here am I ready for it, body and soul. But the preaching!”

In very truth the preacher’s Pegasus serves the noble enthusiasm of the elect willingly and ardently, and as willingly lends his back to mediocrity to execute more or less doubtful tricks before the eyes and ears of the many-headed crowd. Graetz it threw in the critical moment, and the fall affected him deeply and painfully. He who only a short time before, almost without effort, had won literary triumphs, and who as a rule shrank from no difficult undertaking, now despaired of ever being able to wield the living word with the power with which he directed the pen. In fact, he had been denied the external qualifications of an orator. It cannot be said to have been his appearance that stood in the way of success; he was of average height and well-knit frame. But in loud speech his voice lacked modulation, and his manner was ineffectual. Above all, he was incapable of posing; in his character there was not the slightest trace of the actor, who, as Goethe says, “might give points to a preacher.”

IV. SCHOLAR AND TEACHER.

The above incident put a hopeless end to all the prospects he had entertained. Again care for his daily bread stalked by his side like a specter. The most deplorable aspect of his case was that his strength did not emerge from this severe contest, as from former ones, steeled and braced by cheering hopes for the future. Besides, he reproached himself for having drawn another and a beloved person into his forlorn life. Then the high-mindedness and unselfish devotion of the woman of his choice sustained him, refreshing his weary soul with consolation and encouragement, and calming the tumult of his wounded feelings. His animal spirits rose again under the stimulus of an honorable invitation, extended by Zacharias Frankel, to join a conference of conservative rabbis called by him to meet at Dresden in September,21 1846, for the purpose of discussing the religious problems of the day and uniting for concerted action.

At the very beginning of his career in Dresden, Dr. Zacharias Frankel had developed fruitful activity in connection with the removal of the political and civil disabilities, especially with regard to oaths, under which his coreligionists in Saxony were laboring. None the less he was essentially a scholar. Master of comprehensive knowledge of the Talmud, which he had acquired with critical thoroughness, he laid the foundations for the modern analysis of this work of literature. He made it his life-task to promote the scientific study of the Talmud and trace the evolution of the Halakha. The first-fruits of his literary endeavor betrayed the serious, thorough scholar by the accuracy, the scrupulous nicety, and the trustworthiness of his research, and secured for him a high and undisputed position in the scientific world. When the reform agitation within the Jewish community of Germany developed into a rapid stream whose waters grew more and more turbulent; when, on the one side, rabbinical conferences were planned for the purpose of systematizing and sanctioning projected innovations, and, on the other, distrust of the progressive leaders inspired the fear that the resolutions and professions of such assemblies might throw dangerous, inflammable material into the different congregations; Frankel deemed it prudent to give up his reserve and actively influence the religious movement. In 1844, accordingly, he began to publish the quarterly “Journal for the Religious Interests of Judaism.”22 It was to bear a strictly scientific character, and at the same time discuss the religious topics of the day. A sober, experienced, and tolerant theologian, Frankel held the position, that in matters of faith as in the other concerns of life the exigencies of the times have to be considered, but that concessions to the modern spirit may not remove us from historic ground, and that all modifications must result from a scientific appreciation of the essence and traditions of Judaism.

All this appealed strongly to Graetz, and no sooner had he come into public notice, in the year following the first appearance of the journal, than he sought to establish relations with Frankel. The latter met his advances with cordiality, and invited the young scholar to become a contributor to his quarterly review. Graetz responded with a brilliant and suggestive article, “The Septuagint in the Talmud.”23 It affords a striking example of his peculiar method of comparing Talmud and Midrash passages with each other and with the statements and quotations of the Fathers of the Church, thus determining the historical elements of the Talmudic account and building theories upon it. In the same year (1845), Frankel had gone to Frankfort-on-the-Main, to the second rabbinical conference, with the hope of infusing a spirit of moderation and conciliation into its proceedings and measures. But he abandoned the hope on the passage of the resolution, that the retention of Hebrew as the language of the synagogue service was only “advisable,” not “essential” (objektiv-nothwendig). He, therefore, withdrew from the conference in a public manner, and justified his action in a formal declaration, equally dignified and firm.

