Chapters 2
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1 01 - Part 1 30:59
It was still in the room. In the corner sat two women, busily embroidering. The elder one seemed intensively engaged in her work. Her face, with the red cheeks and the labyrinth of wrinkles and furrows, bore evidence of happy contentment. The small, cute eyes flitted restlessly from the golden pattern of the cloth to the window, evincing an anxious curiosity to see what was going on. But there was not much to be seen there. The Jewish quarters were very quiet about this time of the day, which was a little after noon, and but rarely was a stray wanderer seen to pass along the wall of the cemetery, situated on the opposite side of the street. In thick flakes came the snow down, covered the tombstones with white caps, spread a hermeline over the sarcophagi, And carpeted the roads.
Mother Hana, having contemplated for a while the whirling and dancing of the flakes, dropped the grey head again upon her work, and plied her needle with increased activity. Opposite her sat a young, pale-faced, delicate creature, who never raised her eyes from her embroidery frame. Indeed, so still, so sad, and grieved. Did Mother Khanna's pet never look before? And, nevertheless, there was not in Esther's life an hour, the secret of which was unknown to her. She had been her nurse, had guarded and watched her since she was a baby, cowed like a faithful dog before the sill of her experiences, had warded off every evil, had barred admission to every sad thought. Every sorrow-laden emotion. When Pearl, the wife of Rabbi Loeb, had died, and Hannah had taken charge of the household affairs of the Rabbi and assumed control, she had taken a sacred oath by herself to take care of the Rabbi's daughter with the affection and solicitude of a mother.
Thus, a sleepless watchfulness over the dear beloved body, the good pure soul. The strong but somewhat taciturn heart was the substance of Mother Chana's existence. But what was troubling this soul? What made her heart tremble? What retarded this body in its bloom and development? Because Esther was growing thinner, and her head drooped like a parched flower. Mother Chana did all she could. She set before her the daintiest dishes. Nothing seemed to give her pleasure any more. When recently her father had been summoned to Emperor Rudolf on Hadrashin, and all Prague spoke of the great distinction shown to him and the whole jury of Prague, hardly a smile had passed over the child's lips. And when her father had returned from the audience, and the trustees of the congregation, with rich Mordechai Meisel at their head, Had solemnly received him at the gates of the ghetto.
The child had not even gone to meet him at the vestibule. Why, that was not her formerly, to sit quietly by herself and bite her lips. Mother Hana paused in her work, stuck determinedly the embroidery needle into the cloth, closed her arms, drummed with her short fleshy fingers a few energetic tacks. And with sadly reflecting eyes, from which all cheerfulness seemed to have gone, looked at her pet. And as if Esther had felt the query of that look, she suddenly pushed the frame from her knee, slid down from the chair to the floor, put her arms around Mother Hana, and commenced to cry bitterly. The sobbing shook her whole body, and for a considerable time continued in that state. Then the intensity of her grief seemed to relax, and it passed into a state of quiet, plaint and groan interrupted here and there by a copious flow of tears.
Mother Chana carefully laid her unfinished embroidery upon the table. The careless child came very near to spoiling it with her tears, then tried as hard as she knew how to draw from the tender bud. Which seemed powerless to retain her composure, something like a confessional statement. But Esther would not confess anything. She shook her head in response to questions asked, did not speak, only cried. But as plying her with questions had no effect, Mother Chana tried another way. Are you not ashamed, my darling, to be so unhappy? Why, you ought to be joyful and happy as no other girl. Your father is the great Rabbi Loeb, the best and wisest man in the whole city of Prague, the pride, the iron pillar of the Jewish world.
Over the whole earth his fame is spread, emperors and kings speak of him, and all the learned men are his friends. What he writes is as precious as gold and jewels. And his speech God himself has put into his mouth. Why, you know that the great Tycho de Bras, the astrologer of our greatest emperor, said to him during his recent visit, I could hear his words distinctly in the adjoining room, I bow before your wisdom. Do you hear? He bows before him. Does not that make you feel proud? But Esther continued to weep and made no reply. Mother Hannah moved her body to and fro and began again. What is it you want, my lamb, my beautiful flower? You have everything which a wealthy girl can ask. And the best of it, you are now working on your own trousseau.
