THE PATRIARCH

Joshua Benas, Geheimrat, arose from his seat at his desk. His smug countenance wore a smile of satisfaction, as he gazed thoughtfully into vacancy, and stroked the close-trimmed beard, already touched with grey.

"Very good," he muttered, with a complacent smile, "first-rate. Elkish has put the matter well. A la bonheur! We will declare fourteen per cent dividend; if we strain a point, perhaps fourteen and a half—and enough for a surplus. Great! Splendid!... What a figure we shall cut! No small affair! The gentlemen will be astonished. But after all that is what they're used to; Joshua Benas doesn't fall short of what people expect of him."

He pressed the electric button.

"Tell Mr. Elkish to come up when he leaves the office," he said to the servant who had entered quietly; then he glanced at the clock standing on his desk, a Mercury of light-colored Barbedienne bronze.

"Five o'clock already! Tell Elkish to be here by half-past five."

The servant bowed; as he was leaving the room, his master called after him:

"Is my son at home?"

"No, Herr Geheimrat."

"And my daughter?"

"She and Mlle. Tallieu drove to Professor Jedlitzka's for her music lesson."

"Hm! Very well! Be sure to give my message to Mr. Elkish, Francis."

At this moment an elderly lady of distinguished appearance entered the room.

"Do I disturb you, Joe?"

He dismissed the servant with a nod.

"No, Fanny, if a half-hour will suffice; in half an hour I expect Elkish. At half-past five, Francis."

The servant withdrew as quietly as he had entered, and husband and wife were left alone.

With the eye of the careful housewife she glanced about the room. The luxury of her surroundings had not diminished the traditional concern for minute details of housekeeping. From her mother she had acquired her loving devotion to the affairs of the house. She guarded its growing prosperity, and with a keen eye, as well as a careful hand, she treasured the beautiful and choice possessions with which a fondness for collecting and a feeling for art had enriched her home. Her large corps of servants was capable and well-trained; yet Mrs. Benas would delegate to none the supervision of her household and the inspection of its details.

Her appearance did not betray her habits. She was forty-nine years old; her dark hair, with a touch of grey, was becomingly arranged over a rather high forehead. Her generous mouth, showing well-preserved teeth, and her full double chin gave her countenance a look of energy, softened by the mild and intelligent expression of her eyes. The slight curve of her nose was sufficient to impart to her countenance the unmistakable stamp of her race. But it did not detract from the air of distinction that characterized Frau Geheimrat Benas.

The rapid survey satisfied her that everything was in the best of order in the luxuriously equipped workroom of her husband. Not a particle of dust rested upon the costly bronzes, standing about on desk and mantel, on tables and stands, with designed carelessness. Not too obtrusively, and yet effectively, they revealed the Geheimrat as a patron of the arts, able to surround himself with the choicest works of the most distinguished artists.

Glorious old Flemish tapestries hung above the sofa, forming the background for book-cases filled with the classics of all literatures, and for various objets d'art, which a discerning taste had collected. Mrs. Benas's glance rested with particular tenderness upon a few antique pieces of silver, which seemed a curious anachronism in a room furnished in its up-to-date style. They were heirlooms from her parents' home in Rogasen, where her father, Samuel Friedheim—Reb Salme Friedheim as he was called—had been held in high regard. There was the Kiddush cup, the Besomim box, the Menorah, and the large silver Seder platter, used by her father; and there were the silver candelabra, the lights of which her mother had "blessed". Her father had been a thrifty dealer in wools, not too greatly blessed with worldly goods; a great Talmudic scholar he had been, however, worthy to marry the great-granddaughter of the celebrated Rabbi Akiba Friedländer, under whom he had studied.

Mrs. Benas's demeanor unconsciously reflected the dignity of such ancestry. She took it as a matter of course that her lot in life should have been cast in the high financial circles, the sphere which gives importance and position to the modern Jew. The son-in-law of Reb Salme Friedheim could not be other than a Geheimrat, unless, continuing the traditions, he had been a student of the Talmud. But, after all, nowadays a Geheimrat is to be preferred to a Jewish scholar or to a modern rabbi; and with pride becoming to her and no offense to her husband she gloried in the aristocracy of her family, without overlooking the advantages her husband's wealth had brought.

The home of her husband had also been in the province of Posen; and it was the respect in which her father had been held throughout the province that had attracted his father, Isidor Benas of Lissa, to the match. Although the dowry was smaller than Benas senior thought he was entitled to demand for his son, the rank of her family weighed so heavily in the balance that Joshua was allowed to court Fanny and win her as his life companion.

His father died shortly after the marriage. Joshua moved the banking and grain business, in which he had been a partner, to Berlin. Here the business prospered to such an extent that the firm of Joshua Benas was soon reckoned among the most influential of the rapidly developing capital. Indeed, it headed all financial and industrial undertakings. Joshua Benas, prominent in the establishment of a large bank, member of the boards of the principal industrial corporations, was appointed Kommerzienrat at the end of the "seventies", and a few years later, in recognition of special services to the Government in the supply of arms, he was made Geheimrat. At the time there were rumors of a high order, which were never made true; and Mrs. Benas gave up the hope she had probably cherished in secret, for the growth of anti-Semitism set a short limit to the honors conferred on Jews, and rendered the dignity of a Geheimer Kommerzienrat the highest to which they dared aspire.

"Credit to whom credit is due," a distinguished professor had equivocally remarked in her drawing-room some years before, in reference to the appointment of a banker distinguished for nothing but his wealth as Geheimer Kommerzienrat. The words ever echoed in her ears. Since then the lesson to remain modestly in the background and be content with the achievements of better times had been well learned. In the meantime, Benas's income had continued to increase; his home grew in splendor and artistic attractiveness, and while his wife watched over the comfort of her establishment and the carefully planned education of the children, she kept pride of ancestry alive in the secret recesses of her soul. The more she felt herself cut off from intercourse with those of her own station in life—the social circle of the elect—the more she cherished the consciousness of her noble descent. The feeling that had been sacred merely as a tradition in the years of social advance, developed in the present days of social isolation—half voluntary and half enforced—into something more intimate and personal. She spoke but seldom of this; all the deeper and keener was the hurt to her pride.

To-day, however, these questions had presented themselves with more insistence than usually. She had received a letter that had led her to seek her husband at this unwonted hour.

As she entered the room a nervous tension was apparent in her features, and, turning to him hastily, after the servant left, she said: "I must speak with you, Joshua, about a matter of great importance."

"Goodness! What's the matter, Fanny? At such an unusual time, and so excited. I hope nothing has occurred. Is it a letter from your sister or...."

During this rapid-fire interrogation she had approached the desk and sunk into an arm-chair.

"Please, Benas, not so many questions at once. I came here to tell you all about it, and I myself hardly know whether this letter is pleasant or unpleasant. It's not from my sister, in fact, from somebody very different."

"Well, from whom? You make me curious. How should I guess from whom?"

"I shall tell you immediately, but please sit down quietly next to me; for we must decide upon the answer."

He glanced at the clock: "I ordered Elkish to come at half-past five."

"Elkish can wait."

"Indeed not! I must consult him about to-morrow's committee meeting of the Magdeburg Machine Construction Company."

"Now, Benas," she interrupted, "there are weightier matters than the Magdeburg Machine Construction...."

"You say that so lightly, Fanny.... I cannot understand how a woman as clever as you are can say such things. The 'Magdeburgs' not important! a small matter! When the balance-sheet is published to-morrow, and the dividends declared, they will rise in value at least fifteen points; and that, you say, is of no importance! I must still give my orders about buying and selling; for at the close of the exchange, they will naturally fall, but the day after, then—I tell you, Fanny, it will be a big thing!"

"That's all very good and nice. Money, sadly enough, is the only power we have nowadays; but sometimes other things affect the course of events, as, for instance, this letter."

"Well, what of it? Elkish may come at any moment."

She opened the letter while he turned on the electric light of his reading lamp, whose green silk shade spread a soft, subdued light over the room.

"Regierungsrat Dr. Victor Weilen begs permission to pay his respects this evening at nine o'clock. He apologizes for setting so late an hour, but explains that his duties keep him occupied until late in the day; and inasmuch as the matter which he wishes to discuss is a family affair, he hopes we shall receive him."

"A family affair? He! What does he want of the family? and so unexpectedly! That's really curious. A family affair!"

"He begs, as the time is so short, that an answer be sent to him by telephone, to the Foreign Office, where he will wait until eight o'clock."

"Gracious, how swell! The Foreign Office! And thus do we attain to the honor of telephoning to the Foreign Office," he added satirically.

"What shall the answer be, Joshua? that we are at home?"

"Surely, if you wish to receive him. I cannot understand your excitement, dearest. You have received a Regierungsrat in your drawing-rooms before this, even an Oberregierungsrat. There was a time when Mr. Breitbach found our Moët rather fair...."

"There was a time, Benas!"

He frowned. "Well, that's something that cannot be altered, dear child."

At this moment his confidential clerk, Elkish, was announced.

"Even though the 'Magdeburgs' rise ever so high," she answered ironically.

"But that need not hinder you from receiving the Regierungsrat. We're still good for something, I suppose. What think you, Elkish?" he called to him as he entered.

"I do not know to what you refer."

"Well, what else can I refer to but our balance-sheet?"

"As regards that, the firm of Joshua Benas has no need to hide its head," the old clerk responded proudly.

"Well, do you see, dear child?" he said to his wife. "Do as you think best, I rely upon your judgment. You always do the right thing."

She rose. "I will not interrupt you any longer."

"I should like to finish this matter before dinner. There is not much time left."

"Then I shall have Francis telephone that we are at home, and we expect him." She waited at the door.