On all sides Frankel’s course met with hearty approval. Its effect was to startle the conservatives of every shade of opinion out of their apathy. Numerous prominent communities sent him flattering addresses, conveying their thanks and their unreserved commendation of his resolute policy. Graetz had written an enthusiastic document, which was circulated in Breslau, and was quickly covered with signatures. In collecting them, he had not been able to resist the malicious prompting to secure the names of notorious adherents of Geiger. The latter had taken deep offense at Frankel’s secession, and had been betrayed into abuse by his declaration. It is impossible to say now, why Frankel did not at once utilize the disposition in his favor to gather a large conservative party about himself. Only in the following year, 1846, he took steps looking to this end. He issued invitations to the conservative theologians of modern bias, summoning them to a convention at Dresden, with the purpose perhaps of devising an effective opposition to the third reform conference of rabbis to meet at Breslau in July of the same year. But even this effort was not made with the energy characteristic of Frankel and necessary to accomplish the desired result. When Graetz arrived in Dresden in September, 1846, he was amazed to find that no one else had put in appearance. Samson Raphael Hirsch, at that time District Rabbi of Emden, had from the first refused co-operation with the movement, inasmuch as he denied the authority, natural or conferred, of the modern rabbi to modify the religious cult. Rapoport of Prague had declined the invitation for reasons not specified. It is well-known that his interests were enlisted only in scientific pursuits. Michael Sachs of Berlin had excused himself on the plea of routine duties. For most of the others the time and place of convention were not convenient. To sue for support was out of the question with Frankel’s aristocratic temperament. It was repugnant to him, or he did not know how, to create sentiment in his own favor by agitation or self-advertisement. He could not attract a party to his leadership by seductive wiles, nor infuse fanatic factionalism into its ranks. Relying solely on the justice of his cause, and appealing exclusively to the convictions of his followers, he scorned petty tricks and artifices. That Graetz was the only one to render unconditional obedience to his summons must naturally have produced a deep impression upon him. The two men, so different in years, disposition, and endowments, but at one in views and aims, were brought close to each other by the personal meeting. By tacit agreement they became companions in arms from that moment unto the end. Graetz, at all events, recognizing that their religious principles approximated each other, was resolved to take his position in theological affairs by Frankel’s side, whenever so doing involved no loss of independence. Frankel in turn evinced a sense of their religious affinity by conferring upon Graetz, at his request, the formal authorization for the exercise of rabbinical functions התרת הוראה ({Hebrew: Hatarat hora’ah}). At the end of 1846, Frankel gave up the publication of his journal to save his strength for a better future. To this third and last annual series, Graetz had contributed, besides several reviews, one of his important treatises, that discussing “The Construction of Jewish History”24 in several articles. Bright and vivid in style and replete with fine thoughts which even homiletes drew upon in various ways, the essay defines clearly and sharply the considerations and points of view of essential importance in a complete presentation of Jewish history. But the author was still so prejudiced in favor of the technically philosophic terminology and conceptions of his time that he was betrayed into giving undue prominence to the transcendence of God as compared with the monotheistic idea.

Though Graetz had won high respect by his scholarly productions especially in theologic circles, he vainly looked about for a position, no matter how modest, in which to strike root. At last the sky seemed to grow brighter; he was cheered by the prospect of soon being able to establish a home of his own, a prospect that proved a fata morgana. By the end of 1846 the orthodox party in Breslau resumed energetic operations. They had accepted as their rabbi Gedaliah, the son of the deceased Solomon Tiktin, who had inherited from his father only his tall stature, and they were preparing to open a religious school for the propaganda of their principles. Its organization and superintendence were entrusted to Graetz.25 The Breslau community was no longer a unit, the orthodox members having separated from the congregation. But the seceders had no legally valid right to form a body corporate. Moreover, on July 23, 1847, the law defining the status of the Prussian Jews appeared, and it could not be determined how conditions would be modified by it. Wealthy individuals in their private capacity therefore assumed responsibility in the business contracts of the orthodox party, particularly in the matter of the new school. Then the political storms of 1848 swept over the Prussian provinces. Economic disturbances occurred, and apprehensive of still more serious ones, the wealthy patrons of the orthodox party recalled their pledges. The complete collapse of the religious school followed as the first sacrifice in orthodox circles claimed by the political flood, whose waves carried destructive change to the most remote relations between men. Graetz was again left stranded, without an occupation, without a livelihood.

