SCENE I.

A street in the Judengasse, outside the Synagogue. During this
Scene Jews and Jewesses, singly and in groups, with prayer-books
in their hands, pass 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, God 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 hoary wreath of hair—oh, it is one
Already kissed by angels.

BARUCH.
Look, there limps
Little Manasseh, 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 scrape, 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.
God 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 God
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.
God pity us!
But truly are we blessed in Nordhausen.
Such terrors seem remote as Egypt's plagues.
I warrant you our Landgrave dare not harry
Such creditors as we. See, here comes one,
The greatest and most liberal of them all—
Susskind von Orb.

SUSSKIND VON ORB, LIEBHAID, and REUBEN enter, all pass across
the stage, and disappear within the Synagogue.

I'd barter my whole fortune,
And yours to boot, that's thrice the bulk of mine,
For half the bonds he holds in Frederick's name.
The richest merchant in Thuringia, he—
The poise of his head would tell it, knew we not.
How has his daughter leaped to womanhood!
I mind when she came toddling by his hand,
But yesterday—a flax-haired child—to-day
Her brow is level with his pompous chin.

NAPHTALI.
How fair she is! Her hair has kept its gold
Untarnished still. I trace not either parent
In her face, clean cut as a gem.

BARUCH.
Her mother
Was far-off kin to me, and I might pass,
I'm told, unguessed in Christian garb. I know
A pretty secret of that scornful face.
It lures high game to Nordhausen.

NAPHTALI.
Baruch,
I marvel at your prompt credulity.
The Prince of Meissen and Liebhaid von Orb!
A jest for gossips and—Look, look, he comes!

BARUCH.
Who's that, the Prince?

NAPHTALI.
Nay, dullard, the old man,
The Rabbi of Chinon. Ah! his stout staff,
And that brave creature's strong young hand suffice
Scarcely to keep erect his tottering frame.
Emaciate-lipped, with cavernous black eyes
Whose inward visions do eclipse the day,
Seems he not one re-risen from the grave
To yield the secret?

Enter RABBI JACOB, and RABBI CRESSELIN led by CLAIRE. They walk
across the stage, and disappear in the Synagogue.

BARUCH (exaltedly).
Blessed art thou, O Lord,
King of the Universe, who teachest wisdom
To those who fear thee!

NAPHTALI.
Haste we in. The star
Of Sabbath dawns.

BARUCH.
My flesh is still a-creep
From the strange gaze of those wide-rolling orbs.
Didst note, man, how they fixed me? His lean cheeks,
As wan as wax, were bloodless; how his arms
Stretched far beyond the flowing sleeve and showed
Gaunt, palsied wrists, and hands blue-tipped with death!
Well, I have seen a sage of Israel.
[They enter the Synagogue. Scene closes.]

SCENE II.

The Synagogue crowded with worshippers. Among the women in the
Gallery are discovered LIEBHAID VON ORB and CLAIRE CRESSELIN.
Below, among the men, SUSSKIND VON ORB and REUBEN. At the
Reader's Desk, RABBI JACOB. Fronting the audience under the
Ark of the Covenant, stands a high desk, behind which is seen
the white head of an old man bowed in prayer.
BARUCH and NAPHTALI
enter and take their seats.

BARUCH.
Think you he speaks before the service?

NAPHTALI.
Yea.
Lo, phantom-like the towering patriarch!
[RABBI CRESSELIN slowly rises beneath the Ark.]

RABBI CRESSELIN.
Woe unto Israel! woe unto all
Abiding 'mid strange peoples! Ye shall be
Cut off from that land where ye made your home.
I, Cresselin of Chinon, have traveled far,
Thence where my fathers dwelt, to warn my race,
For whom the fire and stake have been prepared.
Our brethren of Verdun, all over France,
Are burned alive beneath the Goyim's torch.
What terrors have I witnessed, ere my sight
Was mercifully quenched! In Gascony,
In Savoy, Piedmont, round the garden shores
Of tranquil Leman, down the beautiful Rhine,
At Lindau, Costnitz, Schaffhausen, St. Gallen,
Everywhere torture, smoking Synagogues,
Carnage, and burning flesh. The lights shine out
Of Jewish virtue, Jewish truth, to star
The sanguine field with an immortal blazon.
The venerable Mar-Isaac in Cologne,
Sat in his house at prayer, nor lifted lid
From off the sacred text, while all around
The fanatics ran riot; him they seized,
Haled through the streets, with prod of stick and spike
Fretted his wrinkled flesh, plucked his white beard.
Dragged him with gibes into their Church, and held
A Crucifix before him. "Know thy Lord!"
He spat thereon; he was pulled limb from limb.
I saw—God, that I might forget!—a man
Leap in the Loire, with his fair, stalwart son,
A-bloom with youth, and midst the stream unsheathe
A poniard, sheathing it in his boy's hea