"Yes, that's all right," he answered, already absorbed in the papers his clerk had spread before him.

"Good-by, Benas! Good-by, Mr. Elkish."

"Good-by, my child," he called to her as she was leaving.

"This only awaits your signature, Mr. Benas. Here. A dividend of fourteen per cent and a half."

"Really, Elkish? I'm delighted!"

"Yes, and here, 240,000 mark in the sinking fund, then 516,000 mark for surplus."

"Excellent! Splendid!" He put on his eyeglasses and signed the various papers placed before him.

"And who do you think will be elected to the board this year?"

"I thought Glücksmann and Ettinger."

"The time for the Breitbachs and Knesebecks is past.... Well, as far as I am concerned, both of them may count upon my vote."

"Mr. Breitbach has not been here for an age," remarked Elkish with a shrewd look.

"Well! To offset that, Herr Regierungsrat Dr. Weilen wishes to visit us to-day—a cousin of my wife."

"He?" The eyes of the old clerk flamed suddenly with burning hatred. "He is baptized, Herr Geheimrat. A grandson of Rabbi Eliezer,.... the first in the family."

"That is not so certain," murmured the Kommerzienrat under his breath.

"And merely to further his prospects! A grandson of Rabbi Eliezer!" Unbounded contempt was expressed by the tone of the faithful clerk, for many years the confidant of his chief, whom he had accompanied from their former home to Berlin.

"How does the cat get across the stream, Elkish? As a Jew he would have had no future, even if he were a direct descendant of King David."

"And is a career everything?"

"One is ambitious, and one must—why not succeed?"

"How about the honorable Geheimrat himself? Haven't you succeeded? If one is able to declare a dividend of fourteen and a half per cent, isn't that success? And if one owns a villa in the Tiergartenstrasse, isn't that what you call success? And if one's son serves with the Dragoons of the Guard? And Miss Rita studies music with Jedlitzka, and literature with Erich Schmidt? She told me so yesterday. Isn't all that success? I tell you, Herr Kommerzienrat, that is success enough. Who buys pictures of Menzel, and busts of Begas, who, indeed? Krupp and Joshua Benas of Lissa. That's what I call success." The longer he spoke, the more intense his enthusiasm, and unconsciously he lapsed into the Jewish intonation, which ordinarily did not characterize his speech.

"Not every one can get to be a Kommerzienrat, Elkish. Earning money is unquestionably a very nice thing, but there are idealists who seek advancement in other ways."

"Idealists! Fine idealists, who sell their religion as Dr. Weilen has done. The whole Duchy of Posen was scandalized! A grandson of Rabbi Eliezer! And what does he want of you? Mrs. Benas, I hope, will show him what she thinks of the like of him. I'm certainly surprised that with her views she should consent to receive him."

"He wishes to speak of family affairs."

"Family affairs?" sneered the old man. "Chutzpeh! Perhaps he wants to borrow money of you. That's what usually makes such people remember their family."

"Why, you're in a fine mood to-day, Elkish."

"My mood is always spoilt when I think of such matters, Mr. Benas. After all it is really none of my business. If I had had the Zechus to belong to the family of Rabbi Akiba Friedländer, I should not have allowed such a person to cross my threshold."

"Calm yourself, Elkish."

"Why should I calm myself? I am not at all excited. It does not concern me. You must consider what you are doing; and the main thing after all is that to-morrow we declare fourteen and a half per cent."

"Yes, Elkish, after all, that is the main thing."

* * *

At precisely nine o'clock the servant brought in the card of Regierungsrat Dr. Victor Weilen.

As was their custom in the evening when at home to a small circle, the family was assembled in the little round sitting-room. The Geheimrat was seated in an American rocking-chair, near a revolving book-case, in which the evening papers were carefully arranged on their racks. He was smoking a "Henry Clay," and was busily engaged in studying the stock quotations in the "National".

The tea-table, at which Mrs. Benas sat, with its fine silver service, its costly embroidered silk table cover, and with cakes and fruit arranged in beautiful old Meissen bowls, made an attractive picture. An atmosphere of comfort pervaded the room, which despite the luxuriousness of its furnishings made a cozy impression. Artistic vases filled with fresh flowers, fantastically arranged, added to the charm—orchids, delicate and sensitive; chysanthemums of brilliant coloring; bright Chinese lilies curiously shaped, and fire-red berries on thorny branches. Interspersed among these exotic flowers were graceful violets, lilies of the valley, roses, and lilacs, amid tall foliage plants. The display of flowers drew one's attention away from the artistic objects with which the room was filled, but not overburdened. A rich and refined taste was shown in the whole arrangement. Dr. Weilen appreciated it the instant he entered the room. Mr. Benas had advanced a few steps to greet his guest, which he did formally, but cordially, and then presented his wife and his daughter Rita. When the visitor entered, Rita put aside the latest publication by Fontane which she had been reading.

His rapid glance recognized "Stechlin."

Immediately after the entrance of the guest, a young man stepped through the half-open door of the adjoining billiard room.

"My son Hugo," the Geheimrat introduced him. "Referendar at the court of appeals."

"I must again beg your pardon, Mrs. Benas, that I pay my respects to you so late in the evening. But I have something very much at heart, and I did not wish to lose several days only in order to come at a more seasonable hour."

"Let me assure you, in our house the word family affair is a pass-word that overrides conventions, however strictly enforced. In this regard we have carried the traditions of our home into the larger world. The word family always bears a special appeal to us."

He understood quite well that she wished to intimate her appreciation of the obligations demanded by social considerations, which, however, the special circumstances permitted her to waive. With a bow he seated himself near the tea-table, at which the others resumed their places also.

"I am indebted to you for your indulgence. My office hours come at the customary visiting time; and it may have happened that I could not have spoken to you undisturbed, so I took the liberty to claim this privilege."

"Not at all."

In the meantime Rita had prepared the tea, and offered him a cup.

"Thank you."

"Do you prefer a cigar or a cigarette?"

"Is smoking permitted?" he asked of the ladies.

"During the tea hour my wife allows smoking."

"Then may I ask for a cigarette?"

"Hugo, there are the Russian——"

Hesitating, as if overcoming some inner aversion, the young man arose and brought forward a small smoking table with boxes of cigars and cigarettes and smoking appurtenances. Dr. Weilen, with the eye of a connoisseur, noted the wonderful Oriental enamel work in the table. Hugo offered him the cigarettes and a burning wax-taper.

"Thank you, Herr Kollege."

A deep pallor overspread Hugo's face as he bowed silently, while his father said with a smile: "To such dignity we have not yet attained."

"Your son is a lawyer as I am," he graciously said. "I occupied the same position as he does before I was made Regierungsrat. Such is the order of advance. Every one must make a beginning; isn't that so, Herr Kollege? In which department is your work now?"

"In the Exchequer. This is the last year of my preparatory service."

"He has obtained his doctorate, and has served his year with the Dragoons of the Guard," explained his father.

"Then the greatest tasks are over. Would you not enjoy entering the service of the Government?"

"No, sir," he answered in a firm voice. "As a Jew I should have no chances there." The words conveyed an unmistakable insinuation. The sullen fire in his eyes reminded the Kommerzienrat of the appearance of his clerk when he had spoken to him of Dr. Weilen.

The latter appeared not to have heard Hugo's remark, and Mrs. Benas turned to him with some polite phrase, while Rita asked him to allow her to pare some fruit for him.

A harsh, ironic expression lay upon Hugo's face. The moment was ominous, but Dr. Weilen rose to the occasion and said:

"May I tell you now what prompted me to ask for the pleasure of a visit here?"

Mr. and Mrs. Benas looked at him expectantly, and Rita's eyes were fastened upon him with evident interest, while Hugo stared into vacancy, a sombre expression on his face.

"In a few months our uncle, Mr. Leopold Friedländer, will celebrate his ninetieth birthday, on the day before Easter. A short while ago chance threw a Jewish weekly into my hands, in which mention was made of the unusual occasion, and of the significance of Leopold Friedländer's career for Rawitsch. It was not news to me; for at my home mention was often made of my mother's oldest brother, and as a boy I accompanied her once on a visit to him, in order to become acquainted with him. It was shortly after my confirmation,—I mean my—my Bar-Mitzvah. Such childhood recollections remain with one. My mother wished me to recite for him the chapter of the Torah to which I had been 'called up.' This I did, and the impression the moment made must have been very deep, it has remained with me through all the various experiences of my life."

"To be sure," Mrs. Benas felt bound to say, in order to hide the embarrassment which had come upon them. "One never entirely loses the recollections of one's childhood."

"Why should one? They do not represent our worst side. There are occasions in life when they are forced into the background by weightier, more insistent experiences, but they return most vividly in our maturer years at such times when we search our consciences in a confessional mood. When the restlessness of youth subsides, when the struggle for existence is no longer strenuous, when the goal is attained, then it is that the reminiscences of childhood reappear in full vigor. Such reminiscences do not fade, nor become blurred with time."

Rita had regarded him throughout with fixed attention.

"It would be desirable for the shaping of one's career, if such impressions were at all times kept vividly in mind," Hugo said pointedly.

"That is not altogether true," he responded with a smile. "It would interfere with one's development if such influences were ever present. To live amply means to hold control over oneself, and one's personality can be realized and enjoyed only when we have understood and tasted of life in its fulness. Not alone from a one-sided, narrow standpoint, but from the broadest point of view, from the general, the impersonal. Only then can that which is most individual in us develop freely and reach full consciousness."

He relit his cigarette which he had allowed to go out. "But we are wandering off into philosophic byways," he said lightly. "Such is always the case when youth offers us the wisdom of age. You will forgive me, Herr Kollege. It is a challenge to prove one's life not devoid of experiences."