At that time all eyes were turned towards Vienna, where the popular uprising had assumed vast dimensions and won surprising victories. Democracy stood in battle array, and had gained possession of the Austrian capital. It was fondly hoped that the fortune of war would decide there in favor of the democratic party. A friend of Graetz, Dr. B. Friedmann,26 later rabbi in Mannheim, was at that time prominent in Breslau as an effective popular speaker, and was a member of the editorial staff of the democratic organ, the Oderzeitung. By his intervention the curious proposition was made to Graetz to go to Vienna as correspondent of the journal just mentioned. In his forlorn state he acquiesced, though not without reluctance. On his journey to Vienna, he felt impelled to leave the direct route and stop off at Nikolsburg to pay a visit to his former teacher, Samson Raphael Hirsch, who had meantime resigned the District Rabbinate of Emden for that of Nikolsburg. Letters had passed between them constantly since the Oldenburg days, and although Graetz was not in sympathy with the rigidly traditional point of view occupied by Hirsch, and no longer viewed the theologic attitude of his old guide with youthful enthusiasm, but rather with critical, sober judgment, their friendly relations of other times had suffered no diminution in cordiality. Graetz’s love and reverence for Hirsch had not in the least evaporated, and Hirsch still felt strongly attracted to the younger man. He was not disposed to sanction his project of going to Vienna, the hot-bed of revolution, and Graetz, who had little love and desire for the calling of a political reporter, was easily persuaded to stay in Nikolsburg and content himself with a subordinate place at the religious school of the town. In the background, to be sure, the reversion of a teacher’s position at a theologic seminary, projected and seriously considered by Hirsch, loomed up before him.

Hirsch had long cherished the idea of founding a Jewish theologic institute. He shared this dear ambition with the other prominent rabbis of his generation, who hoped thus to further their wish to perpetuate each one his own theologic bias. The establishment of a theologic seminary was, in fact, one of the burning questions of the day. Nikolsburg, where a popular Talmud school had flourished from time immemorial, seemed to lend itself to the execution of Hirsch’s plan. It was only necessary to use the existing institution as a foundation, make the proper changes in its management, and infuse the new spirit into it. Graetz was at once induced by his patron to give a course of lectures on Jewish history to the students at Nikolsburg, who were well versed in the Talmud, but whose training had been wholly dialectic. The character of his auditors suggested the subject to the lecturer. He treated the time of the Mishna and the Talmud, a period of which he had previously made a thorough study, and to which he again devoted serious research with a view to his academic purpose. Despite the zeal with which he applied himself to his lectures and studies, his main expectation suffered disappointment. The painfulness of his precarious position became more pronounced as time passed. The fanatics of the Nikolsburg Ghetto found fault even with the scrupulously religious conduct of their District Rabbi; as for his disciple, he went up and down among them a strange, repellant figure. Denunciations led the local authorities to suspect him of democratic leanings, and he was thus branded with the darkest stigma that could be fastened upon any one, but particularly upon a foreigner, in the Austria of that day. All the influence possessed by his friends had to be exerted to ward off ugly complications and immediate expulsion.

It became more and more evident that the rabbinical seminary, upon which Graetz had staked all his hopes, was only a bubble. Whether the circumstances of place and time were unpropitious, or whether Hirsch dropped the plan for other reasons, is doubtful.27 Moreover, the friendly relations between the two men began to be somewhat strained. Therefore, the proposal to undertake the organization and superintendence of a school, made him by the directors of the Jewish community of Lundenburg, a little town in the Nikolsburg district in the neighborhood of Vienna, was hailed by Graetz as release from an untenable position. Negotiations were quickly concluded, and on September 12, 1850, he was appointed director and superintendent of the Jewish school at Lundenburg.

