Elle erre seule au bord de l'eau En trainant son aile; Elle fuit les nids aux chansons Que l'amour epele; Elle fuit les fleurs des buissons Sans attrait pour elle; Et se baigne dans le ruisseau Seule mais fidele.

Quel tourment! plus de tourtereau!

Pauvre tourterelle!"

By a lively pantomime she acted the poor turtledove. The lost turtle-dove was, without doubt, Henri Segel, who almost burst his sides laughing. The signora after this exhibition drew near her cavalier, who presented the two gentlemen.

"Ah! Signori Polachi! I like the Poles exceedingly," cried she, turning toward Jacob. "_E Viva la povera Pologna!_ Ah, ah, ah! Is it true that in your country it is so cold that sometimes the fowls freeze in winter, and do not thaw out until spring? Bologne--Pologne; same thing, isn't it? Have you been at Genoa? Did you go to the theatre? I dance and I sing at Carlo Felici. I am at the head of the chorus. I am promised before long the role of mezzo-soprano. Have you seen me play the sorceress? No? That's too bad."

"Dear Gigante," interrupted Henri, "if you tell everything at once there will be no more to say."

"I know more songs than any one else," replied she gayly. "I have a throat full. And if I can find no more to say, I can look at these gentlemen. That will drive you wild with jealousy."

"But I am not jealous."

"How! Not jealous? You ought to be if you love me. That is a part of the role."

"We will love each other--until Lucca."

"What matters it? Before we arrive at Lucca you will be dead in love.

And you, messieurs, artists who go on foot, where are you going will you permit me to ask?"

"We go to Pisa."

"To Pisa? A dead city, a great cemetery. The Arno is like a dirty old ditch. You had better come with us to Lucca. There I will give you all three a fig and adieu."

Then she commenced to sing again a merry song.

Jacob listened, and a feeling of weakness came over him; his brow was clouded, and, without replying, he left this joyous company, giving a headache as an excuse, and leaving Ivas to listen to Gigante. He was overcome with rage and emotion.

The husband of the poor forsaken Mathilde giving himself up to such distractions! It was easy to guess from this scene what her life was.

Jacob suffered for her, and experienced a sensation of chagrin that he had not remained in Genoa where he could have been alone with her.

But soon he blushed at the thought that he would have dared to profit by the absence of Henri. "All is for the best," thought he. "I ought not to trouble her repose by my presence, for that would open old wounds in her heart, as in mine. Destiny has separated us. Great duties are before me. Her sadness increases. We have no right to glide into a paradise the entrance to which is forbidden. Fate urges me with an implacable lash. Let us go!"

Ivas returned to his lodgings late that night, after copious libations and a thousand jokes with the coquette, Gigante, who could not conceive any one indifferent to her, and had tried to interest them both at the same time. Signer Enrico, during his little affair, had given himself the name of Don Fernando, so as to pa.s.s for a Spaniard. He was very proud of the conquest, and acted as foolishly as his companion.

Ivas carolled, as he entered, a verse of a song he had learned from Gigante. He was troubled and ashamed when he saw Jacob reading the Bible. It was his custom when he was sad to read the Prophets, the Psalms, and the Book of Job.

Ivas went to bed, but Jacob continued reading until at last the feeble light of the lamp forced him to cease. He arose and walked up and down the room, lost in deep and painful thoughts.

Ivas could not sleep. Sympathy with his sorrowing friend and a little shame on his own part kept him awake.

"Have you been in Dresden?" asked Jacob.

"Yes," replied he, without understanding the reason of this question.

"You have then seen a poem of Israel's past, a sorrowful poem of which the foolish debauchery of to-day awakened in me a remembrance. I speak of the 'Jewish Cemetery,' by Ruysdael."

"I have seen that picture," replied Ivas. "It terrified me, but I could not comprehend it. It is an enigma that fills one with sadness."

"One can remain hours before the canvas," said the Jew, "contemplating it with an impression of wonder. It is so sad, and, like the story of Atrides, stamped with the seal of an inexorable fate. But I love better the tears that one sheds at the sight of this work of a great artist, than the laughter which came out of the mouth of the debauched Henri, representative, as he is, of a generation stupefied by riches, petrified by gold. Marvellous creation, this piece of canvas where nothing appears at first but sombre clouds and black trees torn by the tempest! Examine it more closely: a lowering sky, some rocks, a group of mysterious trees, a brook which forces its way over the uneven ground. The picture reproduces only common things, but with an inconceivable force of expression. This wonderful artist, Ruysdael, this painter of rocks, ruins of convents and chateaux, of forests and lakes, has never better proved his genius than in his 'Cemetery,' where he rises to the height of an epic poem. No other painter has such eloquence, such beauty, such majesty; not even the brilliant Claude Lorraine, who plays so skilfully with light and shade; nor Salvator Rosa, with his striking caverns and brigands. The 'Jewish Cemetery' is like a page out of the history of a people who do not find repose even in the tomb. Two figures only are faintly delineated; nothing else but the oaks, and the torrent which carries away on its bosom the bones torn from the earth.