This cloth will beautify your bridal couch. She suddenly stopped. She evidently had touched the gaping wound, because all at once the quiet sobbing broke out anew into a loud groan. Khanna nodded several times and frowned. Then she fell into another tempo and said, This, then, is the cause of your tears? It is not so bad to get married. Why, it is the beginning of our true happiness in life. Through the bridal canopy Passes the road to true joy. Your mother Pearl passed it with tears, as you do now, and the great Rabbi Loeb has strewn it with roses of happiness. And I have passed that road. It is a long, long time ago, and I thought that my last hour had come, but I would have willingly trod that road over again when I mourned for my sainted husband.
That which we fear is the darkest night, God's providence changes into bright day. Dry you tears and listen to me. I will relate to you how magnificently your wedding will be celebrated. Think of it!" But she broke off in the midst of her speech. Esther had raised her face with such an expression of horror depicted on it. That Khanna came to the end of all her wisdom. Almost timidly, she continued, nevertheless, her words of pacification. He is not your future husband, Eleazar, a sagacious, learned man. He knows how to interpret Scripture like no other. Even against your father he holds his own. And he knows how to form his words and dress them into speech. That they can shine and throw off an aroma like flowers that grow on Zion.
His heart is as true as gold, and he loves you. Oh, I'm sure of that. When he looks at you, love beams out of his eyes, as God did out of the burning bush. For the first time, Esther opened her mouth. He squints. No, I have never observed it, assevated Khanna with emphasis, but not with sure conviction, because she knew that he squinted, that he was malformed and round-shouldered. He was a homely man. No palliation could change that. He was ugly. But Khanna did not dwell on it. She did not care to praise his bodily perfection. But contented her to point out, in touching words, his noble moral qualities, his great mind, his wise foresight. And when Esther, in spite thereof, refused to be pacified, she finally played her trump card.
Your father has chosen him. Your father knows him. Your father is the wisest of men. He sees through the heart of man. As if it were of glass, if he did not consider Eliezer worthy of becoming his son-in-law, he would never have consented to give him the hand of his daughter. Then Esther raised herself straight, dried her tears with a determined move, and threw back, with a violent motion of her head, the black hair which hung down over her forehead. Then she clasped Mother Chana around her waist, pressed her burning face on her shoulders, and spoke in rapidly thrown-off words, in fleeting sentences. No, she would not marry him, the ugly, misformed man, be ever so great, a man of learning, and though he could compose psalms like King David, he was abhorrent to her.
She was afraid of his touch. She could not even shake his hand. When he stared at her, when he attempted to speak to her with timid, stammering speech of his love, she felt like running away. And that man she was compelled to marry. Father had said so, and the thought of contradicting father had never entered her head. It was worse than death. And again it quivered around her lips, her nose became distended, her chin pushed forward, two deep folds dug into her forehead, and a fresh current of tears rushed from her eyes. Khanna pressed the child closer into her arms, rocked her tenderly, and patted her hand. Racking her brains for some means of quieting her, salvation came unawares. Slowly, somebody knocked at the door, and as no come-in was heard in response, somebody angrily scratched with his feet.
As no response followed, somebody opened the door cautiously and put his head through the door. That somebody was an old little jovial Jew, with a long fur coat, with high pointed fur cap. When he saw the two women, he rapidly stepped in. He made all kinds of bows and compliments, and repeated a number of times, Reb Shimon has come back and wishes you a good day. Reb Shimon was always a welcome guest in the Jewish quarter in Prague. He made extensive journeys and was a familiar visitor in Amsterdam and Paris. Sometimes he went to Jerusalem and as far as Persia and India. He traded in precious objects. Wondrous jewels, rare curiosities, antiquities of great value, and as a sort of sideshow he'd sold little knick-knacks, needle cases, pomades, silk fabrics, and multicoloured cloths.