Before entering upon the duties of his office he hastened home, and in the beginning of October, 1850, solemnized his marriage with the loyal woman whose patience had never failed, who had never been discouraged by hope deferred, and had never lost confidence in his ability. He could not have found a truer, a braver comrade than the wife who shared the fortunes of the rest of his career. By her harmonious, temperate, and loving nature, she not only glorified his home and cheered cloudy days, but also restrained his impetuous disposition, and moderated his proneness to sharp, caustic, aggressive words. She understood the needs of his inmost soul, in the recesses of which a reverberation was sometimes heard as of vague, unfulfilled longings. His personality was made up of many an incommensurable factor that baffled explanation. With all his communicativeness he was reserved; the most intimate emotions of his heart were never revealed. To outsiders he always appeared wholly unruffled and serene, and no one suspected the thoughts and feelings stormily surging through his being under its placid surface. But in order to preserve his equanimity, he stood in need of frank expression to some one or in some way. It was the outlet and the purification of the easily excited and strongly reacting emotions of a nature responding quickly to external pressure. Probably the leaves of his diary served this purpose; most of them were written under the stimulus of tense passion. From the day of his marriage the record becomes more and more attenuated, until it ceases entirely. In his life-companion he had found the responsive being devoted to him in boundless veneration and sympathy, whose sentiments were a perfect echo, clearer usually than the original sound, of his thought and feeling. And as she took part in his soul-life, so she shared in his intellectual plans. She made her husband’s scientific interests her own, and in his scholarly research afforded him the efficient help of a careful assistant.

The new principal began his work in Lundenburg on October 15 with zeal and love for his task--he superintended, classified, taught, and delivered solemn addresses. Apparently success was not lacking, for he met with encouraging applause. In the shelter of his modest but happy home, he resumed his literary plans and work. While preparing his Nikolsburg lectures, he had gathered together an abundance of material on the Talmudic era, which he now meant to put to use.

Before long, however, gray clouds cast a shadow on his idyllic condition. The relation between him and Hirsch almost suffered an open breach. When the newly married couple came to Nikolsburg to pay their respects to him, Hirsch demanded that the young wife, in accordance with a Talmudic custom, cover her beautiful hair with a sort of wig, called Scheitel. She resisted the bidding politely but firmly, with the pride of an offended woman. Graetz upheld his wife energetically, and the two parties separated little pleased with each other. The low-hanging mist apt to develop in the atmosphere of narrow, undisciplined Ghetto life, particularly in a small Austrian community, was more oppressive even and harder to bear. The Lundenburg rabbi, a narrow-minded Talmudist, who feared to have his fame overshadowed by Graetz’s, now and again asserted his official superiority unpleasantly. Small town rivalries were fomented to annoy the notabilities of the congregation by means of attacks upon the measures and the men they favored. Such conditions made Graetz feel by their hidden venom that unmixed joy is the portion of no mortal, least of all of the principal of an Austrian communal school. Denunciations of him were again rife. Those before the district court representing him as a democrat incarnate were particularly troublesome. Happily the charges were dismissed without in the least injuring him.

The year 1851 heightened his happiness; it brought him the joys of fatherhood. A daughter was born to him, the only one in a family of five children. His relation to her was always peculiarly close and affectionate. In the same year Zacharias Frankel re-entered the theologic arena with a monthly journal, which, unlike his earlier venture, the Zeitschrift, was to be devoted first and foremost to scientific interests. Graetz received a most honorable invitation to become a contributor, and he gladly ranged himself under Frankel’s banner. In quick succession he published in the first year of the “Monthly Journal for the History and Science of Judaism”28 (October, 1851–December, 1852) a series of historical monographs: “Jewish Historical Studies;”29 a review of Rapoport’s Encyclopedia; “Talmudic Chronology and Topography;”30 and “The Removable Highpriests of the Second Temple Period”31--all of which evinced great erudition, clear grasp of the subject, and mature judgment. They are of the nature of special studies in preparation and as a foundation for a connected account of the events from the downfall of the Jewish state until the completion of the Talmud. He had long cherished the idea of such a work, and he now reduced it to writing with great rapidity.

In the meantime, in the course of the year 1852, the complexion of the district court seems to have changed, or the wind was blowing from another quarter; at all events, Graetz suddenly and with painful surprise became aware that unceasing intrigues and malicious denunciations had at last taken effect upon the district governor. He found himself exposed to serious annoyances and humiliations. No effort to ward them off promising success, he resigned his position at Lundenburg.