"Fate pursues the Jew even in his last repose. Wishing to give an idea of the misfortunes of these people, the artist could not have done better than by showing us this graveyard, where, praying in a dark corner, two men wait until the fury of the tempest shall cease and the sun reappear. A single white flower springing from the soil gives hope of the return of springtime.

"At the end of the seventeenth century, when this masterpiece was produced, the sun for us had long rested behind the clouds, and the poor flower, emblem of brighter days, had scarcely budded.

"The picture is a history of the Israelites in Europe in the past.

To-day our history is the bourse, and it were better to weep over the tombs than over our waning dignity."

The next day Ivas awoke early in order to prepare for their journey, but did not find his friend. The woman of the house told him that he had gone toward the sea at daybreak with a book in his hand. The morning was superb. Over the tranquil sea glided the fishing-boats with drooping sails. The sun gilded the waves, whose brilliant azure transported the imagination to the land of fairies. Seated on a rock not far from the inn, Jacob, forgetting his book, pensively contemplated the beautiful scene.

Ivas felt some hesitation about interrupting a revery which drew him from the world, but the heat was already increasing, and it was necessary to set out before the morning was further advanced. After an instant of thought he wished his friend "Good-morning!" Jacob raised his head.

"What need is there," said he, "of such haste? Why not remain, at least, a day on this beautiful sh.o.r.e? We can rest here, and go on with fresh energy."

"As you will. Our journey will be only one day longer. You ought, like Antaeus, to draw new strength from our common mother, Earth and Nature.

I will not conceal from you, however, the impatience that grows upon me to return to that land whose sorrows I prefer to the delights of any other. There no one awaits me; there is nothing for me but shadow.

Nevertheless, my soul is on fire when I think of my native land."

"The sentiment is not strange to me. I, also, love your fatherland."

"Why, then, do not your brothers think as you?"

"A difficult question. Think how sad was the situation of the Jews there in the last century, and even recently. Like lepers, we were distinguished by our costume, we were banished to the interior of the country, and all the rights of man were denied us. All Christians were at liberty to molest us without punishment; injuries and outrages were showered on us. Such conditions could not develop in the Jews, love of a country or its inst.i.tutions. It even restrained in our hearts love of humanity in general,--that humanity which would not receive us, but set us aside as if under a ban."

"I am no admirer of the Middle Ages," said Ivas. "But tell me, where have the Jews had an easier existence relatively than in Poland?

Nowhere; and the proof of it is that they are more numerous there than elsewhere. They come from distant lands to settle among us. Persecution has sometimes attacked them, but, in general, the law has protected them. Polish fanaticism has been intermittent, and not continual as in other parts of Christendom."

"I admit all that. But whence comes the abatement of persecution? It is because we are to-day much less Jews, and you less Christians. Extreme religious ardour produced horrible results; who knows if the complete absence of belief will not be more pernicious still for humanity. My desire is to preserve the people of Israel from the malady of the age.

Yesterday Henri showed us where freedom from all duty leads. This man deserts his sick wife, and runs over the country with a silly woman. A weakness, you will say, perhaps. No; for in that case he would have been ashamed of his conduct, and he did not even blush when, by chance, we met him with his Gigante. As he sees things, it is all simple and perfectly natural. A being capable of acting thus and affecting such cynicism is deprived of all moral sense."

After a moment he continued:--

"I have travelled over the Old World. I have visited Palestine and the Orient; I have slept in the tents of the Bedouins. I have visited the Musselmans in the cities. Irreligion is creeping in even among the pilgrims to Mecca. Many make the pilgrimage more from ostentation than from piety. Among Christians there are fewer believers than traders in beliefs. In France, Catholicism is the tenet of a lame political party, but is not carried out in their actions. Its defenders are the _condottieri_; they combat for a faith which they do not carry in the depths of the heart. They confess, perhaps, for the sake of example, but surely they do not pray. In revenge, they fling the worst insults at their adversaries, the advocates of free thought, all in the name of religion. Social order is in ruins. It will be replaced by something better, I hope; but while waiting, the old structures will waver, the columns will be overthrown, the altars will fall. Once the past is destroyed, we will need a Messiah, a Saviour!"

"You are pitiless," cried Ivas. "Ruins everywhere, it is true; I, also, believe there will be a new order of things. But it will come by progress and not after a cataclysm by a Saviour that you already see, and that you announce."

"Let us change the subject," said Jacob. "The future is G.o.d's secret.

Our destiny, unfortunate mortals, is to live in an era of transition."

"To return to our journey. Shall we rest here or push on farther?"

"Remain here. I am fatigued to-day. I need to draw new strength from reading, talking, and thinking. I will listen to the dashing of the surf upon these rocks; the ocean, perhaps, will tell me something."

"You are ill. I am sorry; far from gaining, your malady increases; it is easy to guess the cause. You regret not having remained in Genoa, where languishes your beloved."

"That is to judge me very base. I could not have offered her my society. My sadness comes from the conviction that her husband is unworthy of her. I know how she must suffer, and what her existence is, chained to such an animal."

"Alas, there is no remedy!"