He came together with bishops and princes when he had come into possession of some extraordinarily rare object, and he liked to see women and young girls cheapen for a yard of ribbon. Or a pot of salve. He knew the prices, and always came off best. His profit was never exorbitant, and Christian and Jew knew Reb Shimon as an honest man. But there were some dark rumours current about him. He was reported to be an adept in the occult sciences, and was familiar with the art of conjuring up spirits. He was called with anxious fear a necromancer and treasure-digger, and there were people who asserted that they had seen him in disreputable places, in converse with invisible spirits. But if one looked at the harmless little man with the jokes upon his lips, with the droll mobility in his legs, with the thin arms constantly moving in every direction, The story of his trodding uncanny paths was hardly credible.
Reb Shimon had his pets, to whom he sold nothing, but to whom he constantly brought presents, valuable objects or trinkets as it happened. At one time a ring with a smerogard, at another time a toothpick of olive wood. Among his favourites were Rabbi Loeb and Daughter. From every journey he came with big and small packages into the house, where the stone-carved lion held guard at the gate, and where he received invitations to dine, telling the adventures that he had passed through. Then the rabbi locked himself up with him in a private room, where they passed whole nights together, and no man knew what they spoke about, or what transactions they had. When Chana saw the guest, She held out her hand to him and bid him a cordial welcome.
Esther, her eyes still red from weeping, was compelled to smile when Reb Shimon posed before her in the most calming attitude and complimented her on her beauty. He raised up both arms and danced first on one leg and then on the other, rolled his eyes and quoted passages from the Solomonic love hymn. His whole face was wreathed in smiles. The thin, greyed chin-whiskers fluttered lustily in every direction. But behind the foolish jokes was the background of real, genuine admiration, which the young girl understood and appreciated. It did not take long, and the little merchant was comfortably seated near to the two women in the corner of the bay window, and related to them Many wonderful things which kept them in constant astonishment.
He had just come from Persia, had met there wondrous animals that could talk, and human beings who could fly, and in the midst of his recitals he interrupted himself frequently and dipped his fingers into the pockets of his fur cloak and hauled out many queer things. A ring with a peculiar stone. Into which were cut all the signs of the zodiac, a precious amulet, a tiny pot with boiled rose leaves, a dried flower which would bloom anew if put into water, and with droll sayings, jokes, and presents, Reb Shimon accomplished the miracle in which Chana had so egregiously failed. Esther forgot her grief and laughed. Laughed with her whole heart like an innocent, jolly girl. No one was happier than Hannah to see her Esther laugh again, and she burst out laughing when she saw Reb Shimon snicker, and the queer modulations of his voice were too comical for anything.
He stretched out his thin legs, threw his head back, and simply roared with merriment. It was indeed a merry trio in that bay window corner. Suddenly it all stopped. Rabbi Loeb, as if he had dropped down from heaven, stood in the middle of the room. Esther hurried up to him and kissed his hand. He clasped her head with his hands and kissed her upon the forehead. Reb Shimon came dancingly along and poured forth an irrepressible flood of greetings. Again he raised his hands towards heaven, called upon the Lord and his heavenly servants as witnesses to the excellent physical condition, healthy and robust look, in which he found the rabbi. But at the sight of the quicksilvery little man, a dark frown spread upon the brow of the rabbi.
He pushed his daughter, Esther, who had leaned on his breast. His long, streaming grey beard flowing over her head, softly aside, gave a hint to Hannah, who, standing aside at some distance, awaited in humble attitude his commands, and in brief, rapid words bid Reb Shimon to follow him. The two men went to the rabbi's study. The women returned to their former seats, resumed their work again, and took up the interrupted chain of thoughts. The laughter had disappeared. Esther looked out of the window. She felt as if fate had rolled a tombstone over her gaiety, such a tombstone as were those standing in rows in the cemetery opposite, and as if the silent snow of heaven covered that tombstone with a shroud.
