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(Continued
from issue #7)
Written
For The Occident, by Miss Celia Moss, One of the Authoresses of the
“Romance of Jewish History,” “Early Efforts,” etc.
Chapter
4.
Rachel
returned one evening to the dwelling of the Rabbi with a lighter heart
than usual. The robe was finished, and the delighted Maude had bidden her
to name her reward on the morrow for the execution of her task.
Rachel’s
gay mood was quickly turned into mourning when she entered the dwelling of
the Rabbi.
Estella
was weeping bitterly, while her son, the betrothed husband of the maiden,
was pacing the apartment with rapid strides, while broken ejaculations and
half-stifled sobs broke from his lips at intervals.
Rachel
sprang to the side of Estella, exclaiming: “The Rabbi?”
“We
have heard naught of my father,” answered Estella; “but alas! ours are
not the only sorrowful hearts amongst our people—the king—”
“What
of him?” said the alarmed maiden.
“He
hath issued an order,” replied Estella, “that in three weeks from this
day every Jew shall leave the kingdom; all property, save sufficient to
defray the passage to another country, is to be forfeited to the king; and
thus stripped of even the means to support life, our people must seek in
the wide world another home. Those who remain beyond the time named in the
edict, are to become the slaves of whatever tyrant shall have strength to
seize them.”
“And
will my people bear this wrong? will they submit without a struggle?”
asked the terrified maiden. “Will they not strive to force better terms
from a tyrant who forgets the claims of justice and humanity?”
“Alas!
my child,” said Estella, “if our brethren, urged to despair, had
recourse to the sword; what chance would men, whose whole lives have been
devoted to the arts of peace, have against these hard-hearted barons,
whose trade is blood, and whose frames, like their hearts, are of iron?
No, no, Rachel; it is on the Guardian of Israel only that we can rely;
earthly help will avail us nothing. Let us pray, my beloved children, to
the Lord of hosts for strength to endure his will, and bow in submission
to his decree.”
On
the morrow, Rachel, accompanied by Estella, once more returned to the
dwelling of the Earl de Lacy. It was now more than ever necessary to
procure the release of the Rabbi if possible; for to leave the country
while his fate remained uncertain, was worse than death itself.
Lady
Maude was indisposed; but she gave instant orders for the admission of the
Jewesses.
Maude
was reclining on a couch, and her fond father sat beside her, gazing
into her face with an intensity of affection which only those who have
been compelled by the hard hand of adverse fortune to cast all their
affections on one dear object can imagine. Lady Lacy smiled kindly on the
young Jewess as she advanced nearer in obedience to the motion of her
hand.
“And
so, Rachel,” she said, “thou art come to name the well-earned reward
of thy labour for the last month. Well, thou shalt not find Maude de Lacy
a niggard. But how is this? Thine eyes are heavy, as with weeping; thy
cheek is pale, too, and marked with traces of tears. If I can do aught
which a Christian maiden may do to relieve thy distress, ask fearlessly
and fear no denial.”
“Lady,”
replied the young Hebrew, “hast thou not heard that sentence of
banishment is passed against my people? that they will have to seek a new
home on a foreign shore, without being even allowed to take with them
the means of subsistence in another
land? Is this not sufficient cause for mourning?”
“And
thou, too, my poor girl,” said Maude, sorrowfully, “must thou also
follow thy people in exile and poverty? Oh! rather cast off the errors of
unbelief, and Maude de Lacy will protect thy fortunes. Shall it not be so,
my father?” she continued, turning to De Lacy, “shall we not give this
desolate outcast a home?”
“As
thou wilt, Maude,” replied the fond father; “and if this Jewess be
willing to renounce her errors she will not lack friends.”
“I
thank thee, noble lady,” answered Rachel with dignity, “but I will
live and die with my people and in my faith; yet I will ask a boon of thee
as the reward of my humble services, and in granting my request thou wilt
bestow more than life or wealth upon thy supplicant.”
“And
what may this petition be, damsel,” said Maude, “which thou dost beg
so earnestly? Gold, I well know, is what thy tribe hunger most commonly
after; but thy words seem to imply more pressing need. Speak, what can I
do for thee?”
