"BARON SCHMULE."

(1874.)

When driving from Barnow toward the south, to Bukowina or Moldavia, a grand castle may be seen perched on the top of a hill at about three hours'[7] distance from Barnow. It is situated near Z - - , at which place the highroad crosses the Dniester, and it stands so high that its white walls and shimmering windows may be seen from a great distance. It is surrounded by beautiful pleasure-grounds, which extend over the hill, and stretch far out into the plain below. It is, perhaps, the most beautiful place in Podolia, and is certainly better kept up than any other. Its owner is known far and wide as "Baron Schmule;" for although he is now the powerful Freiherr Sigismund von Ronnicki, he began life as Schmule Runnstein.

His success was rapid and wonderful, for he went straight as an arrow toward his object, without wasting time by looking to the right hand or to the left. Very few people can do that. Most men resemble tops, for they are quite satisfied with making rapid and noisy gyrations, and do not perceive that they never leave the spot from which they started, but are only turning round and round upon their own axis; while the arrow, which Baron Schmule resembled, neither hastens nor lags in its flight, but makes straight for the mark. Putting metaphor aside, let me say that Baron Schmule knew what he wanted, and attained the object for which he strove as quickly and certainly as if he had had two eyes to guide him on his way instead of one.

Like every one else, he began life as a top; but something happened that changed his whole character, and with his character, his career. That something was a blow with a riding-whip. It is a strange story....

More than fifty years ago a poor widow lived in Z - - with her son. She strove to make enough to feed and clothe them both by the proceeds of her trade of confectioner - a poor one to follow in a place so small as Z - - . She was called Miriam Runnstein. The little boy began to help his mother as soon as he could walk and count: he had to sell the sweetmeats that his mother made, and used to perambulate the streets, calling, "Who'll buy 'Fladen'? 'Fladen' and almond comfits! who'll buy? who'll buy?"

But very few people in the Ghetto make a practice of eating sweetmeats, and a marriage or circumcision feast, on which occasion a confectioner is hired for the day, is not of constant occurrence. Pennies came in very slowly, and poor little Schmule often cried with hunger, as he walked about trying to sell the sugar-plums in his basket.

His best customers lived at the castle, about half a mile[8] from the town. This castle belonged to Baron Wodnicki. Alfred Wodnicki was a very rich man - so rich that, although he was a great spendthrift, he could not manage to squander much more than the income accruing from his immense property. He lived very little at the castle, for he was soon bored by the quietness and dullness of country life, so he spent most of his time at Paris or Baden-Baden. He always went to Baden-Baden when his wife was in Paris, and to Paris when she was at Baden-Baden. The husband and wife got on very well together now that they had agreed to live separate lives. Their only child, young Baron Wladislaus, did not live at the castle either, but had been sent to a celebrated Jesuit seminary at Krakau.

So the servants had the castle all to themselves. There is an old Polish proverb that runs very much to this effect: "Who is so idle and has so sweet a tooth as a lackey!" The proverb was true in this case at least. Little Schmule always found purchasers for his wares when he had succeeded in dragging his heavy basket up the hill, and so he used often to go there both in summer and winter, although it was a long way for such a little fellow to walk with his burden. It is true that he got as many boxes on the ear as pence, but what did he care for that? - a Jewish child was used to such treatment!

So time went on, till Schmule was thirteen years old. Who knows how long he might have gone on hawking his mother's "Fladen" and almond comfits about the country-side, if something had not happened that changed the whole course of his life.

One very hot day in August Schmule set out for the castle. The sun was blazing down upon him, and the great heat made him pant as he toiled up the steep ascent leading to the castle; but he almost ran, he was so eager to get to the top - and no wonder. It was between eleven and twelve on a Friday morning, and there was not a penny at home with which to buy the Sabbath dinner. If hunger is hard to bear on an ordinary day, it is much worse on the Sabbath, when there is more time to think of it.

As Schmule hastened along, he was far too busy thinking of what had to be bought on his return to Z - - , to look about him, or to keep his ears open; and so he never heard a horse galloping up the drive, until it was so close to him that he only saved himself from being ridden over by a hasty spring on one side.