Rita thought her brother had deserved this courteously delivered reproof. What could he have been thinking of when he allowed his unpleasant mood to get the better of him? And toward a guest!

"During these last few days I have begun to realize, with surprise and yet with pleasure, how strongly my past took hold of me. I happen to take up a periodical; my eyes chance to light upon a name, whose sound, long forgotten, re-awakens old memories. In a flash, the old times live within me again. I am deeply impressed—the sensation grows upon me ever more vividly, and at last seeks expression. That brings me to you."

"But how did you happen to come upon this journal?" asked Mr. Benas, merely for the sake of keeping up the conversation.

"At present my interests take me to the department of press and publicity," he rejoined with a smile, "and one finds everything there. That was the way I came upon the notice of the ninetieth birthday of Leopold Friedländer—my—our uncle. The fine old man has attained the age of a veritable patriarch."

"Yes, Uncle Leopold is well-advanced in years," Mrs. Benas added; "the oldest of fourteen brothers and sisters, he is the only one living."

"Is he in good health, and how does he bear his advanced years? I take it for granted you are in direct communication with him."

"Certainly, as head of the family he is highly honored by all of us. We visit him almost every year, and my children, too, have received his blessing. He is vigorous, mentally alert, and reads without spectacles, so that his patriarchal age does not obtrude itself upon his visitors."

"Strangely enough, that is just as I had pictured him to myself. And what of his direct descendants, his sons and daughters?"

"Both daughters are still living, but only one of his three sons."

"Where do they reside?"

"They all married and remained in Rawitsch. Jacob, who is almost seventy years old, carried on his father's business, which is now in the hands of one of his grandsons."

"So the firm is perpetuated from generation to generation. The grandson, no doubt, has a family also?"

"Our cousin is still unmarried."

"And do all live together?"

"Uncle Leopold, since the death of his wife, about twenty years ago, lives with his son."

"My visit to him took place five years before that, when he was still in active business."

"When all the children were provided for, he followed the desire of his heart, and devoted himself to the study of the Torah, a pursuit which, as is natural in the oldest son of Rabbi Eliezer, he had always followed with great devotion. Throughout the whole province, too, he is held in esteem, as if he himself were a rabbi worthy to be the spiritual heir of his famous father."

"These various stages of family life easily escape one moving in quite different circles, but they interest me exceedingly; and I am most grateful to you for this information. The family must have spread greatly, to judge by the number of children our grandfather had; the descendants must be very numerous. Did you know all the brothers and sisters of your mother, Mrs. Benas?"

"I knew all of them, excepting an uncle who died in London, and your own mother."

"She was the youngest of Rabbi Eliezer's children, and died quite young. I, her only child, had not yet reached my fifteenth year. My father married a second time, and consequently the ties of kinship were somewhat loosened, and later, when we moved to South Germany, all connections were broken off. From this time on, I heard almost nothing about my mother's family, and when I left my father's house after my final college examinations, to attend the University of Heidelberg, I was outside the range of all family connections. Shortly after my father died, and as his second marriage was without issue, I was left alone. After the year of mourning, my stepmother went to live with her brother in Milwaukee. She married a city alderman, Dr. Sulzberger, and lives happily there. I give these details, assuming that it might be of some interest to you to learn of the vicissitudes of a near relative, who has come upon you so unexpectedly, even though he is but a branch cut off from the parent stem by peculiar circumstances."

"It is very kind of you to tell us these things, Mr. Weilen. At home, your mother, Aunt Goldine, was often spoken of. And I also heard mention made of the exceptional talents of her son Victor, and of the fact that your father never approached her family after her death."

"I do not know the reasons for this, I merely know the result—an entire estrangement from her family, and that after my father's death I stood quite alone."

"But you might have approached the family."

"Such a step is not natural for a young man who is independent financially—which I was, having become my father's heir—and who believes that he has found a new family in the circle of his fellow-students. I belonged to the most prominent Corps, and became my own master when I came of age. My boyhood, with its recollections of my mother and her circle, seemed a lost world, from which no echo ever reached me. I loved my mother dearly, but at that age it is not considered good form to give in to sentiment; and it seemed to me more manly to suppress my grief. In regard to her family, a certain obstinacy and pride took possession of me. Through all that period there had been no solicitude for me on their part. Why should I force myself upon them? I thought that I had no need of them. Presumably our views of life were wholly opposed. After the death of my mother, my life was spent in very different circles. I confess that even in later years when I went to Posen to visit the grave of my mother, I never thought of calling on the family."

Mr. Weilen's little audience followed his words with mixed feelings. Mr. Benas was eager as to what would be the outcome of his explanations; in Mrs. Benas' family sentiment was awakened; Rita's flushed cheeks testified to the excitement with which she had listened; while Hugo looked sullenly and cynically at the dignified gentleman who spoke so frankly and straightforwardly about himself and the circumstances of his life.

Up to this time the conversation had been carried on chiefly by Mrs. Benas and her cousin. The others listened in silence. But now Mr. Benas interposed.

"Such things," he said, "frequently happen in large and scattered families. It is almost impossible to follow the career of every member. Only those keep in touch with one another whom the peculiar circumstances and conditions of life throw together. My wife has numerous cousins whose names we hardly know, and then, again, there are others with whom we are in constant and close relations. The same is true of my own side of the family. Whoever looks us up and shows a desire to be friendly, is welcome."

"I thank you, Mr. Benas."

"Especially in this case," he continued. "But it is utterly impossible to keep track of every one. Think of it, Dr. Weilen, the father of Rabbi Eliezer, your grandfather and my wife's as well, that is, your great-grandfather, Rabbi Akiba, was married three times, and had nine children. These in turn married, and no doubt were richly blessed with children, and so on, according to God's commandment: 'Ye shall be numerous as the sands of the sea;' but to pick out all these grains of sand, to observe them, and know them according to their kind, is impossible."

"I do not think so, father," said Hugo.

"You seem to be an enthusiastic member of your family."

"I am a Jew."

Dr. Weilen's glance rested with sympathy and interest on the young man.

"But that has nothing to do with our talk, Hugo," said his mother, eager to confine the conversation within safe limits. "Your father merely wished to illustrate how impossible it is to be in close personal relation with all the members of a large, ramified family like ours."

"To which I desire to add the interesting fact," Mr. Benas smilingly said, "that hardly a day passes without the appearance of some one or other who claims to be related to us, either in some remote way through Rabbi Eliezer, or through his father, Rabbi Akiba. Then I always come to the conclusion anew that all Jews are related to one another."

"That they are, father, racially; and they have kept the race pure for thousands of years, and have made it capable of resisting the dangers threatening it from the outside, through fire and sword, and all persecutions and attacks. Only disintegration from within would destroy them—if they cannot put a check upon it—or will not."

"But, Hugo, why always generalize about matters that are of purely personal concern to us? Joe," turning to her husband, "it will surely interest Dr. Weilen, to see to what trouble you went to establish the numerous branchings of our family tree. For our silver wedding, two years ago, my husband had the genealogy of Rabbi Akiba Friedländer's family traced."

"It was not a simple matter," said Mr. Benas, "and the artistic execution hardly cost Professor Zeidler more trouble than the gathering of the data. A young student, also from our home and distantly related, worked almost two years at collecting and arranging the material."

"I should suppose so. And did he succeed in making it quite complete?"

"So far as I can judge, he did succeed. Do you care to see the drawing?"

"Very much."

Rita rose involuntarily.

"Will you show it to Dr. Weilen, my dear?"

"Certainly, mother."

Miss Rita conducted him to her mother's room through the large state parlor, the walls of which, he noted in passing, were covered with canvasses of distinguished artists. In her mother's room, over a small Florentine inlaid table of the sixteenth century, hung the genealogical chart. The room was marked by the same rich style as prevailed elsewhere, but there was something more genial, more home-like in the artistically furnished boudoir. Not a boudoir in the ordinary sense of the word, but rather the apartment of a lady,—luxurious and subtly feminine withal. A soft glow from an iridescent hanging lamp dimly illuminated the room. Rita turned on the electric light inserted in the bowl of an antique lamp, and a bright radiance fell on the large chart occupying almost the entire wall space.

Both stood regarding it without speaking.

Dr. Weilen was lost in contemplation, then he adjusted his eyeglasses as if to see better. "So that is the old pedigree! That's the way it looks! So our tribe has grown and multiplied! How remarkable and interesting!" He was lost in contemplation again, and drew nearer to the chart to study it in detail. It seemed as if he had entirely forgotten Rita's presence; and she remained perfectly quiet, so as not to disturb him.

"Curious," he said, half to himself, "who would have believed it? If I hadn't seen it with my own eyes, I would not have realized the persistent vigor in the old stock." He turned his attention to the right-hand side of the chart, read a few names there, and then said to Rita: "Excuse my abstraction, but it is quite surprising. Are you interested in the history of the family?"

"Of course, I am used to it from childhood up, and my mother has always told me all the peculiarities and incidents of the family."

"And you know your cousins personally?"

"Quite many."

"And what is their station in life?"

"Every possible station. Look at all these branchings and ramifications. There is hardly an occupation that does not claim one or the other. Lawyers, physicians, tutors, merchants,—some very well placed and others less fortunate. One cousin is an African explorer, another has joined a North Pole expedition; and by marriage the women of the family have entered circles as various. Among the cousins by marriage there are architects, professors, dentists, veterinary physicians, engineers, and manufacturers. I think it would hardly be necessary to go outside of the family to find one of every kind, with the exception...." Here she suddenly paused in her vivacious explanations and stared at him with embarrassment in her large eyes.

