I

Aaron Ben Amram removed from the great ritual dish the roasted shankbone of lamb (symbolic residuum of the Paschal Sacrifice) and the roasted egg (representative of the ancient festival-offering in the Temple), and while his wife and children held up the dish, which now contained only the bitter herbs and unleavened cakes, he recited the Chaldaic prelude to the Seder—the long domestic ceremonial of the Passover Evening.

’This is the bread of affliction which our fathers ate in the land of Egypt. Let all who are hungry come in and eat; let all who require come in and celebrate the Passover. This year here, next year in the land of Israel! This year slaves, next year sons of freedom!’

But the Polish physician showed nothing of the slave. White-bearded, clad in a long white robe and a white skullcap, and throned on white pillows, he made rather a royal figure, indeed for this night of nights conceived of himself as ‘King’ and his wife as ‘Queen.’

But ‘Queen’ Golda, despite her silk gown and flowery cap, did not share her consort’s majestic mood, still less the rosy happiness of the children who sat round this fascinating board. Her heart was full of a whispering fear that not all the brave melodies of the father nor all the quaint family choruses could drown. All very well for the little ones to be unconscious of the hovering shadow, but how could her husband have forgotten the horrors of the Blood Accusation in the very year he had led her under the Canopy?

And surely he knew as well as she that the dreadful legend was gathering again, that the slowly-growing Jew-hatred had reached a point at which it must find expression, that the Pritzim (nobles) in their great houses, and the peasants behind their high palings, alike sulked under the burden of debts. Indeed, had not the Passover Market hummed with the old, old story of a lost Christian child? Not murdered yet, thank God, nor even a corpse. But still, if a boy should be found with signs of violence upon him at this season of the Paschal Sacrifice, when the Greek Church brooded on the Crucifixion! O God of Abraham, guard us from these fiends unchained!

But the first part of the elaborate ritual, pleasantly punctuated with cups of raisin wine, passed peacefully by, and the evening meal, mercifully set in the middle, was reached, to the children’s vast content. They made wry, humorous mouths, each jest endeared by annual repetition, over the horseradish that typified the bitterness of the Egyptian bondage, and ecstatic grimaces over the soft, sweet mixture of almonds, raisins, apples, and cinnamon, vaguely suggestive of the bondsmen’s mortar; they relished the eggs sliced into salt water, and then—the symbols all duly swallowed—settled down with more prosaic satisfaction to the merely edible meats and fishes, though even to these the special Passover plates and dishes and the purified knives and forks lent a new relish.

By this time Golda was sufficiently cheered up to meditate her annual theft of the Afkuman, that segment of Passover cake under Aaron’s pillow, morsels of which, distributed to each as the final food to be tasted that night, replaced the final mouthful of the Paschal Lamb in the ancient Palestinian meal.

II

But Elijah’s goblet stood in the centre of the table untasted. Every time the ritual cup-drinking came round, the children had glanced at the great silver goblet placed for the Prophet of Redemption. Alas! the brimming raisin wine remained ever at the same level.

They found consolation in the thought that the great moment was still to come—the moment of the third cup, when, mother throwing open the door, father would rise, holding the goblet on high, and sonorously salute an unseen visitor.

True, in other years, though they had almost heard the rush of wings, the great shining cup had remained full, and when it was replaced on the white cloth, a vague resentment as at a spurned hospitality had stirred in each youthful breast. But many reasons could be found to exculpate Elijah—not omitting their own sins—and now, when Ben Amram nodded to his wife to open the door, expectation stood on tip-toe, credulous as ever, and the young hearts beat tattoo.

But the mother’s heart was palpitating with another emotion. A faint clamour in the Polish quarter at the back, as she replaced the samovar in the kitchen, had recalled all her alarms, and she merely threw open the door of the room. But Ben Amram was not absent-minded enough to be beguiled by her air of obedient alacrity. Besides, he could see the shut street-door through the strip of passage. He gestured towards it.

Now she feigned laziness. ‘Oh, never mind.’

‘David, open the street-door.’

The eldest boy sprang up joyously. It would have been too bad of mother to keep Elijah on the doorstep.

‘No, no, David!’ Golda stopped him. ’It is too heavy; he could not undo the bolts and bars.’

‘You have barred it?’ Ben Amram asked.

’And why not? In this season you know how the heathen go mad like street-dogs.’

‘Pooh! They will not bite us.’

‘But, Aaron! You heard about the lost Christian child!’