The rider was a pale-faced youth, with a fowling-piece at his side, and turned out to be young Baron Wladislaus Wodnicki, who had come home to spend his summer holidays. He laughed heartily when he saw what a fright he had given the Jewish boy, who was still trembling too much to remember to touch his cap. He then turned his horse and rode slowly up to Schmule, till he almost touched him. The latter meanwhile pressed as close as he could to the wall of rock that bordered the drive.

"Why didn't you touch your cap to me, you rascal?" asked the young Baron, raising his riding-whip.

"Because - I - was - so - frightened," stammered Schmule.

The young man lowered his riding-whip, and after a few moments' thought, burst into a loud laugh.

"You're afraid of the horse, are you?" he asked; "very well, then, go and stand there," pointing to the middle of the road. "Don't you hear me? There!" he repeated, angrily; and the boy obeyed with manifest terror. "Now, then," he continued, "don't move from there till I allow you - do you understand? It'll be the worse for you if you move," and snatching up his gun, he went on. "I swear, by all the saints, that I'll shoot you down like a mad dog if you move!"

After saying this he rode on, and then turned again, and galloped down the drive straight at the boy.

Schmule watched the horse approaching him with the fascination of terror - a mist came over his eyes - in another moment he jumped out of the way and - the horse, instead of hitting him, only knocked the basket of sweetmeats from his back, scattering its contents all over the dusty road. The boy also fell, but only from nervous fear.

"You did move, you scoundrel!" cried Baron Wladislaus, putting his gun to his shoulder. Suddenly he changed his mind, and restoring his fowling-piece to its place, rushed at the boy with his riding-whip. The latter, in order to avoid as much as possible the violent blows that were aimed at him, now with the end and now with the knob of the whip, threw himself at the young man's feet.

All at once Schmule uttered a heart-rending shriek, and fell senseless on the ground.

And then Baron Wladislaus rode away.

An hour later a kind-hearted peasant took the unconscious boy in his hay-cart to the little Jewish town, and gave him to his mother. It is unnecessary to say what the poor woman felt when she saw her boy's disfigured countenance and senseless state - such things are better not described.

The doctor came, restored Schmule to consciousness, and washed and bound up his wounds. He said that the boy would soon be quite well again, but that the sight of his right eye was gone for ever.

Schmule had an unexpected visitor on the first day that he was able to get out of bed. Fat Gregor, the young Baron's valet, came to see him. He brought the boy two ducats, and told him that his master was ready and willing to pay both the doctor and apothecary, if he would forbear making any complaint to the magistrate of his conduct.

"Go!" cried Schmule - that was all that he said - but his remaining eye glared so savagely at Gregor, that the latter thought discretion the better part of valor, and beat a hasty retreat. As soon as he got back to the castle, he went to his master, and said: "Beg your pardon, Herr Baron, you've sent the Jew stark-staring mad as well as knocked out his eye - he was more like a wild beast than anything else."

When Schmule was able to go out again, his first walk was to the court of justice. The leader of the synagogue offered to go with him, but he said he wanted to go alone. "Thank you," he said; "but it isn't necessary. I am no longer a child - that blow has made me ten years older. Besides that, I only want justice."

He went to the judge and made his complaint. The trial began, and was carried on as - well as all such trials were in those days. What chance had a poor Jewish boy against a Polish noble long ago? None! But the trial had one merit: it was short. The persons interested in it were not long kept in suspense as to what the verdict was to be. All was settled in the space of a month. Schmule was then cited to appear before the court, and the Herr Mandatar said to him very sternly: "Your story was a lie, Jew! You did not get out of the Herr Baron's way, but insisted on pressing close up to the horse, and so you were accidentally struck by the riding-whip. You may be thankful that Baron Wladislaus has been good enough to pardon you for making such a calumnious charge against him, otherwise you might have been tried for perjury! Now - go!"

Schmule went home.

When he entered his mother's kitchen, the good woman was so startled by the look on his face, that she exclaimed, in terror: "Child, child! what is the matter? Has anything worse happened?"

"Yes," he answered, "something much worse - justice has been denied me." His voice here died away into an indistinct murmur, but at last his mother heard him say: "I will do as the Herr Mandatar advised me - I will be grateful for Baron Wladislaus's kindness...."