"Well, Miss Rita, what branch is lacking on the golden tree of life?"

A vivid blush suffused her face, which appeared all the prettier to him in its embarrassed shyness.

"I will tell you. Do you see here to the right?" and he pointed out the place with his finger. "Here is the name Goldine, the last of the fourteen branches issuing from Rabbi Eliezer, joined to that of Herman Weilen—my parents; and here the broken branch, quite symbolic, do you see?—without a name,—that refers to me."

Anxious fear took possession of her.

"Oh, Herr Regierungsrat," she stammered.

"That's just it—Regierungsrat! I have been deprived of the cousinship on this genealogical tree. A scion without a name, disinherited!"

There was more sorrow than bitterness in his voice, and this gave her the courage to say: "It surely happened unintentionally. Nothing was known of you in our family, and it was taken for granted that you had broken off connection with it. We had only heard...." Suddenly she hesitated.

"Your reasons are significant, Miss Rita, the broken-off branch dares not call you cousin." A peculiar smile played about his lips. "But I should like to finish the thought you would not express. You had only heard that I had discarded the belief of my fathers, had changed my religion, had entered the service of the Government, had made a career for myself, and hoped to reach a still higher goal. That's it, is it not? A broken-off branch, but not a withered one!"

She gazed at him with large, astonished eyes into which a dreamy expression gradually crept.

"To be sure," he continued, "I have no right to complain."

"I never heard any one speak of you in that way," she declared, trying to regain her self-possession. "In fact you were never spoken of;" then, trying to improve the thoughtless expression, "at least not often. I think you are wrong in your judgment, and also in regard to the family tree. I am sure the omission is accidental."

"You are very kind, Miss Rita, you wish to console me. It doubtless seems cruel to you that a man in the full vigor of life, with energy and ambition to reach yet higher rungs on the ladder of success, should be summarily hewn from the parent stem. If I were superstitious, I should fear for my life, for my future. Fortunately I am not, or rather I may be superstitious in believing that side by side with the ill omen there is a good one, in the shape of a friendly young lady; and if she will graciously accept me as a cousin, then the sinister mark on the pedigree will be cancelled. You surely have not forgotten the stories of the bad and the good fairies, because it cannot be so long ago since you were devoted to them. You remember? In compensation for the evil charms of the one, they gave the poor victim the blessings of the other for protection. And I should like to regard you as my good fairy."

There was something very winning, very lovable in his manner and his words, and she answered simply: "You will not need such protection, Dr. Weilen."

"Please, say 'cousin.'"

There was a moment of hesitation, then she said: "You will not need such protection, cousin."

"But I may surely count upon you, should I happen to need it?"

"You certainly may."

Then they returned to the tea-table, Rita somewhat embarrassed, he in high, good humor. "The family tree is exceedingly interesting, Mr. Benas," he said. "You will permit me, I hope, to study it in all its details. Even a cursory glance impressed me tremendously. At the very root, generations back, where there are names testifying to a strong and hardy stock, is the father of Rabbi Eliezer, Rabbi Akiba, a luminary in Talmudic lore, a great man even in those days. Then again, among his children, one excelled in strong individuality and great knowledge, Rabbi Eliezer, and from him and his descendants a numerous progeny, among whom again Leopold Friedländer stands out conspicuous; and so the family tree continues to spread its limbs, luxuriant in leaf and blossom."

Rita hung on his words; she was nervous, fearing a reference to the broken branch. But he said nothing, only fixed his glance on her meaningly. She drew a long breath of relief.

"It was, indeed, a pleasure to me to see the work executed," Mr. Benas remarked, "and my wife received it with great enthusiasm."

"I should suppose so."

They felt their guest was sincere in all he said, and yet they could not rid themselves of a feeling of estrangement. He had introduced himself to them in so peculiar a manner. This equivocal position of close kinship and complete alienation produced a certain constraint, which despite the polished ease and courtesy of the man of the world could not be overcome. And all the time each one asked himself the true purpose of his visit.

As if conscious of the unspoken question, he said: "As is natural when members of the same family meet each other for the first time, we quickly dropped into the discussion of common interests; and in passing from one subject to another, I have not reached the point of telling you what induced me to visit you."

He reflected a moment as if searching for the proper phrase.

"When I read the notice of the anniversary celebration of Leopold Friedländer, I was suddenly overcome with the wish to take part in it. The wish came like a secret longing for—for my home! My boyhood came back to me. I saw my uncle before me as I had seen him then. The years of estrangement disappeared from my mental vision; I heard his tender, hesitating voice again, I felt his hand upon my head, extended in blessing; and I became conscious of the words of the benediction spoken in the language of the race. All that had happened between, I seemed to have forgotten; and it took an appreciable time before I was recalled to myself. But the wish once aroused in me was not to be eradicated, and, ever since, my thoughts have dwelt upon the possibility of its fulfilment."

A peculiar tensity of feeling came over the small circle. They followed his words with growing astonishment; and neither he nor the others thought of throwing off the mood his words had inspired.

"It was quite clear to me that without some preliminary ceremony I dare not intrude upon the family group gathered about him on this anniversary day. According to the traditions of our family, I had forfeited the right; and yet I hoped I might find some appreciation of my position among the younger generation and the intercession I need. I had often heard of your family, Mr. Benas, and I saw your name at the head of the lists of all charitable and public enterprises; and although I was surprised never to meet you and your family on occasions at which common interests might have thrown us together in certain social circles, to which you really belong...."

"Of late years we have withdrawn from all intercourse, except with our own family, and a few intimate friends," interrupted Mrs. Benas.

"But your position involves certain social obligations."

"Nowadays one hardly notices it, perhaps does not care to notice it, if these obligations are not fulfilled," Mr. Benas rejoined with a slightly ironical, slightly pained expression. "Formerly ours were the most successful, the most elegant, and the most entertaining functions. My wife had a gift for entertaining; and it was always a pleasure for us to welcome happy, clever, representative, gay people. Now we confine ourselves to a few formal and official dinners, made necessary by my connection with the leading financial circles."

"We have become used to it, and do not miss anything," added Mrs. Benas. "The spacious rooms which formerly resounded with merry society are now quiet. But a more intimate, a more sincere life has taken its place. Personally I should not feel the difference; but at times I am sorry that our daughter is not able to enjoy the stimulus and the attractions of such social gatherings. In the old days she had not yet made her début."

"But, mother, I have often told you that I have no longings in that direction. Your goodness to me enriches my life sufficiently. Whatever is beautiful, great, important, I enjoy."

"But it was entirely different when the people who offered the great and the beautiful things of which you speak came and went freely in our house, in a certain sense belonged to us, were our guests. The foremost artists and men of science used to come here."

"I think, father, it is much pleasanter to know the works than the authors," Hugo interrupted brusquely. "Every one knows what such as they seek in the homes of rich Jews; and when you pay for their services and creations, and ask nothing of them socially, then you do them and yourself the greatest favor."

"That has not always been the case, Hugo. Your views are too severe and rigid."

"It has always been so; only perhaps there were times when it was not so evident. What do we want with their well-meant intentions and condescensions, their forbearances and tolerations, their humanitarian impulses! At bottom it has always been the same. The Jew was always burned!—in Sultan Saladin's time, as well as now. Only now we do not complacently accept such treatment, wagging our tails in gratitude like a dog."

A dull fire burned in his eyes. His face wore an expression of pride and energy.

"I'm afraid, Hugo," his mother said, trying to calm him, "that our guest has but little interest in your opinions. You know, too, that we do not agree with you altogether."

"Forgive me, Dr. Weilen," he said, turning to their guest with the conventional manner and incisiveness of a Prussian functionary and a volunteer of the Guards. "I was carried away by the subject, and then I thought that here at my father's table.... you see, we are not accustomed, nowadays, to have any one with us who does not understand our pain and indignation."

"Nor is that the case on this occasion—at least not since this evening, not since this hour which I have been permitted to spend among you."

Hugo bowed in silence.

Dr. Weilen arose, saying:

"But I must not encroach upon your hospitality too long. You know now what it is I wish. Do you believe a way can be found for me to be present in Rawitsch at Uncle Leopold's birthday celebration? Will the family receive me for that day? Will he himself be disposed to receive me? I beg of you to help me realize this desire of mine. In affairs like this, in which a sympathetic temperament is of more avail than cold reason, a clever and noble woman is the best messenger; and women are fine diplomats, too. May I count upon you, Mrs. Benas, honored cousin?"

"I will consider. But how? As regards the matter itself, I am entirely on your side. But you understand that in a large family there are scores of considerations and prejudices that must be taken into account."

"I understand that perfectly."

"But there is still plenty of time before the birthday celebration."

"Diplomatic undertakings must be arranged long in advance," he laughed.

"I will make use of your suggestion and start negotiations," she said, cleverly responding to his pleasantry.

"And will you allow me to come again, to assure myself of the progress of the negotiations, and to encourage them by my personal intervention? I must tell you that I have felt very much at home with you, not at all like a stranger."

"I thank you, Dr. Weilen," answered his host, politely; and his wife added, "You will always find a welcome here." Thereupon he took his leave, Hugo escorting him to the hall, where the servant helped him on with his heavy fur coat.

* * *

When Dr. Weilen stepped out into the street, gusts of wind blew the snow-flakes whirling about merrily against his face. Tiny, pointed snow-crystals caught in his beard and blinded his eyes. He pulled up his fur collar more snugly, and hailed a passing cab.

He hesitated a moment before giving directions.

He was not in the mood to return at once to his own house; he drew out his watch and saw by the light of the carriage lamp that it was nearly eleven o'clock.