Rachel’s
face became ghastly, and her whole frame trembled, while Estella, even
more agitated, clung to the orphan for support; for each felt that the
decisive moment was come which was in a great measure to decide the fate
of the Rabbi; and when Rachel at length spoke, her voice was almost
inaudible from strong emotion.
“Lady,”
she said, “of gold I have no need, for that which thou wouldst bestow
would but go to fill the treasury of King Edward; but there is an aged
man, a teacher in Israel, at present a prisoner in the Dominican Convent
in Whitechapel, and it is his release I would procure as the reward of my
labour. Oh! do not deny me,” she added imploringly, “thou knowest not
how much misery thy refusal would bring upon me.”
Maude
shook her head sorrowfully. “Poor maiden,” she said, “thou demandest
that which it is beyond my power to grant. Ask some other boon.”
“Alas!
alas! none other has value in my eyes. That aged man, when my parents’
death left me a helpless and destitute orphan, took me into his dwelling,
and from that hour until his unhappy captivity he treated me as if I were
indeed his child. In poverty and affliction I yet shared his bounty; then
oh, if thine handmaid hath found favour in thy sight, save him, save my
more than father.”
As
Rachel spoke she flung herself at the feet of Maude, and with clasped
hands and streaming eyes awaited her answer.
Maude
glanced imploringly towards her father, and De Lacy, moved by the earnest
pleading of the poor girl, advanced a step towards her and said: “It is
dangerous to interfere with those whom Mother Church claims as her own;
had thine adversary been other than the holy Church itself, thou shouldst
not lack aid of Reginald de Lacy.”
“Reginald
de Lacy!” shrieked Estella, who had not hitherto spoken. “The noble
Earl whom King Edward banished seven years since, and whose cousin Walter
obtained possession of his lands and estates?”
“In
the name of all the saints, woman,” exclaimed the Earl, much agitated,
“what has this to do with thee?”
“Much!
much! it concerneth both me and thee,” answered Estella. “Did not thy
wife die while thou wert in exile, leaving behind her a boy whose fate is
unknown to thee, and thou wouldst give all the broad lands in thy
possession once more to press him to thine heart?”
“Woman!
devil! sorceress! from whom knowest thou this?” shouted De Lacy.
“Speak; tell me of my boy, my noble boy; is he living? is he in
safety?”
The
wildness of the Earl’s tone and the excitement of his manner at once
convinced Estella that she beheld in him the father of the child whom the
Rabbi had so generously protected, and fervently did she thank the
all-wise Disposer of events for the knowledge so strangely acquired, and
which she trusted would assure the safety of her beloved father.
These
thoughts passed rapidly through her mind, while De Lacy waited her answer
as if the award of life or death rested on her words.
“Earl
de Lacy,” said the Jewess, “thy son is alive and in safety; he is all
that a fond father can desire in the heir to his proud titles; but
tortures shall not force farther intelligence from me until thy knightly
word is passed that thou wilt do all that rests in the power of man to
obtain the release of my father; and his safe departure from this kingdom.
That done, insures the restoration of De Lacy’s heir.”
“I
swear to thee by every saint in heaven!”
“Nay,
I need not oaths, for I well know that thy priests will absolve thee from
all blame in breaking faith with a Jewess; but pledge me thy honour as a
knight and noble—a pledge you Christians prize above faith, religion,
mercy, or justice—and all thy doubts shall be satisfied.”
“Then
I promise thee upon my knightly honour to risk land and life in thy
service; but if thou deceivest me, and for thine own hellish purposes
triflest with the feelings of a father, dread the vengeance of De Lacy.”
“Knowest
thou this writing?”—demanded Estella, drawing from the folds of her
robe the letter and jewels which she had carried about her person from the
day of her father’s imprisonment.