End of section one. Section two. The study of the rabbi had the appearance of a laboratory rather than the workshop of a man of letters. A hearth with various peculiar vessels stood in the middle of the room, leaves with mysterious scrawls hung on the walls. A circle drawn with chalk on the floor caught the eye. And it was intersected by a network of lines between signs of the zodiac and Hebrew letters. On the table, bulky volumes were piled up. Books on the writing desk. Books in long rows on shelves lining the walls. Books like towering peaks everywhere threatening to overwhelm you. Even on the couch where the rabbi was in the habit of taking a rest, The rabbi locked the door behind him and paced up and down the room, hardly taking notice of his visitor.
His hands were crossed behind his back, his head bent down. The furrow between the eyebrows was becoming deeper and looked more threatening, whilst his hair seemed driven by the breadth of anger over his temples. And above the high forehead, with its protruding bumps, molehills of thought camped in black stillness, indicating an approaching thunderstorm. Suddenly it burst. He stood still in front of the little man, seized him by the shoulders, and screamed at him, You have brought trouble into my house! Rev. Shimon shrugged his shoulders, closed one eye, and with the other. Winked at the rabbi significantly. With a deft movement of the body, he released himself from the grasp of the rabbi. He then contracted his lips, and, with an audible noise, hissed forth the air.
Then he played with his chin-whiskers, sat edgedways on the chair, and said, quite low, but with deliberate gravvery, Trouble? Oh, oh, Rabbi, have you not always spoken thus? Why have you begged me to tell you more of it, always to show you more of it? You have probably not succeeded in the great work, and you nevertheless have the temerity to encompass the miracle. I brought the science with me from India. What have you done with that science? The Rabbi stepped to an enclosure. Lifted the curtains. Look at this, he said composedly and solemnly. Reb Shimon opened his eyes wide, stretched out his hands, and drew them back in token of his immense surprise. There, in the corner, was a life-size figure formed of clay.
A Grecian marble statue must evidently have served the artist. As suggestion, not as model. In motion, as well as in expression, the figure differed entirely from the Grecian original. It represented a young man of the most beauteous perfection. But in the features, as well as in the build of the body, the spirit of the antique was wanting. Not Grecian divine cheerfulness. Not Olympian plastic, but terrestrial animal strength, a burning, intense desire for the manifestation of life. The muscles were as if ready for action, and the mouth as if to open the lips for speech. Look at this, said the rabbi. Without rest did I fashion and labour on this statue. My clumsy hands, my awkward fingers, I schooled and trained, and now my heart is glued to this clay, this figure, this golem.
The first steps leading to the temple I have mastered. The vessel is ready to receive its soul. You comprehend the audacity of my work. You know that the road toward the work in which you have initiated me Passes the abysses of darkness, which no sun-ray may light up, into which no human eye may dive. Life do I venture to spend with the power of death, as death delivers the human soul from her prison, in order that she wing upwards, pure and free, towards the Eternal. So do I wish to deliver her. But I want to assign to the soul a place to house in, a dwelling which I have constructed where I can watch her and study her. That which only God has accomplished until now do I want to accomplish. God holds converse with the souls before he sends them down to earth.
Before he decks them with the terrestrial cover, and he speaks to them when they return from their pilgrimage after the cover has been torn. The rabbi did not utter these words in defiant tone. They fell from his lips like iron fragments of his will. See now, Reb Shimon, the manipulations and forms you did teach me. The essence of the mystery I had to dive for. Only since I comprehend do I feel the grandeur of my work. I stand in the face of the fountain of existence and dip into it, and I know the significance of the running and coursing, the splashing and rushing of this well. God is the mouth of the spring. And God is the great ocean into which all the drops flow. From his right hand do the drops fall down to earth, and into his left he receives them back.
