Read Online The Collected Stories of Stefan Zweig by Stefan Zweig - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Stefan Zweig
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that his hasty confidence had deceived him, but it was not the first disappointment in his long and questing life of faith and trust. So he felt no pain, only surprise, and then again almost joy to see how quickly
she
felt ashamed. He gently took her two childish hands, still feverishly burning as they were. “Esther, your sudden outburst almost alarmed me. But I do not hold it against you… is that what you are thinking?”
Ashamed, she shook her head, only to raise it again next moment. Again her words were almost defiant.
“But I don’t want to be a Christian. I don’t want to. I—” She choked on the words for some time before saying, in a muted voice. “I… I hate Christians. I don’t know them but I hate them. What you told me about love embracing everything is more beautiful than anything I have ever heard in my life. But the people in the tavern say that they are Christians too, although they are rough and violent. And… I don’t even remember it clearly, it’s all so long ago… but when they talked about Christians at home, there was fear and hatred in their voices. Everyone hated the Christians. I hate them too… when I was little and went out with my father they shouted at us, and once they threw stones at us. One of the stones hit me and made me bleed and cry, but my father made me go on, he was afraid, and when I shouted for help… I don’t remember any more about all that. Or yes, I do. Our alleys were dark and narrow, like the one where I live here. And only Jews lived there. But higher up, the town was beautiful. I once looked down at it from the top ofa house… there was a river flowing through it, so blue and clear, and a broad bridge over the river with people crossing it in brightly coloured clothes like the ones you showed me in the pictures. And the houses were decorated with statues and with gilding and gable ends. Among them there were tall, tall towers, where bells rang, and the sun shone all the way down into the streets there. It was all so lovely. But when I told my father he ought to go and see the lovely town with me he looked very serious and said, ‘No, Esther, the Christians would kill us.’ That frightened me… and ever since then I have hated the Christians.”
She stopped in the middle of her dreams, for all around her seemed bright again. What she had forgotten long ago, leaving it to lie dusty and veiled in her soul, was sparkling once again. She was back there walking down the dark alleys of the ghetto to the house she was visiting. And suddenly everything connected and was clear, and she realised that what she sometimes thought was a dream had been reality in her past life. Her words came tumbling out in pursuit of the images hurrying through her mind.
“And then there was that evening… I was suddenly snatched up out of my bed… I saw my grandfather, he was holding me in his arms, his face was pale and trembling… the whole house was in uproar, shaking, there was shouting and noise. Oh, now it’s coming back to me. I hear what they were shouting again—it’s the others, they were saying, it’s the Christians. My father was shouting it, or my mother, or… I don’t remember. My grandfather carried me down into the darkness, through black streets and alleys… and there was always that noise and the same shouting—the others, the Christians! How could I have forgotten? And then we went away with a man… when I woke up we were far out in the country, my grandfather and the man I live with now… I never saw that town again, but the sky was very red back where we had come from… and we travelled on…”
Again she stopped. The pictures seemed to be disappearing, getting slowly darker.
“I had three sisters. They were very beautiful, and every evening they came to my bedside to kiss me goodnight… and my father was tall, I couldn’t reach up to him, so he often carried me in his arms. And my mother… I never saw her again. I don’t know what
she
felt ashamed. He gently took her two childish hands, still feverishly burning as they were. “Esther, your sudden outburst almost alarmed me. But I do not hold it against you… is that what you are thinking?”
Ashamed, she shook her head, only to raise it again next moment. Again her words were almost defiant.
“But I don’t want to be a Christian. I don’t want to. I—” She choked on the words for some time before saying, in a muted voice. “I… I hate Christians. I don’t know them but I hate them. What you told me about love embracing everything is more beautiful than anything I have ever heard in my life. But the people in the tavern say that they are Christians too, although they are rough and violent. And… I don’t even remember it clearly, it’s all so long ago… but when they talked about Christians at home, there was fear and hatred in their voices. Everyone hated the Christians. I hate them too… when I was little and went out with my father they shouted at us, and once they threw stones at us. One of the stones hit me and made me bleed and cry, but my father made me go on, he was afraid, and when I shouted for help… I don’t remember any more about all that. Or yes, I do. Our alleys were dark and narrow, like the one where I live here. And only Jews lived there. But higher up, the town was beautiful. I once looked down at it from the top ofa house… there was a river flowing through it, so blue and clear, and a broad bridge over the river with people crossing it in brightly coloured clothes like the ones you showed me in the pictures. And the houses were decorated with statues and with gilding and gable ends. Among them there were tall, tall towers, where bells rang, and the sun shone all the way down into the streets there. It was all so lovely. But when I told my father he ought to go and see the lovely town with me he looked very serious and said, ‘No, Esther, the Christians would kill us.’ That frightened me… and ever since then I have hated the Christians.”
She stopped in the middle of her dreams, for all around her seemed bright again. What she had forgotten long ago, leaving it to lie dusty and veiled in her soul, was sparkling once again. She was back there walking down the dark alleys of the ghetto to the house she was visiting. And suddenly everything connected and was clear, and she realised that what she sometimes thought was a dream had been reality in her past life. Her words came tumbling out in pursuit of the images hurrying through her mind.
“And then there was that evening… I was suddenly snatched up out of my bed… I saw my grandfather, he was holding me in his arms, his face was pale and trembling… the whole house was in uproar, shaking, there was shouting and noise. Oh, now it’s coming back to me. I hear what they were shouting again—it’s the others, they were saying, it’s the Christians. My father was shouting it, or my mother, or… I don’t remember. My grandfather carried me down into the darkness, through black streets and alleys… and there was always that noise and the same shouting—the others, the Christians! How could I have forgotten? And then we went away with a man… when I woke up we were far out in the country, my grandfather and the man I live with now… I never saw that town again, but the sky was very red back where we had come from… and we travelled on…”
Again she stopped. The pictures seemed to be disappearing, getting slowly darker.
“I had three sisters. They were very beautiful, and every evening they came to my bedside to kiss me goodnight… and my father was tall, I couldn’t reach up to him, so he often carried me in his arms. And my mother… I never saw her again. I don’t know what
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