"How quickly the time passed," he mused. "I may still find some of my friends at the 'Hermitage' or at the 'Kaiserhof.'" But as he was about to enter the cab, he decided that he did not care for companionship, and he concluded to go directly to his house, which was in the upper part of Wilhelmsstrasse. On reaching his room, he lit the lamp on his desk, intending to work a little while. But a moment later he tossed his pen aside; he was too restless, and not in the proper mood. He paced up and down the room to regain his composure.

"Remarkable! What refinement, dignity, and self-respect; and not a bit purse-proud or arrogant," he said softly to himself. "The old man—well, perhaps just a wee bit, but even he is very restrained; one can hardly notice it. And his wife, my cousin, quite comme il faut,—so ladylike! Why not? The Friedländers are of ancient aristocracy! The mother's blood seethes in the son's veins! Poor fellow! What experiences and sufferings a young Prussian law-student and volunteer of the Guards must have met with to have become so curt and repelling. And this despite the princely fortune which might have flung every door open to him, especially of those houses which a man of his age most desires to enter. Instead of that, half-martyr, half-hero, he fashions his own ideals. An interesting fellow! Evidently talented and possessing the courage of his convictions. How determined he was to vent his opinions, somewhat aggressively, of course, to show me that I did not overawe him in the least. A nice sort of chap! And then little Rita! How modest and quiet, and clever withal, for you could see that she was interested in the conversation, even when she was silent. Her eyes spoke, and so did her mobile little face. And she takes all this wealth quite as a matter of fact; she is to the manner born; she does not regard it as anything extraordinary. Altogether charming!"

He had conquered his restlessness a little during these reflections; he lit a cigar and went over to a table by the fire-place, heaped with books, pamphlets, and journals. A low fire flickered on the hearth. He fanned it to a bright flame, then moved the lamp from his desk to the table and settled himself in an arm-chair.

"I wonder whether they will restore me to their good graces! Not only the Benases, but the others,—Uncle Leopold's family. If only for the one day! How I hope they will! I'm actually homesick for—for the Ghetto!"

He took up a book. "If they were to see you now, Victor, the gentlemen of the Foreign Office! Yet a Ghetto it remains for all their liberty and all their magnificence. Whether in the grand drawing-room of the Tiergarten villa, or at Uncle Leopold's in Rawitsch.... That's exactly what the young son recognizes in his vigor and in his consciousness of injured pride. The older ones have become resigned to it."

* * *

In the family of Geheimrat Benas the visit of Dr. Weilen had caused dissension. The father wished to invite Dr. Weilen to dinner in the near future. It seemed to him a matter of course that a guest who had approached them so graciously and unconstrainedly should receive equal courtesy at their hands. His wife was inclined to second him in this view, but she was strongly influenced by Hugo, who decidedly opposed fostering a connection which, experience taught them, might result in nothing but mortification and neglect. At first Rita was a silent member of these councils, but at length she said: "I cannot understand why you talk yourself into such ideas, Hugo. We have no right to be discourteous to a guest who has approached us so politely. Impoliteness is lack of refinement in all circumstances. We do not interfere with your opinions, and therefore you have no right to ask us to have none of our own. But above all, you should not ask us to disregard all the social consideration to which any visitor at our house is entitled."

"Yes, any one except Dr. Weilen."

"But why? You're indulging in pure caprice! Has he done anything or neglected to do anything to cause such brusque treatment?"

Hugo frowned.

"Did he not please you, Hugo?" his mother asked, in a pacific tone.

"Please me? I don't think we have a right to be influenced by our personal sympathies or antipathies. Dr. Weilen pleased me well enough, but he is our enemy, just as every one else.... or rather more than any one else! And therefore I find it unnecessary to give him encouragement. I should not like him to think we are running after him, or feel honored because he condescended...."

"Goodness gracious, Hugo, sometimes you are quite unbearable! If people heard you, they would think you're Elkish. One can excuse such prejudices in an old, uneducated man; but in a modern young fellow of your education they are hardly to be condoned. We do not oppose your ideas and your convictions, but you ought not to go so far as to impose them upon the family! As a result of circumstances beyond our control we find ourselves outsiders in society; yet we need not carry our resentment to the extent of repulsing a gentleman who has been so pleasant and respectful in his advances. And that only because he is a man in an exalted position."

Mr. Benas spoke with irritation. He continued impatiently:

"Entirely of his own accord he told us how he had happened to become estranged from his family; and no doubt he could explain his further actions. But after all it is none of our business. The sincerity of his manner, his personality attracted me. Of course, at moments we were constrained and uncomfortable, but that was surely due to us, not to him, and above all to your own brusqueness; and his manner of ignoring that was more than amiable."

"We must thank him for this condescension most humbly."

"Hugo!" He met a look of warning and beseeching in his mother's eyes.

"Well, enough of this. We'll invite Dr. Weilen to dine with us next Sunday. It is not to be a formal invitation. Fanny, you yourself write a few lines, and don't invite many people. Ten or twelve will do. In the small dining-room—a simple but elegant affair. However, you're well posted in all those fine distinctions, my lady," he added playfully, to temper the impression of his severity toward Hugo. "And see to it that our young man acquires more normal ideas. I know you are confederates, and secretly you harbor his views."

"Joshua!"

He laughed. "There, you see, I am right. Usually you call me Joe, but in uncommonly solemn moments it is Joshua! Dr. Weilen made the advances, we must invite him, unless we intend to insult him with a repulse, and as we do not want to insult him, we must follow the conventions. I expect you to take this as your rule of behavior toward the Regierungsrat, Hugo. I have no fondness for ostentation or inconsiderateness. Our opinions in order to be sincere and effective need not take the form of aloofness and discourtesy. Remember that!"

The young man looked almost pained; but he did not respond. As he was a Jewish young man, respect for paternal authority was deep-rooted in his being. Moreover, his father was ordinarily so amiable, kind, and considerate toward his children, that when once he was decided and firm, there was no thought of opposing him.

Rita's eyes gleamed on her father. A genial, tacit understanding existed between the two, which leagued them, as it were, against the mother and Hugo. This pretty, good-natured party difference gave a peculiar charm to the intimacy of their family life.

"It is lucky that Rita is my confederate," he laughingly said as he arose, "else, by this time, the shield of David would be emblazoned over the door, and no stranger would be allowed to cross the threshold. In fact, Elkish advocated some such thing when we spoke of Dr. Weilen's visit. Elkish and you on the same platform! For heaven's sake, children, do not let us be ridiculous! I surely appreciate the old man; and during the past days he has brilliantly demonstrated his value in the matter of the 'Magdeburgs,' but everything must be kept within bounds. It is time for me to go to my office now. Fanny, whom do you want to invite?"

"How would Professor Zeidler do—and Jedlitzka, and Hoffman, the sculptor?"

"All right! But no; they have not been invited for some time; and they mustn't think we waited until we could have a Regierungsrat to meet them,—oh, no!"

A smile of triumph flitted about the corners of Hugo's mouth.

"Invite a few of our own family. Justizrat Friedheim, Robert Freudenthal, the architect, and Amtsgerichtsrat Lesser, with their wives. That makes six; we are four; with Dr. Weilen eleven. We need a bachelor."

"Dr. Rosenfeld?"

He laughed. "Well, yes! So that you and Hugo may have support. But now I must go. There's just time to catch Bamberger before the Exchange opens. Good-by, children. Don't get up from the table—Mahlzeit!"

Unanimity of opinion did not prevail among the three he left at their breakfast. Nevertheless, before the day was over, Dr. Weilen received an invitation to dine with the Benases on the following Sunday.

On the whole, the dinner passed off very pleasantly. Dr. Weilen, with the ease of the man of the world, made himself at home in the small circle. It was not difficult for him to find points of contact with these men holding a high position in society; and the women were so well-mannered, cultured, and genial, that he quickly lost the feeling of strangeness. Besides, his own being radiated an atmosphere of cordiality, which smoothed over the awkwardness of a first meeting. The greetings between him and his hosts might almost have been called cordial, as between people conscious of spiritual kinship. The Geheimrat was in an especially good humor; and Rita felt inclined to be all the more friendly as she was very apprehensive of Hugo's conduct toward their guest.

Her fears proved groundless. Hugo was too well-bred to act discourteously toward his father's guest. His behavior, though reserved, was faultlessly polite. The appearance of Dr. Weilen, the Regierungsrat, in his home was a fait accompli, to be accepted; consequently Dr. Weilen soon felt at his ease in this company. The family connection between him and certain of the guests was not spoken of. No one displayed any curiosity. They seemed to be united by a secret bond. In the course of the dinner the feeling of good-will increased. Dr. Weilen was charmed with the elegant mode of life, and was particularly pleased to see that the forms of good society seemed to come natural to them. Nothing betrayed that they had grown up in different circumstances, and that their present luxury had not been inherited from generation to generation, but had been acquired within measurable time. They had all the manners and accessories of their station. The liveried servants, the beautiful porcelain, the costly silver, the exquisite wines, and the choice dishes were as much in place here as in the most aristocratic circles that Dr. Weilen frequented. The splendor of the surroundings pleased him, not for the sake of the wealth itself, but for the air with which it was carried off. He felt himself attracted to them, he felt a spiritual kinship.