He felt impelled to return to his native Prussia, and determined to remove to Berlin with his family. The decision was inspired by the hope of easily finding in the capital a publisher for his history of the Talmudic epoch, which was almost ready for the press. He was furthermore actuated by the consideration, that in the prosecution of the plan of writing a complete history of the Jews, already taking shape in his mind, he could not well do without the libraries to be found only in large cities. In the latter half of September, 1852, he arrived in Berlin, and was kindly received by Dr. Michael Sachs and other friends willing to serve him. Through Dr. Sachs he became acquainted with the excellent Dr. Veit, who undertook the publication of his work. During the winter semester 1852–53 the directors of the Berlin congregation invited him to deliver, for a honorarium, a number of historical lectures before students of Jewish theology, in a course in which the other speakers were Zunz and Sachs. His lectures were received with approval.32 At the close of one of them, delivered in the middle of February, he was approached by Joseph Lehmann, railway director and editor of a journal in good standing, “Magazine for Foreign Literature,”33 a man justly enjoying high respect. Acting under the instructions of the Board of Curators of the Fränkel Bequests in Breslau, Lehmann asked Graetz, whether he would be disposed to become a member of the faculty of the rabbinical seminary to be established at Breslau. At the same time he told him, that negotiations with Dr. Frankel, Chief Rabbi of Dresden, were pending with regard to the directorship, and that Frankel, among other conditions of his acceptance, had demanded Graetz’s engagement as teacher. The Board of Curators had assented cheerfully, and now desired Graetz’s answer. Graetz made his consent dependent upon Frankel’s final, favorable decision, which was received soon after. These preliminaries over, the troublesome discussions on the organization of the seminary began. In the first place, no model or scheme whatsoever existed that might serve as a guide in the organization of a rabbinical academy, with regard to such matters as the time-schedule, the curriculum, and the choice of subjects. Its creation was pioneer work, in furtherance of which there was no available experience; yet the arrangements determined upon under such peculiar circumstances were to bear within themselves the guarantee of practical and immediate success. Besides, the will of the founder, Jonas Fränkel, contained certain clauses, the execution of which, in view of the changed times, might become a menace to the new institution.34 The plan, curriculum, and methods of the future seminary were determined by Zacharias Frankel alone, who recognized the aim to be pursued with clearness and practical insight, and so created the basis for the Jewish theology of the present. His wish to secure a professionally trained man, whose assistance might be freely drawn upon by himself and the Board of Curators, was all the more willingly complied with, as from many considerations an intermediary between the business and the pedagogic heads seemed not superfluous. Frankel had parted from Dresden with a heavy heart, and was inclined to seize the first fairly just pretense to recall his word to the Curators. Thus it came about that Graetz entered the service of the projected seminary on July 1, 1853, with the assurance of being employed, under Frankel’s directorship, as one of the principal teachers,35 in case the statutes and the plans for the institution met with governmental approval, which seemed not at all doubtful.

V. THE MASTER HISTORIAN.

At the same time Graetz’s book issued from the press under the title: “History of the Jews from the Downfall of the Jewish State to the Completion of the Talmud.”36 This was really the sub-title. The chief title-page ran as follows: “History of the Jews from the Earliest Times until the Present Day. Volume IV,”37 indicating that the author had conceived more than the first sketchy plan of a complete history of the Jews, and that the publication of the fourth volume first was merely an accident in the order of production. Beginning with the account of the Talmudic time turned out a happy hit. If the two literary events admit of comparison, Graetz’s first important work has its only counterpart in the biography of Rashi, with which Zunz, the creator of the science of Judaism, inaugurated his notable activity. The enthusiasm of Zunz’s contemporaries is said to have been kindled when Rashi, the eminent interpreter of Bible and Talmud, familiar to them from their childhood days, and esteemed an indispensable guide and companion in exegesis, appeared to them divested of the vaporous halo of supernatural glory, and translated into the sphere of human reality. Similarly the effect was electrifying when a flood of brilliant light suddenly scattered the mist of the dark epoch in which Mishna and Talmud, the authoritative books of post-Biblical Judaism, were composed, and revealed to sight life-size the rabbi-authors of those works, whose names and maxims were matter of common knowledge. The pen of our historian had charmed them out of the unreality of their existence. They had been habitually looked upon as abstractions, doctrines incarnate. Not much more had been known of them than that they had said, asked, and sometimes wailed. At best, people had been inclined to imagine them a sort of Kabbalists or Polish itinerant rabbis. Now it was seen that hot blood and throbbing life pulsated in their veins. Their clear-cut, mental features with their characteristic excellencies and shortcomings distinguished one from the other. They stood before the reader in checkered array, true knights by the grace of intellect, antique figures, glowing with patriotism, of inflexible will and indestructible faith. With equal vividness the author depicted the spiritual atmosphere of the time with its humors, passions, fermentation, and struggles; the surging and seething of ideas, factions, opinions, and aims in wild disorder and violent opposition to one another; and the final evolution of the impelling forces which determine the course of historical events by the exchange of thrust and counterthrust. Graetz wanted to make the heart-beat of the period perceptible to the senses. Therefore, he was little concerned about the technical correctness of his style and diction. He did not shrink from brusqueness in words, nor from luridness and voluptuousness in coloring. Without regard to sensitive feelings he chose the plainest, the most striking expressions, that he might be understood by all; that no doubt as to his opinion might suggest itself; that personages and events might appear upon the canvas in a clear light and in the proper position, as they were mirrored in his mind.