Who would undertake to obstruct the path of a single drop? The rabbi impatiently locked his hands together and vacantly stared at the smoke-darkened ceiling. If you have arrived at that understanding, he said in a tone of irritation, why do you torment yourself with magic art? Why do you want to learn from me the means to encompass the impossible? The rabbi interrupted him violently. The magic art is not the science of the impossible to me. It means for me penetration to the utmost confine of the attainable. The exploitation of causes hidden to the uninformed, the seizure of effects which others do not see. I cannot give other forms to the forces and elements, but I can press them into my service.
I cannot stamp new spirits out of the void, but I can hear the voices of the spirits, and I compel them to do my bidding. And they shall give me their aid to encompass my work, because it is near completion. Observe that every human being is endowed with a particle of the world soul. It welled forth from the mother-font of the all and takes its way back to the ocean. But from God emanated it, it returns to God. That particle is the portion of life, and of it he must make the best. But a thousand chains, clasps, weights, press and press this particle from every side. What our ancestors thought and did changes into the leaden burden of tradition. That which our fellow beings think and do. Turns into bonds of customs, prejudice, and education.
And thus the soul is dwarfed and deformed. The prison of the narrow body, with all its littleness and contraction, obstructs its development. The gates of the prison are barred. The windows that open into the world outside are blind. Death only. Opens gates and windows. Divine is the soul before man is born, and divine will she be when he dies. And such a divine disenchained soul will I assign to this frame. Have a care, whispered Reb Shimon, that the experiment fail you not. That the soul do not escape you before she finally accomplish her entrance into the body? Have you impressed your memory well with the magic formula? Do you know all the signs the elements pay obedience to? Let us pass once more in our mind the path to the mysterious work, which I can confide to you, yet what is still unfamiliar to you.
I have just returned from India. In that country there are sages who stand closer to the secret of the soul than we can conceive of. There I have seen the work encompassed with my own eyes, the work which you are about to begin. Let me render a report to you. Just as the will-o'-the-wisps seek each other, seize and encircle each other, So the looks of the two men seemed to emit flashes of burning intellect sparks. Then the animation became hushed, and words were exchanged in almost inaudible whispers. Only an occasional emphasis caused a hissing sound. The rabbi had sunk down deep into the cushions of his easy chair. And opposite to him, crouched in a bending position, the mannequin of the traveller, like a tiny birdie over the head of the eagle.
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2 02 - Part 2 24:17
Reb Shimon had left the room hours ago. The rabbi, however, remained in his seat motionless. His hands crossed over his knees, his figure bent, his head. Thrown back. He thus stared with eyes wide open into vacancy. The great mystery! He had fathomed it. It was within reach. He held the keys to it. How magnificently would the divine nature manifest itself in the pure, free, human soul? What would be her first word, her first act? A Hosanna of the power, a revelation of the power, which is the mother of the all-soul. How will that power speak when tongue is given to it? The word of God will stream from it, the mighty word, thus do I speak. Cripples, deformed and malformed cripples, are the souls of men.
Confinement and compulsion of life burden them. To free her with one stroke, to open the portals of divinity with one cleavage. Who could accomplish that? He could do it. He, the great Rabbi Loeb. Before him stood the pure vessel, overpoweringly magnificent to behold, and it yearned for its substance. The Rabbi was aroused from his dreams. By a great noise, something stumbled up the steps, sounding like a being audibly panting and breathing heavily. The door was opened violently, and swaying helplessly, an ungainly man tumbled into the room. Small and ugly, deformed, lame in one leg and high-shouldered on one side, a dwarf with an abnormally big head. He leaned against the doorposts. His dress was torn and covered with mud.
Blood trickled down his cheeks into his thick black whiskers. His hands were also bespattered with blood. The rabbi was horrified and jumped up. It was Eliezer, his future son-in-law. "'Eliezer, where do you come from? What has happened?' he exclaimed. Eliezer breathed heavily. And had trouble to utter a word. He stuttered, attempted to open his mouth, as if making an effort to laugh or to cry, made a motion with his hands as if trying to seize something, and swooned forward. The rabbi caught him as he fell, and carried him in his arms, and laid him on the bed. Then he bathed his face in water, and examined his wounds. They had been caused by having been hit. With pieces of rock. From the disjointed words which he gradually hissed out from between his pressed teeth, the rabbi was enabled to construct a probable picture of what occurred.