Eagerly
the earl snatched the parchment from the hand of the Jewess, and severing
with his dagger the silken band that bound it, eagerly perused its
contents. It was the farewell of one whom Reginald de Lacy had fondly
loved—his ill-fated wife; and tears, scalding tears, ran down the
sunburnt cheek of the stern warrior, as, after so long a separation, he
read the last words she lad ever written, full of tenderness to him, and
earnestly recommending her orphan boy to his care.
When
De Lacy’s emotion had somewhat subsided, he examined the jewels, which
were those of his lamented lady, and then demanded of Estella the manner
in which she had become possessed of these relics of his departed
Beatrice. Estella simply recounted to the Earl the history confided to her
by her father the eve before his imprisonment.
“Woman!”
said the Earl, his countenance becoming livid with fear, “my boy hath
been under thy roof, and amongst thy people; halt thou dared to trifle
with his faith? hast thou taken advantage of his helplessness to destroy
the soul of my boy?”
“Christian!”
answered Estella calmly, “my people make not converts by fraud or force;
thy son hath learned naught among my people that De Lacy’s heir may
blush for; we poison not the benefits we confer by tempting to the
commission of crime. No! no! thy son hath shared our scanty pittance, and
been the child of our love; but his foot hath never entered a Jewish house
of prayer.”
De
Lacy felt the blush of honest shame tinge his cheek, as he compared the
noble conduct of the Rabbi with that of the proud peers of England and
their hard-hearted king, and even he, blinded as he was by education and
prejudice, could not but feel how differently he should have acted to the
child of a Jew.
The
eager anxiety to behold his lost boy, however, quickly banished every
other thought from the mind of De Lacy. But, as it was necessary to use
some caution, he consented, though with difficulty, that Estella should
bring Albert to his father’s arms, leaving Rachel with Lady Maude until
her return.
During
the progress of the discovery which had restored to her a brother, Maude
had remained a silent, but not an uninterested observer; and on
Estella’s departure, she threw herself on her father’s neck, and
murmured forth her congratulations.
“And
thou wilt receive this little wanderer, and love him as a sister should
love a brother, my own Maude?”
“Father!
can I fail to love one who is dear to thee?” asked the weeping girl.
“No, no; I will love him as a brother, and watch over him as a tender
and affectionate mother.”
De
Lacy pressed her fondly to his heart, while Rachel, who had arisen, and
stood at some little distance, could not but hope that hearts so full of
affection would care for his safety who had preserved one so dear to them.
With
a light step Estella hastened to her own dwelling, but one thought
occupying her mind—that her father’s safety would be insured by the
restoration of Albert to his father. But a pang shot across her heart when
she remembered that the parting with the boy, whom they so fondly loved,
would in all human probability be eternal.
Albert
was seated by the side of Esther, striving to awaken in her mind some
knowledge of the events passing around; for she had sunk into a state of
imbecility; and when Estella bade him resign his task to her son, who was
seated dejectedly by the window, with a religious book in his hand, Albert
arose and followed her mechanically, little dreaming of the important
change about to take place in his existence.
They
reached the house of De Lacy, but as they advanced to the gate Albert
wildly grasped the arm of his conductress, while a terrible fear thrilled
his heart. “Not there, Estella! not there!” he exclaimed; “unless
thou wouldst buy thy father’s safety by a deed he would scorn; the
betrayal of a helpless orphan, who has no friend but thee and thine.”
“Boy!”
answered Estella, “how have I deserved this suspicion of thee? thou at
least shouldst not doubt the good faith of thy protectors.”
“Forgive
me, Estella, and blame me not,” answered Albert; “for, though years
have flown since I last beheld it, I can never forget the abode of my
bitterest enemy, my father’s kinsman, Walter de Lacy.”
“From
him, Albert,” answered Estella, “thou canst have nothing more to fear;
he is dead, and the present heritor of the estates will gladly embrace the
lost heir of De Lacy.”
Albert
was about eagerly to question the Jewess respecting the present possessor
of his father’s rights; but ere he could command his emotion
sufficiently to speak, he found himself in the entrance of the mansion,
and another instant brought him into the presence of the Earl. At the
sound of footsteps De Lacy, who had passed the time of Estella’s absence
in a state of terrible agitation, sprang eagerly forward. One wild and
searching glance he cast upon the features of his long-lost child, then,
with a cry of thankfulness, he pressed him to his breast, exclaiming,
“It is my own child! the living likeness of my sainted Beatrice, whom I
once more, after so many weary years, press in my arms!”