He became especially interested in Justizrat Friedheim, a cousin of Mrs. Benas's on her father's side. He was a man with a powerful, distinguished head set upon a small, thick-set body. Well known in the legal world through his commentary upon commercial law, he had taken a prominent part in behalf of the national liberal party during a recent session of the Reichstag. He had declined re-election on the ground of poor health. However, anyone who looked at this vigorous man, still in the prime of his manhood, would readily surmise that there were other, deeper-lying reasons, not openly mentioned, that deprived the fatherland of the services of this active and distinguished statesman. To his left sat the hostess, whom Dr. Weilen had taken down to dinner, and upon his other side sat Mrs. Lesser. She was a beautiful blonde, with fine teeth, and animated countenance, and lively manners. She was complaining to her neighbor that it had become an impossibility to get into the Reichstag, since he was no longer a member.

"I'm not good for anything any more," he answered, "but all you need to do is apply at the office."

"That's such a nuisance. Formerly it was so pleasant to sit in the members' box, and listen to Bebel and Eugen Richter." With an affectation of alarm she glanced at Dr. Weilen. "I beg your pardon, Herr Regierungsrat."

"The Government is accustomed to evils," jestingly interposed Mr. Friedheim.

She hesitated to reply only one instant; then quick-wittedly: "So we are in the same boat as the Government!"

"We could wish for no pleasanter companions in our misery," Dr. Weilen gallantly said, and raised his glass to touch hers.

It was inevitable that every now and then the conversation should take a dangerous turn, no matter how careful they were to confine the talk to literary and art topics, and avoid politics. But in a circle of intellectual men this was difficult; and the women of this circle seemed as conversant with the questions of the day as the men. However, with perfect tact and good taste, they avoided whatever might have provoked an argument; and though their opinions were expressed with wit and understanding, nothing occurred to give offense. They left the table in high spirits. The temperament of their race came out very distinctly, no less in the case of the Regierungsrat than of the others.

Friedheim, Lesser, and Weilen were chatting together in the smoking-room over their coffee; the host and Freudenthal, the architect, were looking over the plans for a villa on the Wannsee, which had been offered to Mr. Benas. The ladies and the two younger men had withdrawn to the music-room; and presently the strains of Wagner's "Feuerzauber" were heard, played with masterly skill.

"Who plays so wonderfully?" asked Dr. Weilen.

"Mrs. Freudenthal, a famous artist before my cousin married her. Perhaps you heard of her under her stage name, Flora Bensheimer."

"O, of course, the great pianiste?" he asked with interest. "And is she the wife of the architect? Has she given up her career?"

"She plays only for her immediate family. When our cousin married her ten years ago, she continued to perform now and then in public for charitable purposes; but for the last few years, she has given that up as well."

"But that is a loss both to charity and to the public."

"Freudenthal doesn't let charity suffer on that account," answered Mr. Friedheim. "He is very rich and gives generously on all sides; but he holds that he has no further obligations to the public. The remarkable talent of his wife he keeps from the world ever since it was subjected to affront. He can dispense his money without attracting notice; but he must conceal his wife's art so as not to attract undue notice."

"But that is egotistical."

"Perhaps. He is peculiar. The marriage is a childless one, and his wife is everything to him, wife and child in one."

"And was it easy for her to decide to give up the fascinations of a public career? She is known all over the world."

"Freudenthal has transplanted her to the best of all worlds, to the shelter of a loving and devoted marriage. He idolizes her and casts laurel wreaths and diamonds at her feet, such as have never been showered upon any other artist—a whole grove of laurels around her villa at Nice, and as for the diamonds—consult the ladies about them; they know about such things."

Dr. Weilen was amused by Mr. Friedheim's sarcastic manner, and he rejoined: "I should like to hear about them. At all events I shall look up the ladies."

The closing chords of the "Feuerzauber" died away, as he arose quietly and went to the adjoining room. He had observed Rita through the open door.

She was listening to the music, lost in revery, and she started with surprise, when she suddenly heard at her side: "Are you musical, too, Miss Rita?"

"Yes, a little. In our family we all play. Music is so inspiring, and we seem to have a talent for it. I do not mean Flora Freudenthal, who has married into the family, but there is Mrs. Lesser, a cousin of my mother and of Mr. Friedheim, herself a Friedheim, who has a superb voice. She was trained under the most distinguished singing masters; and some of my other cousins have a fine understanding of music, and devote much time to it."

"I suspect it is a Friedheim gift; for I myself am not at all musical."

She reflected a moment before saying: "It seems so, Dr. Weilen, though I never thought of it before. Those on the Friedländer side have other talents."

He smiled. "You are very kind."

Slightly embarrassed, she answered: "That was not an empty compliment. My mother's relatives on the maternal side have done much in scientific ways. Professor Jacob Friedländer in Breslau, Professor Emil Friedländer in Marburg, Professor Felix Friedländer of the Karlsruhe Polytechnic, are all men of scientific note; as is also Professor Ernest Biedermann, whose mother was a Friedländer, and who is a leader among modern German painters."

All unconscious though she was of it, her words reflected pride and joyous enthusiasm. A slight flush overspread her face; her animated glance rested involuntarily upon the family pedigree that hung opposite to them.

"You are well acquainted with the positions your relatives occupy. Do you visit them?"

She was startled at his words as though she had discovered a false note in them, irony and derision. But he looked at her so innocently and so sympathetically that she was ashamed of her mistrust.

"Not at all. Occasionally we meet Professor Biedermann. As a rule his calling takes him into quite different circles."

"And who are the people who would not be glad to have the entrée in such a home as your parents'?" he asked thoughtfully.

"My parents have not cared for a wide circle of acquaintances for years. My father, whose eminently successful career and public services entitle him to a certain amount of pride, scorns to be put in a position where he is merely tolerated; and my mother's pride is no more able to bear rebuffs." She paused in alarm at what she had said. Why had she allowed herself to be so carried away? She had been overcome by the everlasting woe and sorrow of her race, which arise anew in every generation; and this in the presence of a stranger,—of this stranger.

She looked at him timidly, with a troubled expression.

"Why do you not continue, Miss Rita,—or may I call you cousin, as I did before? You have no idea how much I am interested by what you say. I have met Professor Biedermann, but I did not introduce myself as cousin."

"Indeed!" she answered suddenly becoming quite cold.

"Do not misunderstand me. You see, all these cousins of whom you spoke have very plainly given me to understand that they have renounced me; for otherwise one or the other of them who moves in the same walks that I do would some time have bethought himself of me."

"How could you expect that?" she said eagerly. "You are unjust. You were the one to withdraw entirely from the connection, without possibility of recall." Again she hesitated.

"Do you believe that unprejudiced men would lay that up against me?"

"I do not believe that exactly; but what cause would there be for them to approach you? Those who have need of the family can always find a place in it, and there are many such, alas, many, far more than those who have attained a position in life. The family connection establishes a common interest; and this keeps them in touch with one another permanently. At family gatherings every now and then one hears of some good fortune that has befallen one or the other, and this brings pleasure to each member of the family. My mother especially is very well informed, and is anxious to learn of anyone who has risen to importance or honor. And now we speak of an event of that kind oftener than formerly; we take it as a consolation, a comfort, that one of us has attained to some position, even though it be only what was well deserved, without...."

"Say it openly, without baptism."

A deep flush covered her face, and in her eyes there were restrained tears.

To what had the conversation led her? To a point at which he could not but be hurt. She looked at him helplessly, unable to utter a word. At length she stammered, "O no, that—I—that was not intended—I...."

"Why should they not say it? In reality, it is not an easy matter for those gentlemen to attain the positions that are their due; and therefore their promotion is received with especial delight, not only by the family, but by the congregation, by the whole race. And now at last I hear the tale from a wholly fair and unprejudiced source."

She gazed at him with open doubt.

"Aren't you unprejudiced, Miss Rita?"

"Not any longer," she answered, with a sigh. At this moment her mother entered.

"Rita, Betty is going to sing, won't you accompany her?"

She arose quickly, as though released from some dread oppression.

"Gladly, mother."

He looked at her with a quiet smile. She noticed it, and was again overcome by her shyness. What must he think of her? Like a babbling, foolish child, she had inconsiderately touched upon subjects bound to lead to painful discussions,—topics that all had tactfully avoided, all except herself, the last person to intend an insult. If Hugo had said such a thing, how it would have irritated her, and in his case it might have been excusable; but she—was it fate, a spell that forced her thoughts in such directions? It seemed as though these questions cast a shadow over her every thought and action. That an innocent conversation should suddenly and involuntarily take a turn that gives an equivocal meaning to everything said, should give her words unintended innuendo and insinuations—nothing was farther from her thoughts; and yet the thing had occurred. It was only the interruption of her mother that had saved her from further indiscretions.

"Our cousin Betty, Mrs. Lesser, has a charming voice."

"So Miss Rita has just told me."

"So, Rita, you have been entertaining our guest with the recital of the talents of our family?"

"She has done so, excellently; I have the liveliest interest in them, and am truly grateful to your daughter."

He looked at Rita with a lingering glance. She returned it. Their eyes met, and then she bowed silently and went into the music-room. Presently Schubert's "Wanderer," was heard, beautifully rendered.

"And ever longing asketh where!" was the sad, melancholy refrain. "Ever where!"

He shook his head as if to rid himself of a sad thought.

* * *

Dr. Weilen took leave, promising to come soon again. Both Mr. and Mrs. Benas had invited him to repeat his call. The other guests, who had gathered in the drawing-room, remained to chat a little more and enjoy a glass of Pilsener.

"You may say what you will, Benas, it is more congenial when we are by ourselves," said Mr. Freudenthal.

"You are too exclusive, Isi," said Mrs. Benas. "Surely I am the last who would plead for a mixed choir, since we have been plainly given to understand that our voices do not please; but there is nothing about Dr. Weilen that disturbs our company or seems strange. Even on the first evening he came, he struck the right note, and he seemed one of us. He really is at bottom. One cannot deny one's kin."

"But it took a long time for him to remember," Mr. Friedheim said ironically.