Eliezer was crossed at the Hadrashin by a number of frolicking young noblemen who wanted to have their sport with him, as people were apt to take the deformed, almost hideous figure. Of the diminutive Jew as their butt, and a quarrel ensued. And what is remarkable, the little fellow had the temerity to fight, as if he were not a Jew at all, but a man like the rest of the Christian populations, and he assumed an attitude of defence. Of course, when the Jew impudently put forth the claim that he had honour about him, And would not consent to be tossed about for the mirth and laughter of the sport-loving high-bred boys, the mirthful temper of the young aristocrats turned into anger and wrath. In an instant the whole pack was after the little hunchback, and a big mob who sided with the young men joined them in the chase.
In a wild run they all sped down the hill, across the bridge into the old city and the Jews' quarter. The chase was terribly lively, and some of the young noblemen could not hold out to the end. They had to fall behind. They were so convulsed with laughter that they could go no further. Finally, in the narrow streets of the ghetto, Eliezer succeeded in getting away from his pursuers. With the exertion of all the strength left to him, he finally reached the house of the rabbi. But when he got there, he broke down. Exhaustion and pain spread the merciful cover of leaden stupor over him, and he fell into a deep sleep. The rabbi bent over him. What a deep treasure of noble sentiment, of pronounced virility, of moral excellence, was embodied in the bosom of this ungainly man.
But will Esther ever recognize his true worth? Will she ever be able to forget the humble vessel in which the precious jewel was enclosed? The rabbi hoped that his daughter would be able to rise up to it. He who could read souls and search hearts had weighed Eliezer's love and heart. The happiness of his daughter he had placed in the other scale, and the balance was even. And while thus bending over the sleeper, And moving aside with tender touch the dishevelled locks glued together by the exudation of perspiration, a thought suddenly struck him. That thought was like the sudden leap of a wild beast upon the breast of a man. So great was the shock that the rabbi was almost stunned. Was it not a special dispensation?
That just at this time, when the rabbi was busy with his mystery, a human being was stretched in deep sleep in his room, a sleeper whose soul was worthy to dwell in a pure vessel. Only for an hour would he want that soul to exchange her present abode for another. When Eliezer will wake up, the soul will have returned to the old prison house, and like a past dream, Will her freedom be but a faint, paled reminiscence? Nevertheless, the rabbi hesitated. His work appeared to him all at once like a sinful interference with the power of God, an arrogance of human power like the whispering of demons who dwell on the borderland between life and death. In short, Violent, conflicting blows between yes and no wrestled with hesitation within his bosom, and, with a powerful effort, like the seafarer pushing with one foot his boat into the water, cutting loose from the land, his will triumphed.
Silently the rabbi proceeded in his enterprise. He drew the clay figure from the alcove, And placed it at the head of the sleeper's bed. He lit in the tripod the mixture of herbs and metals, and drew new circles on the floor. Then he appealed to the four elements for assistance and cooperation. He strewed sand on the floor and conjured the earth to bear the form constructed of its elements. He drew water in the hollow of his hand and sprinkled it upon the sleeper. And the clay figure to wash the soul, the water coursing quickly. He took a burning log from the hearth, and with the flaming wood drew an arc from north to south, and conjured the flame to preserve the heat of the soul on her pilgrimage.
And then he held up his arm and placed under the ban to stop the breath when the soul is about leaving her abode to slip. into the new dwelling. Then he began his incantation, reciting the formulae and making the signs. From time to time he paused. He looked then intently at the sleeper and listened to his breathing. And the clay figure stood there without motion, stiff and unchanged. The rabbi then resumed his labors. With his fingers he made strokes, passing from the living form to the inanimate, and his words were at times soft and insinuating, whispers of love, at times hard and commanding, like the roar of a storm.