Estella
and Rachel stood apart, watching with tearful eyes the meeting of father
and son after so long a separation, while Maude eagerly claimed her share
in the embraces of a brother whom she had never ceased to regret.
And
Albert—who can describe his feelings as he felt the embrace of a parent
whom he had never hoped to behold again, and heard the voice of his
father, and felt his tears and kisses on his cheek? It seemed so like a
happy dream, that the poor boy feared to raise his eyes and gaze on the
faces of his father and sister, lest he should find the whole sweet
illusion dispelled.
“Father!
father!” he murmured at length, “is this real? am I indeed in thine
arms? once more in our own dear home? or is it but a mocking vision sent
to cheat away the memory of sorrow for awhile, only to render its after
pangs more hard to endure?”
“It
is no dream, child of my Beatrice,” answered the Earl; “thou art
folded in thy father’s arms.”
“God
of Jews and Christians, I thank thee!” and Albert clasped his hands
together as he spoke; “now at least I can show gratitude to my
preserver, for surely in his sore extremity De Lacy must protect the
generous preserver and restorer of his child.”
The
Earl glanced toward the spot where Estella and Rachel stood, and said:
“Fear not! trust De Lacy; but at present I would be alone with my
children;” and summoning Maude’s most trusty attendant, he confided
the Hebrews to her charge, bidding them remain in the castle until after
his conference with his recovered son.
During
the happy hours that followed, De Lacy gained from his son an account of
all that had chanced to him since their separation.
And
when the boy recounted, with all the warmth of an affectionate heart, all
which the Rabbi had done for him; how he had enlightened his mind without
attempting to destroy his religion; how he had watched over his safety,
and shared with him the few comforts his poverty allowed: De Lacy felt the
mists of prejudice disappear like the shades of night before the sunlight,
and it needed not Albert’s passionate pleading, to determine the Earl to
risk every thing for one who had acted so nobly to him and his. To
attempt, however, to interfere with one on whom the Church had set her
mark was, De Lacy well knew, a dangerous task; still there was no time to
be lost, and he determined that very day to see the prior of the convent
in which Mordecai was confined.
“Let
me go with thee, father!” exclaimed Albert eagerly, “and I will so
plead to the prior for the safety of my second parent that he shall not be
enabled to resist my fervent prayers.”
“Alas!
my son,” said the Earl, “thy earnestness will but expose thyself to
dangers and suspicion of heresy, as one who hath so long dwelt with
unbelievers. The churchman will look with suspicion upon thy words. Trust
to me, Albert, and tarry with thy sister. Surely, the protector of his
child need not fear a cold advocate in De Lacy,” he continued; and then
addressing his daughter: “Maude, what wouldst thou say? methinks thou
wert about to speak.”
“Gilbert
de Harcourt, the prior of the convent, is a near relation of my betrothed
husband,” said Maude, “and in good time, behold, here he is himself;
admit him to a part in our counsel.”
In
a few moments De Harcourt was made acquainted with the happy providence
which had bestowed a dear relative to his betrothed; and probably his
congratulations were the more sincere, because De Lacy’s earldom being a
male-fief, Maude was deprived of no advantage by the restoration of her
brother.
“Leave
this affair to me,” said Harcourt, after a few moments’ deliberation.
“The prior is my near kinsman, and doubtless, for my sake, backed with a
handsome present to the convent, the liberation of the Jew will be
effected on the morning.”
“If
it be so, De Harcourt, thou wilt indeed confer a boon on me and my
children, which Maude,” he added, gazing fondly on his daughter,
“shall repay.”
Estella
and Rachel, after fondly embracing Albert, returned to their own dwelling,
with hearts lightened somewhat of their fears for the Rabbi, and, with a
gladness to which they had for many years been strangers, they recounted
to Jacob the events of the morning.
(To
be continued.) |