‘I have saved many a Christian child, Golda.’

‘They will not remember that.’

‘But I must remember the ritual.’ And he made a movement.

‘No, no, Aaron! Listen!’

The shrill noises seemed to have veered round towards the front of the house. He shrugged his shoulders. ‘I hear only the goats bleating.’

She clung to him as he made for the door. ’For the sake of our children!’

‘Do not be so childish yourself, my crown!’

‘But I am not childish. Hark!’

He smiled calmly. ‘The door must be opened.’

Her fears lent her scepticism. ’It is you that are childish. You know no Prophet of Redemption will come through the door.’

He caressed his venerable beard. ‘Who knows?’

’I know. It is a Destroyer, not a Redeemer of Israel, who will come. Listen! Ah, God of Abraham! Do you not hear?’

Unmistakably the howl of a riotous mob was approaching, mingled with the reedy strains of an accordion.

‘Down with the Zhits! Death to the dirty Jews!’

‘God in heaven!’ She released her husband, and ran towards the children with a gesture as of seeking to gather them all in her arms. Then, hearing the bolts shot back, she turned with a scream. ’Are you mad, Aaron?’

But he, holding her back with his gaze, threw wide the door with his left hand, while his right upheld Elijah’s goblet, and over the ululation of the unseen mob and the shrill spasms of music rose his Hebrew welcome to the visitor: ‘Baruch habaa!’

Hardly had the greeting left his lips when a wild flying figure in a rich furred coat dashed round the corner and almost into his arms, half-spilling the wine.

‘In God’s name, Reb Aaron!’ panted the refugee, and fell half-dead across the threshold.

The physician dragged him hastily within, and slammed the door, just as two moujiks—drunken leaders of the chase—lurched past. The mother, who had sprung forward at the sound of the fall, frenziedly shot the bolts, and in another instant the hue and cry tore past the house and dwindled in the distance.

Ben Amram raised the white bloody face, and put Elijah’s goblet to the lips. The strange visitor drained it to the dregs, the clustered children looking on dazedly. As the head fell back, it caught the light from the festive candles of the Passover board. The face was bare of hair; even the side curls were gone.

‘Maimón the Meshummad!’ cried the mother, shuddering back. ’You have saved the Apostate.’

‘Did I not say the door must be opened?’ replied Ben Amram gently. Then a smile of humour twitched his lips, and he smoothed his white beard. ’Maimón is the only Jew abroad to-night, and how were the poor drunken peasants to know he was baptized?’

Despite their thrill of horror at the traitor, David and his brothers and sisters were secretly pleased to see Elijah’s goblet empty at last.

III

Next morning the Passover liturgy rang jubilantly through the vast, crowded synagogue. No violence had been reported, despite the passage of a noisy mob. The Ghetto, then, was not to be laid waste with fire and sword, and the worshippers within the moss-grown, turreted quadrangle drew free breath, and sent it out in great shouts of rhythmic prayer, as they swayed in their fringed shawls, with quivering hands of supplication. The Ark of the Law at one end of the great building, overbrooded by the Ten Commandments and the perpetual light, stood open to mark a supreme moment of devotion. Ben Amram had been given the honour of uncurtaining the shrine, and its richly clad scrolls of all sizes, with their silver bells and pointers, stood revealed in solemn splendour.

Through the ornate grating of their gallery the gaily-clad women looked down on the rocking figures, while the grace-notes of the cantor on his central dais, and the harmoniously interjected ‘poms’ of his male ministrants flew up to their ears, as though they were indeed angels on high. Suddenly, over the blended passion of cantor and congregation, an ominous sound broke from without—the complex clatter of cavalry, the curt ring of military orders. The swaying figures turned suddenly as under another wind, the women’s eyes grew astare and ablaze with terror. The great doors flew open, and—oh, awful, incredible sight—a squadron of Cossacks rode slowly in, two abreast, with a heavy thud of hoofs on the sacred floor, and a rattle of ponderous sabres. Their black conical caps and long beards, their great side-buttoned coats, and pockets stuffed with protrusive cartridges, their prancing horses, their leaded knouts, struck a blood-curdling discord amid the prayerful, white-wrapped figures. The rumble of worship ceased, the cantor, suddenly isolated, was heard soaring ecstatically; then he, too, turned his head uneasily and his roulade died in his throat.