Suddenly the rabbi dropped his hands, and the words froze upon his lips. The room was in a deep dawn. Through the window shone in the pentagram the expiring rays of the sun upon the spire of the Jewish council hall. The time had come for the divine evening service. The congregation was waiting for the arrival of the rabbi. Sabbath had begun. Were Reb Shimon's instructions wrong or incomplete? Was his undertaking beyond the power of man? Or was it in an unfinished condition? No matter, the rabbi had to abandon it for the present. Sabbath had begun, and solemnly he imposed his command of rest upon hand and mouth. The rabbi was compelled to go to the synagogue to proclaim the message of divine peace.
He went. The sleeper lay there peaceably. The attempt Section Four. The sleeper lay there peaceably, and stiff and stark stood the clay figure at the head of the couch. In the darkness the contour of things disappeared. Wall and ceiling were dissolved into one shadow. They disappeared in the endlessness of darkness, and from the darkness arose Confused sounds. At first in low, single, deep notes, then in single, loud tones, then in swelled chorus rising in might. The elements sang their hymns. The earth resounded with the heavy steps of basal accords. The fire flared sizzingly and trumpeted forth in rising jubilant calls. The water intoned his eternally mysterious melodies. The air came with storm and might, and shook all foundations.
And the entire chorus rushed upon the clay figure, and it swayed to and fro, and between clay and life mighty tones spanned the bridge.
Move, commanded the water. Breathe, blew the air. Walk, was the order of the earth. And the figure stretched itself, raised its arms, opened its eyes. The Enterprise had succeeded. Speechless, motionless, in deathly stupor, the form of Eliezer. Lay stretched upon the couch. His soul had flown. The body of the golem had absorbed her. Ever higher, ever stronger waxed the chorus of the elements. Like rushing torrent and cataract, they thundered from the heights. Like raging waves, they jumped up. The space was filled with them. The golem moved his arms. He moved, awkward and uncouth at first. He turned his head around. He bowed down and rose again, and it sizzled up like a spring from the depth below that had at last found its way into the free air.
Into the free air. The golem clenched his fist, and raising his arm high, brought it down upon the table that it broke. Into a thousand splinters. Then he seized a piece of wood and turned it in every direction, and madly raged all around the chamber. The noise terrified the whole house. Esther, beside herself, jumped up the stairs to see where the noise came from. She rushed into the room and saw herself in the presence of the golem. But he had hardly seen her when he rushed upon her with a wild yell. Esther, as if rooted to the floor, stood there in the middle of the room, and before her stood the golem, and from his mouth streamed forth a flow of ardent words, words of passion, and his hands twitched with passion for her body.
And the passion burned in his eyes, as if ready to step out of their caverns and devour her. The words were at first disconnected utterances, but their tone, their colour, their intonation were animate with love. That love which storms onward upon the triumphal car, like the sun through the universe. The soul Freed from her trammels, revealed herself in her two mighty motive powers, manifestation of energy the one, passion of love the other. And now both were welded into one. The energy wrestled with love, and love fought with the energy of the freed elements for the mastery. It was Eliezer's soul. But she spoke as the souls speak when assembled around the divine throne, summoned by supreme command, freed from their terrestrial shells.
She spoke as the angels speak, whose wings reach from earth to heaven, and whose sword is like lightning, and whose breath is like the storm wind. That which is divine endowment in the human soul, the divine strength, is materialized in the angel. And the trumpet tone, which resounds through the eons, both merged into one, is metamorphosed in a summons to love. The pinion's motion, which reaches from earth to the throne of God's majesty. Lightning's spark, which parts the night. And flashes down a flaming that the depths tremble in their foundations. The storm whose kiss crashes down the forests and bursts the rocks. They are but messengers of love. And such messages came now from the mouth of the golem.