The book naturally aroused a great sensation upon its appearance. It at once created an audience for itself with which it found a rich measure of favor and applause. On the other hand, most of the author’s scholarly colleagues at first reserved their opinions. They were taken aback by the new data, which--as, for instance, the formation of Christian sects--had been boldly pressed into service to complete the picture, and they could not reconcile themselves to the description of ancient conditions by means of modern catchwords and turns of expression peculiar to the lighter forms of literature. For example, Graetz characterizes Nachum of Gimso, in whose life mishap after mishap redounded to his benefit, as the Candide38 of the Tanaitic world of legend. He seeks to reconstruct the details of the Bar-Cochba revolt, the chapter on which is one of the most beautiful and touching in his “History,” from single names and widely scattered debris. He goes so far as to speak of two lines of defense, the Esdraelon line and the Tur-Malka line.39 He charges the eminent teacher Judah ha-Nassi with irritability and sensitiveness.40 Relying on Talmudic accounts, he refuses to credit the Romans with a civilizing mission in Asia, and describes their influence in Western Asia in particular as destructive of culture and detrimental to morality. Such features of the work confounded the critics and judges. They did not venture to decide whether the boldness of genial originality was asserting itself, or only the uncouthness of fantastic sensationalism, whose tinsel would not stand the test of time. Moreover, the two religious parties looked askance and with dissatisfaction at a book written to serve the truth only and not available for any sort of propaganda. Loud and public quarrel between them had ceased in the face of the world-stirring events of 1848 and their consequences, but they were as sharply divided as ever. The adherents of the reform party reproached the author with having glorified the Talmud and its teachers, and with having omitted to touch in “a single word”41 upon the sorest spot, “the petrifaction and ossification of Judaism” brought about by the code and its exponents. The rigidly orthodox, on the other hand, were incensed at the criticism, unwarranted in their eyes, to which he subjected the bearers of tradition and at his effort to prove the body of traditional doctrine the product of historical processes.42

But no voice dissented from the opinion, that in Graetz Jewish science had gained an eminent promoter with astonishing scholarship at his disposal. His qualifications and achievements were too extraordinary to be belittled on account of the unavoidable errors that had slipped into his history. It could not be denied, that research had received a decided impetus, and that the sum of historical knowledge had been considerably increased by Graetz’s results, which he had obtained by his mastery over the two Talmuds and the Midrash literature; by his close acquaintance with patristic works; by his effective way of bringing these two widely separated literary spheres close to each other, permitting the one to shed light on the other, and thus clearing up critical points; by his happy gift first of discerning, in spite of the rectification they frequently stood in need of, that certain data scattered over various by-paths of literature were complementary, and then of combining them with each other; and by his acuteness in detecting with unerring glance, animating with spirit, and applying to good purpose, long disused geographical names and obsolete terms lying forgotten in some dark corner and buried under debris.43 In view of the fact that it required rare courage to venture upon the elaboration of one of the obscurest and most difficult portions of Jewish history, thoroughly neglected at that time in the way of special research and monographs, even his opponents could “not help confessing that on the whole he had fulfilled his task satisfactorily.”44 There was evidence, to be sure, of still higher courage in Graetz’s announcement, made without fear or diffidence, on the title-page and in the preface of his book, designated as the fourth volume, that he intended to publish a complete history of the Jews, written in the same spirit of critical research and in the same style. The promise gave occasion for ironical insinuations. How could a single individual hope to accomplish so great an undertaking? Was Graetz endowed with the creative, plastic power of the genuine historian? Or, perhaps he expected to obtain the laurels of the historian on credit!