"Only until an opportune moment arrived. How should he have known that the names Lesser and Friedheim belonged to his family? He was still a boy when connections were broken off with his mother's family, and he has never had any occasion to resume the relation," added Mr. Benas. "Friedheim, he knows you through your commentary; Lesser, you, through your 'Order of Bankruptcy,' your names are well known to the lawyer; but that is no reason for him to have supposed you to be his Mishpocheh. It was very evident that he was pleased to discover the additional tie." He laughed jovially. "That's human nature, but the feeling of satisfaction when special honor comes to any member of the family, is particularly developed among us. Even he does not deny this, and why? Estrangement does not change one's inherited nature."

"But habit and education do. Whoever alienates himself and cuts himself off, becomes an exile and a stranger," said Mr. Freudenthal.

"Dr. Weilen is not a case in point. The manner of his coming here is, in fact, an argument against your thesis."

"A mere mood, father, a romantic whim," Hugo said scornfully.

"In such matters your opinion does not count, because your views blind you and make a fanatic of you."

"After all, it is not a matter of great moment that he should have come here," said the Justizrat.

"Years ago you might have said so, but not now. Whoever seeks us now and acknowledges us, belongs to us."

"If you would only free yourself from the habit of considering whatever is connected in the remotest degree with the Jewish question as something of the greatest import. It's really a matter of absolute indifference to me whether a given person comes or goes, how he comes or goes, and what he thinks or does. It's merely a private matter, an individual case."

"Every individual case is at the present time a matter of universal concern," said Hugo, his eyes glowering.

"There we are, before we know it, at the same wearisome discussion. Throw the cat as you will, it always lands on its feet," exclaimed Mr. Benas, angrily.

"The question forces itself upon us, whether we wish it or not," said Mr. Freudenthal, "the clearest proof that it exists; just as a painful sickness reminds the suffering body of its existence. Of what use are morphine injections? Merely a momentary deadening, but the evil is not removed."

"But one gets tired of continually harping on the same old chord," Friedheim answered. "But in the world, by strangers, then in one's own reflections, and finally in the talk of friends, acquaintances, relations, in such social gatherings as this, at Skat, or dinners—everywhere the same dish is served. Occasionally you really long for an injection for the sake of peace."

"Yet there are few to whom the matter has been as vital as to you," said Freudenthal.

"Just because of that. Do you think a wound is healed by constantly tapping it? I use a morphine of my own, my own tried anæsthetic,—strenuous work, untiring activity, and the development of my specialty. This for the world; and for myself,—a quiet family life."

"That has not been your taste always," interrupted Lesser. "You, a politician! A man made for public life! Concerned in every matter of state and city government, always in the public eye."

Earlier in their careers the cousins had harbored slight jealousies in matters of this kind.

"Now we have it again," cried Mr. Friedheim, angrily, rising, "now the sequel will follow: And how did they reward you? Didn't they remind you of the yellow badge your fathers wore? Didn't they wave it before you, a token of past shame, and what is worse, of future shame? How did they thank you for the gift you gave them in your legal work, in your endeavors for the public weal, and so on ad infinitum? I know this war cry, and I am not in the mood to-day to hear it again."

Mr. Lesser and Mr. Freudenthal had also arisen.

"Whether you wish to hear it or not, that does not in the least change matters," said Mr. Freudenthal. "And if you should stop up your ears with cotton, you would only deafen yourself temporarily; the trumpet call would sound all the louder."

"I'm entirely satisfied to hear no more of it for a time at least."

"Desire and convenience do not regulate such affairs," said Mr. Lesser, ironically.

"Why not? What's to prevent our getting together comfortably without these endless disputes and excited debates?"

"The fact that the stranger has been in our midst, and we are restless, excited, nervous, like those who live in unrest, without a fixed abiding-place."

All turned toward the speaker; both the women who had followed the conversation in silence, after vain attempts to calm the disputants, and the men, whose tempers were heated by the discussion.

The words seemed to echo from another world,—lamenting, exhorting, warning.

It was Dr. Rosenfeld who had spoken them. The young man sat there deathly pale, as though frightened by his uncalled-for interference in the family quarrel. The whole evening and even during the last conversation he and Hugo had remained quiet, although their faces plainly expressed their interest.

"My dear Henry, you, too, carry matters too far," said Mr. Friedheim, impatiently. "But as our humor is spoilt, and it is late, I think it is best to break up. The fresh December air will cool us off, and we will go home, only to begin over again, at the next opportunity."

"We expect you on Wednesday for Skat," said Mrs. Freudenthal.

"Aha, the session for the next discussion is arranged," Mr. Friedheim laughed.

"Good-by, then, until Wednesday."

"Good-by."

* * *

Hugo and Henry also took their leave to spend an hour at the Café Bauer, where they were to meet several friends.

Mr. and Mrs. Benas and Rita, left alone, went to Mrs. Benas's boudoir.

"It is strange how easily we are carried away when we are among ourselves. Friedheim and Lesser are always ready for a fight. The slightest difference of opinion, and off they go," said Mrs. Benas.

"The curious thing is that at bottom their opinions are not so very different, but argumentation is a racial trait. There's no doubt, we have too much temperament." Mr. Benas smiled, lighting a cigar, and leaning back comfortably in his arm-chair. "I'm curious to know whether Dr. Weilen is such a wrangler as the rest of the Friedländers and the Friedheims," he added, trying to tease his wife.

"I, Joshua? I know others who don't lack the same trait."

"But, Fanny dear, how can you compare us? Generations of practice in the subtle dialectics of the Talmud—that tells. It is not by chance that your family is famous in all intellectual pursuits, while the rest of us, who bear on our escutcheon the rabbit skins and bags of wool carried about by our ancestors, cannot get to be more than mere Geheimer Kommerzienrat."

He liked to refer occasionally to his humble descent from simple merchants; especially when he felt his superiority as a quiet, self-contained man of the world, who could afford to laugh at the irritability and sensitiveness of others. That always put him in a good humor; and Mrs. Benas, well aware of this, fell in with his mood.

"Naturally, Joshua! Geheimer Kommerzienrat, that's nothing! You know you don't believe that. I think we may well be satisfied with one another. Friedländer, Friedheim, and Benas! That's an imposing triple alliance. I think we may be well content."

"And with all that belong to it."

"Even though they quarrel the moment they come together, at the bottom of their hearts they swear by one another and are proud of one another."

"Besides, a bit of argument is entertaining, and brings life into the shindig."

His wife looked at him reproachfully.

"I beg your pardon! I withdraw 'shindig.'"

"Indeed, you ought to be careful, Joe. One's language is bound to deteriorate when one indulges in such vulgar expressions."

"But they're so distinctive and expressive, almost as good as the Jewish intonation."

"Leave them to others."

"Hold on, Fanny. Do you see how I have caught you? Who is exclusive? Who are the others? Who are the others? Pity that Hugo is not here."

He was delighted and amused, and laughed at the embarrassment of his wife. She quickly recovered herself, and answered:

"The others are the vulgar ones, the uncultured, the mob, with whom we have nothing in common, and don't want to have anything in common."

"And the rest say the same of us. Let us have nothing to do with those aliens, those interlopers, those parasites, that ferment, which decomposes the healthy vigorous elements of the Aryan race. That's the gracious, charitable refrain."

"Here we are again at the Jewish question," said Mrs. Benas, somewhat displeased, "we three, here alone."

"Papa, mamma, and the baby," laughed Mr. Benas.

"It's really not funny, Joshua," said Mrs. Benas, earnestly and thoughtfully. "It actually seems as if we could never get rid of it, as if it followed us everywhere. Mr. Friedheim is right. It sits at our table, it accompanies us to social gatherings, to the theatre, and to concert halls; it stands next to us wherever we go in the world, meets us on our travels, and forces itself into our dreams and our prayers."

"You exaggerate, Fannsherl. The imagination and the eloquence of the Friedländers are awakening in you. We know how they think and speak, always in superlatives," he teased good-humoredly, in order to calm her excitement.

"But you see how it is yourself, Joshua. We get here together cozily, in order to chat a bit, to rest ourselves after the strain of entertaining, we have no sinister intentions, in fact, we are ready to reproach our relatives with indiscretion, and before we know it, we are in the thick of it."

"In the soup, I should have said," he added, trying to give the talk a jesting turn.

"Joshua, please, don't joke. I am in earnest. Isn't it very sad that all our thoughts should be dominated by this one subject? That we can't free ourselves from it any more? That we can't rise superior to it? That it intimidates us, makes us anxious, petty, serious, and embittered?"

"Yes, dearest, since you ask me to be in earnest, I must agree, that conditions are, indeed, very sad, even though great concessions are still made, have to be made, to us merchants who are in the world of commerce and finance. But for how long? Who knows? A festering wound spreads, despite morphine injections, as Freudenthal says. He could tell tales! One of the most talented of architects, full of spirit and taste, with artistic skill and training seldom met with in his profession, especially here in Berlin, and although he has been a royal Government architect since the year '78, he has been so completely pushed aside that he has been forced to put all his energies into land and suburban speculations out there on the Kurfürstendamm, in the Grunewald suburb, and in the elaborate business-houses on the Leipzigerstrasse. Naturally this brings him a large income, and that is one more reason why his work becomes a reproach."

Mrs. Benas sighed.