Eliezer spoke to Esther. His soul, freed from its shell, now spoke. An angel stood before the trembling maid. She felt the lightning spark as it entered her heart. She felt the storm wind as it struck her lips. She felt the wings that fluttered around her. Part Five. The rabbi had pronounced the priestly benediction in the synagogue. The worshippers in the white scarves had bowed their heads, the murmuring chant of the psalm, Rose in its final plaintive appeal for God's mercy and terrestrial peace. The looks of the devotees were riveted upon the sevenfold candelabrum, as if it were destined to become transferred to Zion in the temple of a free nation, to whom the future had been vouchsafed. But the lights went out, and the eyes of the devotees, ardent with pious yearning, became downcast.
And with the solemnization of the service, the dream of the hour, the hope for Zion, was flown. The men went to their homes, serious, with slow steps. With bowed head, they proceeded on their homeward march through the deep snow. Only the rabbi hastened with rapid strides to reach his home. Sinister apprehension filled his bosom. He flew up the steps, and with a powerful push he broke through the door. What he saw filled him with terror. The golem had seized his child as the condor holds the lamb in his talons, and Esther seemingly made no effort to tear herself loose. Her wide-opened eyes seemed in a reflex of ecstatic joy. Her mouth was opened. Ready to receive the kiss, her breast heaving to meet the victor.
The rabbi threw himself upon the golem, tore away his prey, and lifted a hammer from the floor to demolish the golem. But Esther stayed his arms. His own child cried for mercy, and with her body shielded that of the golem. The rabbi's blood congealed in his veins. The golem, the clay figure, the work of his hands, robbed him of his child, held the heart of his child in his hands. The rabbi still held the hammer lifted up, ready to go to the work of destruction, but the child, with a strength of which she had never been possessed before, defied him. But, in the meanwhile, the golem had hastened to the opened window. Outside, a mighty tempest raged. The free souls, the angels, the hosts of hosts, filled the illimitable space and summoned their brother, summoned him to dance and race through eternity.
The people were astounded at the miracle. A thunderstorm in midwinter? They only saw the wild chase of dark clouds. The burning glow of the forked flash, the rolling of the thunderclaps. But the golem saw the winged legions, saw their myriad of followers, heard too their voices, and his voice melted into one acclaim with the thunderbolt. He vaulted upon a ledge, spread his arms as if wings had taken their place, and leapt out to meet the multitude. That had beckoned him, but clumsily he fell from the air onto the ground. Earth had not released its denizen. Upon the tombstones of the cemetery the golem burst into pieces. With a loud wail the brothers stormed away. Over the white mountain the storm cloud disappeared.
At the same moment when the golem had fallen down, shattered to pieces, the sleeper upon the couch heaved a deep sigh. The soul which God had not summoned yet, and which had only obeyed human command, returned to her original home. Slowly Eleazar rose. He was dazed, but his eyes fell upon Esther, Who, overpowered by what she had seen, had sunk upon her father's breast, and timid and awkward as was his habit, Eliezer approached them. He stuttered a few words, embarrassed to find the meet expression. But a peculiar change had taken place in Esther's mind. She recognised the tone of the voice. She recognized the sentiments which trembled through that voice. She recognized, in a flash, the soul which dwelled in the ungainly body of Eliezer, which, a few minutes before, had raised her up with the divine kiss of love.
And the wise rabbi surmised what was going on in his child's mind. Without uttering a word, He joined the hands of Eliezer and his child. Go forth, he said. Knowledge is the entrance to love, and knowledge may be the retrospect of your life when your hour has come, and may both be a blessing to you. And when the door had closed behind Esther and Eliezer, the rabbi knelt upon the floor. and prayed to God. Lord, thy mercy is beyond measure. The presumption of thy servant thou punishest with the revelation of thy goodness. My work lies shattered among the dead, but it has served to bring happiness to my child. The soul of Eleazar has spoken to my child with the force of voice Which thou alone mightest hear.
As the angel speaks, so spake that voice. Thy breath, O Lord, spake out of that golem. And thy breath, O Lord, is the power. And thy breath, O Lord, is the joy. Thy word is love. From beginning to end endureth thy love. Thy name be hallowed in all eternity. Amen. A legend of old Prague by Rudolf Lotar.