On the whole, circumstances shaped themselves in a way favorable to him, and facilitated the execution of his bold undertaking. It should not be imagined that a community, or--still more extravagant idea--a Mæcenas offered to furnish him with the means indispensable for the accomplishment of a task such as he had set himself. Brilliant as his achievement was, how much greater it might have been, if he, with his genius for work, had been put in a position to examine and use at his leisure the manuscript treasures of the various European libraries! Up to the present day such good fortune has not befallen Jewish science. It seems as though the Jewish race, endowed with an understanding heart and an open hand for humane interests in general, has not yet awakened to a full recognition of the debt of honor it owes its own past. Graetz, however, was well content to be relieved of the irksome care for his daily bread by the ratification, on April 10, 1854, on the part of the Prussian government, of the statutes, the plan, and the teaching staff of the Rabbinical Seminary. He returned to Breslau, where his literary star had first risen, and where he had once tried vainly to establish himself permanently. Thenceforth he remained there in the congenial position of a regularly appointed teacher at the first Jewish theologic institution, which was inaugurated, with Z. Frankel as director, on August 10, 1854, under the name of “The Jewish Theological Seminary founded by Fränkel.”45

It must be looked upon as providential that the task of first impressing the modern spirit upon the theologic training for the rabbinical office fell to the share of men of such eminent distinction as Frankel, the director of the new institution, and Graetz and Jacob Bernays, its regular teachers. The personality of each of the three was strongly marked. Each one was a homo trium litterarum, in the sense that in subordination to his specialty, he had acquired mastery over the Hebrew-rabbinic, the classical, and the modern literature. By deep and earnest thought each had arrived at a conservative view of Judaism. Of the three, Jacob Bernays,46 a scholar of far-reaching fame in classical philology, doubtless possessed greatest ability as a teacher, which, however, demanded talented pupils for its effective exercise. Frankel’s forte lay in his tact as an organizer and in his practical gifts; he exerted wholesome authority over his disciples in religious as well as scientific matters. Both desired to impress their scientific bias upon those that came under their influence. Graetz, on the other hand, heeded the individuality of his pupils, and in his activity as teacher had in mind especially their stimulation and encouragement. Frankel was desirous of transferring to the Theological Seminary the rigid discipline and detailed supervision of an elementary school,47 because his dearest object was to turn out thorough Talmudists and professionally well-equipped rabbis. Bernays aspired to the romantic splendor of a theologic faculty, and wanted to educate scholarly theologians. With correct and healthy instinct, Graetz endeavored to reconcile these opposite aims and identify the Seminary with a middle course. Although Frankel grasped the rudder with a firm hand, he was sensible enough to consider prudent counsel and kindly enough to give scope to the wishes and views of his colleagues. In this way harmony prevailed among the Seminary teachers, which reacted beneficially upon the students. As long as he lived, Frankel justly maintained what officially and morally was the dominant position in the Seminary. The prosperity of the institution he considered the consummation of his life-work, and being childless, he regarded his pupils as his children, and took a truly paternal interest in their fortunes. Next to him Graetz exercised the most generous hospitality towards the students. He was ever ready to serve any one of them that needed help and advice. Especially such as had aroused his interest, or had impressed him favorably with their ability and character enlisted his sympathy, which he manifested with all the ardor of his temperament. Like Frankel, he identified himself completely with the Breslau Seminary. After many thwarted plans and years of anxious uncertainty, he felt that, at last, through his position as teacher at the Seminary, his vessel had floated into deep, navigable waters, that he could venture to ply the oars with full force, unfurl all the sails, and, favored by wind and weather and propelled by the buoyant courage peculiar to his sanguine nature, steer straight for the destination whither impulse drew him. It was the first time that his official duties coincided with his inner vocation. Faithful, zealous performance of the service he was engaged to do promoted the work he had set himself as the goal of his life. In regular, uninterrupted succession, volume after volume of his “History” now began to appear in complete realization of his plan.