‘Halt!’ the officer cried. The moving column froze. Its bristling length stretched from the central platform, blocking the aisle, and the courtyard echoed with the clanging hoofs of its rear, which backed into the school and the poor-house. The Shamash (beadle) was seen to front the flamboyant invaders.

‘Why does your Excellency intrude upon our prayers to God?’

The congregation felt its dignity return. Who would have suspected Red Judah of such courage—such apt speech? Why, the very Rabbi was petrified; the elders of the Kahal stood dumb. Ben Amram himself, their spokesman to the Government, whose praying-shawl was embroidered with a silver band, and whose coat was satin, remained immovable between the pillars of the Ark, staring stonily at the brave beadle.

‘First of all, for the boy’s blood!’

The words rang out with military precision, and the speaker’s horse pawed clangorously, as if impatient for the charge. The men grew death-pale, the women wrung their hands.

‘Ai, vai!’ they moaned. ‘Woe! woe!’

‘What boy? What blood?’ said the Shamash, undaunted.

’Don’t palter, you rascal! You know well that a Christian child has disappeared.’

The aged Rabbi, stimulated by the Shamash, uplifted a quavering voice.

‘The child will be found of a surety—if, indeed, it is lost,’ he added with bitter sarcasm. ’And surely your Excellency cannot require the boy’s blood at our hands ere your Excellency knows it is indeed spilt.’

’You misunderstand me, old dog—or rather you pretend to, old fox. The boy’s blood is here—it is kept in this very synagogue—and I have come for it.’

The Shamash laughed explosively. ‘Oh, Excellency!’

The synagogue, hysterically tense, caught the contagion of glad relief. It rang with strange laughter.

‘There is no blood in this synagogue, Excellency,’ said the Rabbi, his eyes a-twinkle, ‘save what runs in living veins.’

‘We shall see. Produce that bottle beneath the Ark.’

‘That!’ The Shamash grinned—almost indecorously. ’That is the Consecration wine—red as my beard,’ quoth he.

‘Ha! ha! the red Consecration wine!’ repeated the synagogue in a happy buzz, and from the women’s gallery came the same glad murmur of mutual explanation.

‘We shall see,’ repeated the officer, with iron imperturbability, and the happy hum died into a cold heart-faintness, fraught with an almost incredulous apprehension of some devilish treachery, some mock discovery that would give the Ghetto over to the frenzies of fanatical creditors, nay, to the vengeance of the law.

The officer’s voice rose again. ’Let no one leave the synagogue—man, woman, or child. Kill anyone who attempts to escape.’

The screams of fainting women answered him from above, but impassively he urged his horse along the aisle that led to the Ark; its noisy hoofs trampled over every heart. Springing from his saddle he opened the little cupboard beneath the scrolls, and drew out a bottle, hideously red.

‘Consecration wine, eh?’ he said grimly.

‘What else, Excellency?’ stoutly replied the Shamash, who had followed him.

A savage laugh broke from the officer’s lips. ‘Drink me a mouthful!’

As the Shamash took the bottle, with a fearless shrug of the shoulders, every eye strained painfully towards him, save in the women’s gallery, where many covered their faces with their hands. Every breath was held.

Keeping the same amused incredulous face, Red Judah gulped down a draught. But as the liquid met his palate a horrible distortion overcame his smile, his hands flew heavenwards. Dropping the bottle, and with a hoarse cry, ‘Mercy, O God!’ he fell before the Ark, foaming at the mouth. The red fluid spread in a vivid pool.

‘Hear, O Israel!’ A raucous cry of horror rose from all around, and was echoed more shrilly from above. Almighty Father! The Jew-haters had worked their fiendish trick. Now the men were become as the women, shrieking, wringing their hands, crying, ‘Ai, vai!’ ‘Gewalt!’ The Rabbi shook as with palsy. ‘Satan! Satan!’ chattered through his teeth.

But Ben Amram had moved at last, and was stooping over the scarlet stain.

‘A soldier should know blood, Excellency!’ the physician said quietly.

The officer’s face relaxed into a faint smile.

‘A soldier knows wine too,’ he said, sniffing. And, indeed, the spicy reek of the Consecration wine was bewildering the nearer bystanders.

‘Your Excellency frightened poor Judah into a fit,’ said the physician, raising the beadle’s head by its long red beard.