"Son!" cried the old woman, in a voice of agony. "I know what you're going to do. I can read it in your face. You're going to steal into the castle and murder him in his sleep!..."

"No," replied Schmule, with a smile. "That wouldn't do at all, for they would hang me for murder, and who would take care of you then? No, my vengeance must be of another kind - I must become a rich man."

"God has darkened your understanding, my son," moaned the old woman. But she wept still more bitterly when Schmule told her that he had made up his mind to go to Barnow. He sold the only things that belonged to him, which would not be required now that he was going away - his bed and bedding. The sale of these articles brought him five gulden in all, because at the last moment he threw in some prayer-books that he did not want. As he was going away he promised to send his mother a share of his earnings.

He went to Barnow with his little store of five gulden, or about five florins in English money, in his pocket, and there set up a little pack, consisting of matches, soap, pomade, and feathers. He sold his merchandise at the inns and in the streets. And, as he was untiring in his labors, and spent very little on himself, he was able both to support his mother and to lay by a little money.

In two years' time he was so far beforehand with the world, that he gave up this mode of gaining his livelihood, and bought a large store of goods such as country people require. He then began to travel about the country-side as a peddler; and a very hard life he led. Like Nathan Bilkes, the father of Frau Christine, he wandered about, with a great pack on his back, from village to village, and from fair to fair. He was seldom paid in money for his goods, but received fruit and skins instead. This circumstance, however, was of advantage to him.

After having worked as a peddler for three years, he returned to Barnow, and set up a stall for small-wares in a corner of the market-place. His success was so great that he was soon able to rent a real shop, and to keep his mother more comfortably. But he remained as abstemious as before with regard to himself. His food consisted for the most part of dry bread, for he only allowed himself the luxury of a bit of meat upon the Sabbath.

His mother died when he was twenty-three - that is, ten years after he left Z - - . She died in his arms. When he had buried her, and the eight days of mourning were over, he went to Czernowitz, which is a larger town than Barnow. As chance would have it, Baron Wladislaus Wodnicki, who had just taken the management of his estates into his own hands, drove past him in his phaeton, as he was leaving the little town of Z - - . "I am glad to have seen him," said Schmule to his traveling companion; "for otherwise grief might have made me idle for some time to come."

Schmule was now alone in the world, but still he worked as hard as if he had had a large family to support, and so he gradually became well to do in the world. He was much respected as an honorable man, fair in all his dealings; and this, added to his wealth, enabled him to gain the hand in marriage of one of the richest heiresses in Czernowitz, in spite of his having only one eye. After his marriage he increased his business considerably, and became well known in the commercial world as Samuel Runnstein, the dry-salter. And again, as if this did not give him enough to do, he set up a large wine business, in addition to the other.

Schmule now showed for the first time to their full extent the marvelous powers of work and determination of character that he possessed. He traveled all over Germany and France, Russia and Moldavia, setting up agencies everywhere. Ten years later he was looked upon as the richest merchant in the whole district.

At length his wife died, leaving him a little daughter. Schmule now sold the good-will of both the wine and dry-salting businesses, and became a corn-merchant. He bought in Podolia, Bessarabia, and Moldavia, and sold in the Western markets. There was only one landowner from whom he would buy nothing, and that was Baron Wladislaus Wodnicki: although the bailiff offered him very good bargains, he was not to be tempted. The unfortunate bailiff had rather a hard time of it - he found it so difficult to provide his master with a large and constant supply of money. For Wladislaus succeeded in doing what the old Baron had never done: every month he spent as much as his estates brought in in the year. His wife, a French lady, did her part in squandering her husband's wealth. And so the bailiff came to Schmule and begged him to buy some corn, but he refused, saying with a strange smile: "I made a vow more than five-and-twenty years ago that I would only do one stroke of business with your master; and the time for that has not come yet...."

Years passed, and Schmule grew richer and richer. He married again, and his wife brought him a large fortune. Then came the year 1848, with its revolutionary restlessness; and Schmule, who knew how to turn everything to his advantage, became a millionaire. He was now known as Herr Sigismund Runnstein, and the Russian Government employed him to provision their army in Hungary. By this means he made a great deal more money. After that he gave up business, and when any one wanted him to undertake some new project, he refused, alleging that he preferred to wait.

