A Ghetto Violet | Page 6

she had not
moved all day, called the two children to her. A bright smile hovered
around her lips, an unwonted fire burned in her still beautiful eyes, her
bosom heaved... in the eyes of her children she seemed strangely
changed. "Children," said she, "come and stand by me. Ephraim, you
stand here on my right, and you, dear Viola, on my left. I would like to
tell you a little story, such as they tell little children to soothe them to
sleep. Shall I?"
"Mother!" they both cried, as they bent towards her.
"You must not interrupt me, children," she observed, still with that
strange smile on her lips, "but leave me to tell my little story in my own
way.
"Listen, children," she resumed, after a brief pause. "Every human
being--be he ever so wicked--if he have done but a single good deed on
earth, will, when he arrives above, in the seventh heaven, get his
Sechûs, that is to say, the memory of the good he has done here below
will be remembered and rewarded bountifully by the Almighty."
Gudule ceased speaking. Suddenly a change came over her features:
her breath came and went in labored gasps; but her brown eyes still
gleamed brightly.
In tones well-nigh inaudible she continued: "When Jerusalem, the Holy
City, was destroyed, the dead rose up out of their graves... the holy
patriarchs Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob... and also Moses, and Aaron his
brother... and David the King... and prostrating themselves before
God's throne they sobbed: 'Dost Thou not remember the deeds we have
done?... Wouldst Thou now utterly destroy all these our children, even

to the innocent babe at the breast?' But the Almighty was inexorable.
"Then Sarah, our mother, approached the Throne... When God beheld
her, He covered His face, and wept. 'Go,' said He, 'I cannot listen to
thee.'... But she exclaimed... 'Dost Thou no longer remember the tears I
shed before I gave birth to my Joseph and Benjamin... and dost Thou
not remember the day when they buried me yonder, on the borders of
the Promised Land... and now, must mine eyes behold the slaughter of
my children, their disgrace, and their captivity?'... Then God cried: 'For
thy sake will I remember thy children and spare them.'..."
"Would you like to know," Gudule suddenly cried, with uplifted voice,
"what this Sechûs is like? It has the form of an angel, and it stands near
the Throne of the Almighty.... But, since the days of Rachel, our
mother, it is the Sechûs of a mother that finds most favor in God's eyes.
When a mother dies, her soul straightway soars heavenward, and there
it takes its place amid the others.
"'Who art thou?' asks God, 'I am the Sechûs of a mother,' is the answer,
'of a mother who has left children behind her on earth.' 'Then do thou
stand here and keep guard over them!' says God. And when it is well
with the children, it is the Sechûs of a mother which has caused them to
prosper, and when evil days befall them... it is again the Angel who
stands before God and pleads: 'Dost Thou forget that these children no
longer have a mother?'... and the evil is averted...."
Gudule's voice had sunk to a mere whisper. Her eyes closed, her head
fell back, her breathing became slower and more labored. "Are you still
there, children?" she softly whispered.
Anxiously they bent over her. Then once again she opened her eyes, "I
see you still"--the words came with difficulty from her blanched
lips--"you, Ephraim, and you, my little Viola.... I am sure my Sechûs
will plead for you... for you and your father." They were Gudule's last
words. When her children, whose eyes had never as yet been
confronted with Death, called her by her name, covering her icy hands
with burning kisses, their mother was no more....

Who can tell what influence causes the downtrodden blade to raise
itself once more! Is it the vivifying breath of the west wind, or a
mysterious power sent forth from the bosom of Mother Earth? It was a
touching sight to see how those two children, crushed as they were
beneath the weight of a twofold blow, raised their heads again, and in
their very desolation found new-born strength. And it filled the Ghetto
with wonder. For what were they but the offspring of a gambler? Or
was it the spirit of Gudule, their mother, that lived in them?
After Gudule's death, her eldest brother, the then owner of the grange,
came over to discuss the future of his sister's children. He wished
Ephraim and Viola to go with him to his home in Lower Bohemia,
where he could find them occupation. The children, however, were
opposed to the