His Excellency shrugged his shoulders, sprang to his saddle, and cried a retreat. The Cossacks, unable to turn in the aisle, backed cumbrously with a manifold thudding and rearing and clanking, but ere the congregation had finished rubbing their eyes, the last conical hat and leaded knout had vanished, and only the tarry reek of their boots was left in proof of their actual passage. A deep silence hung for a moment like a heavy cloud, then it broke in a torrent of ejaculations.

But Ben Amram’s voice rang through the din. ‘Brethren!’ He rose from wiping the frothing lips of the stricken creature, and his face had the fiery gloom of a seer’s, and the din died under his uplifted palm. ‘Brethren, the Lord hath saved us!’

‘Blessed be the name of the Lord for ever and ever!’ The Rabbi began the phrase, and the congregation caught it up in thunder.

’But hearken how. Last night at the Seder, as I opened the door for Elijah, there entered Maimón the Meshummad! ’Twas he quaffed Elijah’s cup!’

There was a rumble of imprecations.

‘A pretty Elijah!’ cried the Rabbi.

‘Nay, but God sends the Prophet of Redemption in strange guise,’ the physician said. ’Listen! Maimón was pursued by a drunken mob, ignorant he was a deserter from our camp. When he found how I had saved him and dressed his bleeding face, when he saw the spread Passover table, his child-soul came back to him, and in a burst of tears he confessed the diabolical plot against our community, hatched through his instrumentality by some desperate debtors; how, having raised the cry of a lost child, they were to have its blood found beneath our Holy Ark as in some mystic atonement. And while you all lolled joyously at the Seder table, a bottle of blood lay here instead of the Consecration wine, like a bomb waiting to burst and destroy us all.’

A shudder of awe traversed the synagogue.

’But the Guardian of Israel, who permits us to sleep on Passover night without night-prayer, neither slumbers nor sleeps. Maimón had bribed the Shamash to let him enter the synagogue and replace the Consecration wine.’

‘Red Judah!’ It was like the growl of ten thousand tigers. Some even precipitated themselves upon the writhing wretch.

‘Back! back!’ cried Ben Amram. ‘The Almighty has smitten him.’

‘"Vengeance is mine, saith the Lord,"’ quoted the Rabbi solemnly.

‘Hallelujah!’ shouted a frenzied female voice, and ‘Hallelujah!’ the men responded in thunder.

‘Red Judah had no true belief in the God of Israel,’ the physician went on.

‘May he be an atonement for us all!’ interrupted the Cantor.

‘Amen!’ growled the congregation.

’For a hundred roubles and the promise of personal immunity Red Judah allowed Maimón the Meshummad to change the bottles while all Israel sat at the Seder. It was because the mob saw the Meshummad stealing out of the synagogue that they fell upon him for a pious Jew. Behold, brethren, how the Almighty weaves His threads together. After the repentant sinner had confessed all to me, and explained how the Cossacks were to be sent to catch all the community assembled helpless in synagogue, I deemed it best merely to get the bottles changed back again. The false bottle contained only bullock’s blood, but it would have sufficed to madden the multitude. Since it is I who have the blessed privilege of supplying the Consecration wine it was easy enough to give Maimón another bottle, and armed with this he roused the Shamash in the dawn, pretending he had now obtained true human blood. A rouble easily procured him the keys again, and when he brought me back the bullock’s blood, I awaited the sequel in peace.’

‘Praise ye the Lord, for He is good,’ sang the Cantor, carried away.

‘For His mercy endureth for ever,’ replied the congregation instinctively.

’I did not foresee the Shamash would put himself so brazenly forward to hide his guilt, or that he would be asked to drink. But when the Epikouros (atheist) put the bottle to his lips, expecting to taste blood, and found instead good red wine, doubtless he felt at once that the God of Israel was truly in heaven, that He had wrought a miracle and changed the blood back to wine.’

‘And such a miracle God wrought verily,’ cried the Rabbi, grasping the physician’s hand, while the synagogue resounded with cries of ’May thy strength increase,’ and the gallery heaved frantically with blessings and congratulations.

‘What wonder,’ the physician wound up, as he bent again over the ghastly head, with its pious ringlets writhing like red snakes, ’that he fell stricken by dread of the Almighty’s wrath!’

And while men were bearing the convulsive form without, the Cantor began to recite the Grace after Redemption. And then the happy hymns rolled out, and the choristers cried ‘Pom!’ and a breath of jubilant hope passed through the synagogue. The mighty hand and the outstretched arm which had redeemed Israel from the Egyptian bondage were still hovering over them, nor would the Prophet Elijah for ever delay to announce the ultimate Messiah.