He had not long to wait. It is quite possible to squander even a colossal fortune if one has a mind to do it. Two years later, Baron Wladislaus and his wife were obliged to leave Paris. They returned to Z - - , but even there they found it difficult to get enough money to live on; for their estates were so deeply mortgaged that not a blade of grass could really be said to belong to them, and their creditors became more and more troublesome every day. After a time, the Baroness went back to her own people in France, and the Baron, who had to remain at Z - - whether he would or not, sought comfort first in champagne, and afterward, when that became too expensive a luxury, in schnapps.

At length one day he found himself no longer beset by his creditors. Schmule had bought up all the claims against him, although they amounted to many thousand pounds sterling. "It's the first bad bargain that Schmule Runnstein ever made," said all his friends. But the general astonishment was much increased when it was discovered that he apparently let things alone after that, and took no steps to foreclose.

But in spite of appearances, he had not been idle. He sent a petition to the Emperor, begging for leave to buy an estate; for in those days the Galician Jews were legally incapacitated from holding land. He even went to Vienna, to support his cause in person. But all in vain. "If I had committed murder," said Schmule when he came home, "I might perhaps have persuaded the Government to let me off; but this request they will not grant."

He wandered about for many days, lost in deep and melancholy thought. At last, after a terrible struggle, he determined on the course he meant to pursue. He went to his wife, whom he loved dearly, and said to her: "I have made up my mind to be baptized and become a Christian. Don't look so frightened, and don't cry - listen to me quietly. I must do it. My whole life would otherwise be a lie, a folly, a failure. I must become possessor of the Wodnicki estates. I have lived poorly and worked hard - harder perhaps than any other man on the face of the earth. And now it is not a reward that I demand, but my just right. This is the only way that I can attain it, so it must be done. But you shall choose for yourself; I leave you free. How dearly I love you I need not say, but still I repeat - I will not oppose your decision, whatever it may be...."

She loved him too, but she could not give up her religion, and so they parted.

Schmule became a member of the Roman Catholic Church, and took the name of Sigismund Ronnicki. His daughter by his first marriage, who was nearly grown up, was baptized at the same time, and received the name of Maria.

The conversion of the rich Jew and his daughter was the theme of endless conversation in the neighborhood.

The day after he had been received into the Christian Church, Schmule foreclosed all the mortgages he held upon Wladislaus's estates, and, as was to be expected, the land went at a very low price. Schmule bought it. The Baron disappeared - no one knew where he had gone; and Schmule took up his abode at the castle of Z - - , with his daughter Maria.

In the year 1854, when the army was so much increased that the state was greatly in want of money, Schmule bought himself the title of "Freiherr" for a large sum.

But still he used to say, "I haven't got all that I want yet - my full right."

But the time was fast approaching when this strange man's last wish was to be fulfilled.

One day an announcement was made in the Polish newspapers, to the effect that a comfortable home and suitable maintenance had been provided for that irredeemable vagabond and drunkard, Baron Wladislaus Wodnicki, by the kindness of a noble-minded benefactor.

And so it was. The "noble-minded benefactor" was Baron Sigismund Ronnicki, who had literally picked the "vagabond" out of the streets of Barnow, where he was wandering houseless and forlorn, and had taken him home to his castle at Z - - . Wladislaus was given everything he wanted except - schnapps. And why was this, and this alone, denied him? "When he drinks schnapps," said Schmule, "he forgets everything that has happened. And I intend that he should remember. I will have my right."

But the "drunkard" was not to be long a source of satisfaction to the new lord of the castle. At midsummer, in the year following, a great feast was given by Schmule, in honor of his daughter's marriage to a Magyar noble. During the evening Wodnicki succeeded in getting some schnapps. He drank freely, and then staggered out of doors, and down the drive in which he had met the Jewish boy fifty years before.

He never returned to the castle.

Next morning he was found lying dead under the steep wall of rock that bounded one side of the drive. Whether he had fallen over the precipice in his drunken blindness, or had thrown himself over, no one ever knew.

This is one of the many strange stories that take place on this earth of ours.