THE PERSONS.

FREDERICK THE GRAVE, Landgrave of Thuringia and Margrave of Meissen, Protector and Patron of the Free City of Nordhausen.

PRINCE WILLIAM OF MEISSEN, his son.

SUSSKIND VON ORB, a Jew.

HENRY SCHNETZEN, Governor of Salza.

HENRY NORDMANN OF NORDMANNSTEIN, Knight of Treffurt.

REINHARD PEPPERCORN, Prior of Wartburg Monastery.

RABBI JACOB.

DIETRICH VON TETTENBORN, President of the Council.

REUBEN VON ORB, a boy, Susskind's son.

BARUCH and NAPHTALI,Jews.

RABBI CRESSELIN.

LAY-BROTHER.

PAGE.

PUBLIC SCRIVENER.

PRINCESS MATHILDIS, wife to Frederick.

LIEBHAID VON ORB.

CLAIRE CRESSELIN.

Jews, Jewesses, Burghers, Senators, Citizens, Citizen's Wife and Boy, Flagellants, Servants, Guardsmen.

Scene--Partly in Nordhausen, partly in Eisenach. Time, May, 4th, 5th, 6th, 1349.

ACT I.--In Nordhausen.

SCENE I.

A street in the Judenga.s.se, outside the Synagogue. During this Scene Jews and Jewesses, singly and in groups, with prayer-books in their hands, pa.s.s across the stage, and go into the Synagogue.

Among them, enter BARUCH and NAPHTALI.

NAPHTALI.

Hast seen him yet?

BARUCH.

Nay; Rabbi Jacob's door Swung to behind him, just as I puffed up O'erblown with haste. See how our years weigh, cousin.

Who'd judge me with this paunch a temperate man, A man of modest means, a man withal Scarce overpast his prime? Well, G.o.d be praised, If age bring no worse burden! Who is this stranger?

Simon the Leech tells me he claims to bear Some special message from the Lord--no doubt To-morrow, fresh from rest, he'll publish it Within the Synagogue.

NAPHTALI.

To-morrow, man?

He will not hear of rest--he comes anon-- Shall we within?

BARUCH.

Rather let's wait, And scrutinize him as he mounts the street.

Since you denote him so remarkable, You've whetted my desire.

NAPHTALI.

A blind, old man, Mayhap is all you'll find him--spent with travel, His raiment fouled with dust, his sandaled feet Road-bruised by stone and bramble. But his face!-- Majestic with long fall of cloud-white beard, And h.o.a.ry wreath of hair--oh, it is one Already kissed by angels.

BARUCH.

Look, there limps Little Mana.s.seh, bloated as his purse, And wrinkled as a frost-pinched fruit. I hear His last loan to the Syndic will result In quadrupling his wealth. Good Lord! what luck Blesses some folk, while good men stint and sweat And sc.r.a.pe, to merely fill the household larder.

What said you of this pilgrim, Naphtali?

These inequalities of fortune rub My sense of justice so against the grain, I lose my very name. Whence does he come?

Is he alone?

NAPHTALI.

He comes from Chinon, France.

Rabbi Cresselin he calls himself--alone Save for his daughter who has led him hither.

A beautiful, pale girl with round black eyes.

BARUCH.

Bring they fresh tidings of the pestilence?

NAPHTALI.

I know not--but I learn from other source It has burst forth at Erfurt.

BARUCH.

G.o.d have mercy!

Have many of our tribe been stricken?

NAPHTALI.

No.

They cleanse their homes and keep their bodies sweet, Nor cease from prayer--and so does Jacob's G.o.d Protect His chosen, still. Yet even His favor Our enemies would twist into a curse.

Beholding the destroying angel smite The foal idolater and leave unscathed The gates of Israel--the old cry they raise-- WE have begotten the Black Death--WE poison The well-springs of the towns.

BARUCH.

G.o.d pity us!

But truly are we blessed in Nordhausen.