"And Friedheim? His capabilities, his thoroughness, and his valuable achievements entitle him to a place in the ministry. Instead of that he has actually reached the exalted point of being Justizrat, a title of seniority like Sanitätsrat among physicians. What difference does it make that as an attorney he has a practice worth one hundred thousand marks? He is ambitious, has aspirations, like all prominent professional men, and finds himself set aside in the prime of his powers. Lesser, too, told me recently that he is going to resign. He has exhausted the last possibility in his career, he cannot hope for further advancement, so he is going to give up official life, devote himself to his scientific researches, and indulge in travel. As soon as Hedwig is married, he and Betty can get away easily. They can leave the boys behind, they have enough money for that."

"That is and will always remain the only thing that gives us independence, and dignity, too," she said bitterly. "We have the money—and then the world is surprised that we strive so persistently to obtain it, hold on to it with such tenacity, and enlarge our fortunes once we have them."

"Nobody wonders at that nowadays. Only the envious and spiteful who have no money themselves. But we may as well admit it; what is true of our own small circle is true everywhere. Well-deserving persons are trammelled in their activities. So far and no farther! Wherever we look, we see them chained to the lowest stages. 'Not beyond the boundary we have mapped out for you,' says the Government. 'You want to climb, you are equipped to be brave mountaineers, you lack nothing you need to reach the summit, neither courage, nor endurance, nor strength. Yet remain below, remain below!' The foot-hills reached at the first spurt, mere child's play for their abilities, are the only heights they are allowed to scale. The way is barred, the natural course of their energies repressed. It is frightful that restrictions other than considerations of capacity should hold back the aspirants; that ostracism should be decreed because of a mere chance adherence to a certain faith."

"Then Hugo and his friends are not so greatly in the wrong as you sometimes declare?" she asked with tense expectancy in her voice.

"No, not in principle, but in their aims. Those are phantoms, fantasies! A dream which foolish boys dream,—and clever women."

Rita had followed her parents' conversation, partly in absent revery, partly with alert interest. "No, you can't get rid of it," she said in a soft, reflective voice. "I myself experienced it this evening, when I was speaking with Dr. Weilen. Suddenly we, too, had arrived at the fateful subject."

"Well, that settles it. You, too—and he!"

Her father kissed her tenderly on her forehead, and added jestingly, "Pray, don't tell Hugo or Henry of this. Good-night, Rita."

"Good-night, papa. Good-night, mamma." She respectfully kissed her parents' hands.

"Sleep well, dear child," her mother said, also kissing her upon her forehead.

* * *

On the twenty-third of December a company of young men gathered at the house of Hugo Benas, in his roomy, comfortable study on the second floor. They were in the midst of an exciting debate, when Dr. Henry Rosenfeld entered.

"Why so late, Henry?" one of the young men called to him.

He glanced around at the bright, clear-cut faces. Two decidedly showed the racial type, but in the others the keenest eye could not detect even a slight indication of their origin; they were blonde and blue-eyed, and crowned broad-shouldered figures. Dr. Rosenfeld himself answered this description, and no one would have suspected him to be a Jew.

"We have been expecting you this last half-hour. Magnus told us that you would be here at eight o'clock," said Hugo as he drew out his watch. "It is half-past eight now."

"I was detained by Professor Lisotakis, in the Oriental Seminar." He placed his note-books and volumes on the table and accepted the ready courtesy of one of his companions, who helped him to remove his overcoat.

"Have you been working until now?" Tender solicitude was expressed in Hugo's voice. "Come, sit here," he pointed to a comfortable arm-chair, near the fire-place. "It is very cold this evening, and I am sure you are half-frozen without having noticed it."

They all laughed, but the smile that played about Rosenfeld's lips was a bit forced.

"Perhaps you are right, Hugo. I have been walking fast, lost in thought; and when you think hard, you forget the weather."

"I wager Henry was wandering under cedars and palms on his way here, when in reality he was passing under snow-laden trees along the Linden, through the Tiergarten," laughingly cried out a young man of dark complexion, as he twisted his black moustache, and pushed his gold-rimmed eyeglasses closer to his near-sighted eyes.

He caught a curious glance from Rosenfeld; his deep blue eyes, fixed upon an imaginary point in the far distance, seemed to carry the suggestion of energy and fanaticism.

"That's possible, Sternberg," he answered, "why not?"

"I cannot understand, Sternberg, how you can profane and make a joke of a matter that is sacred to us, the memory of the history of our race," said Hugo.

"Never mind, Hugo, why shouldn't dreams become realities?" said Rosenfeld, with sadness and longing in his voice.

"Not in wanton jests, however."

"A fellow might be allowed a joke now and then," muttered the culprit.

"Hardly! Everything that belongs to our past is too beautiful; and now that it is a departed glory, a lost sanctuary, it is too sad to make mock of. I find it quite out of place to assuage the irritating wounds of the soul with scorn. It is a sign of degeneracy in us to banter and to scoff, and cynically to vulgarize the ridicule and the contempt heaped upon us by others. It is undignified, and makes for disintegration. That's the reason I object to the type of drama in which Jewish manners and peculiarities of the most degenerate and pitiable of our race are exposed on the pillory. They are considered as typical, and people say: 'Look you, such they are!' If I had the authority, I should prohibit them. And then, too, I hate those wretched money jokes, those translations of words from the noble language of our race, which give them a distorted, ambiguous meaning. We are not raised so high out of the mire as to allow ourselves such privileges. We are in the midst of it, in the midst of sorrow and enmity, struggle and defense, and we are far from victory, and we alone are at fault. This lukewarmness, this indifference, this hushing-up, this self-ridicule, they are our misfortune. The tactics of an ostrich! Keep your eyes tight shut! Don't peep! Imagine others are blind! But they are only too well aware of our helplessness, our weakness, our cowardice, our lack of courage. Where could they find a more suitable object on which to let out their bad humor? I tell you, I would do the same thing. He who grovels on the ground, must expect to be spat upon, and he mustn't complain."

His words poured forth in a torrent. He breathed hard, and his face turned ghastly white. Deep silence followed his speech. Sternberg, embarrassed, fingered a book lying before him. His eyeglasses slipped down on his nose, and his near-sighted eyes roved with searching glances from one to the other of the company. At last a young man spoke:

"There's a good deal of truth in what Benas says. We dare not deceive ourselves; indeed, we are the very last to do it, even if one of us does occasionally make a poor joke about it. Every one of us feels the same passionate pain in his soul as Hugo does, and every one is possessed by the same pride and the same enthusiastic desire for a different order of things."

These soothing words made a good impression. Dr. Eric Magnus, a young physician, the scion of a very prominent and wealthy family, always found favor as a peacemaker when differences arose among his comrades. It was he who always did the reconciling, and eased the jars inevitable among young men of such various dispositions. They called him the "Olive Branch," and he was proud of the nickname. "Little Olive Branch is right as usual," said Hugo, and extended his hand to Sternberg across the table.

"I meant no harm, Siegfried; and besides it was quite impersonal, you know that. The subject made me forget myself."

Sternberg was ready to give in; he clasped Hugo's hand heartily. The "Olive Branch" raised his glass, and turning to the two disputants and then to the others, drank to their health:

"Prosit."

"Prosit," they cried as they all touched glasses. And the little unpleasantness that had seemed imminent was averted.

Thereupon Dr. Rosenfeld took a letter from his portfolio, and said: "I have brought a most curious note that I received to-day from Francis Rakenius of Frankfort-on-the-Main. He is visiting his relatives there for a few days, before starting for East Africa. You know that he is a faithful Protestant, the son of a pastor, and belongs to a very pious family. His grandfather was school superintendent, his uncle was the celebrated professor of canonical law at Halle, and the opinion of such a family concerning our status seems to me of some value."

He had spoken in a low voice while unfolding the letter. Then he looked at the assembled company. Interest and expectancy were depicted on the faces of all. They knew that years ago, during the first semesters of their college life, an intimacy had existed between Rosenfeld and Rakenius. They had attended the same lectures, prepared for the same examinations, and received their degree of doctor of philosophy on the same day. Rakenius then went to Halle to continue his special study of theology, and Rosenfeld remained in Berlin. Even as a student Rosenfeld had been much interested in the various schemes to improve the shameful conditions which a continually increasing anti-Semitism had brought about. He attended meetings, joined various societies, at one time was a Zionist, and finally accepted with enthusiasm the idea of providing places of refuge for the persecuted Jews by the foundation of agricultural colonies in Palestine. No one knew whether he harbored greater ideas; but at all events, he changed his views and he gathered about him a considerable following, not only from among the poor, downtrodden sons of the Orient, who, while studying in Berlin, suffered hunger and torment and the scorn and contempt of their Aryan fellow-students, but also from among the young men of the most prominent, wealthy, and respectable families.

There was something winning in Rosenfeld's nature. Everyone who came in contact with him was devoted to him. His very appearance, which suggested endless sweetness despite the strength of his physique, won him immediate sympathy. And his appearance did not belie his disposition,—honest, simple, and modest. But one felt that his amiable manners concealed the energy and the fearlessness of a true demagogue, and, if need be, he would give clear, vigorous, and absolutely truthful expression to his convictions. Of late he had become entirely occupied with questions concerning the Jews. All political and social events he interpreted only in their bearing upon what was dearest to his heart. In this way he had obtained a strong influence over his companions, and he became their leader. Hugo Benas, Eric Magnus, and Siegfried Sternberg were devotedly attached to him; and they formed a circle within their circle, which zealously served the general interest. At meetings they were the spokesmen, peculiarly fitted by education and circumstances, for each one of them, by birth, wealth, and station, could have laid claim to and achieved a good social position, such as is ordinarily open to young physicians, lawyers, and scholars. Yet they had but one aim,—to devote themselves to the cause of their unfortunate, persecuted race. And they spoke of nothing else whenever, as on the present occasion, they met for confidential, friendly intercourse. With some impatience, therefore, they awaited Rosenfeld's communication.