"You have heard the decision of the Council," replied the Burgomaster, "and you must abide by it."
"Not so," rejoined Fettmilch, "we spurn you and Jews."
“Spurn,” replied the Burgomaster, “spurn who you will. We care not for your rabble; all men have a right to protection, and as long as the Jews are peaceful they shall have it.”
The implied threat roused the mob; the tumult increased and Fettmilch attacked and abused the old man in violent terms.
Helfrich Faust remained silent until the agitator stopped from want of breath, and then the venerable old man, raising his hands to heaven, cried aloud, "Oh God, art thou a just God? Then do thou a deed that this man may be punished if he is the cause of this evil, or punish me if I am the cause of it." Fettmilch laughed sceptically, continued his abuse and then marched at the head of his mob through the streets.
Rabbi Jacob was consulting with Solomon's father when news of the Burgomaster's historic speech reached the Gasse. "God," said the old Rabbi, with an abstract air, "God shall do this deed, but in his own fashion."
"God's ways," rejoined Samuel, "are inscrutable."
The listening Rachel added pensively, "Yes, they send Solomon farther from home instead of bringing him nearer."
“No, that is man’s effort. We seek to avoid fate,” said the Rabbi meditatively, “and we escape it not. Brighten thy eyes, Rachel”—“why,” interposed the girl—“because,” continued the Rabbi, “it is better to be serenely glad, not joyous, but conscious that all ways lead to the destined end.”
CHAPTER XIX
A PILGRIM AGAIN
Isaac of Spiers, unhampered by mules and baggage, posted at top speed to Rome. The wily pedlar purchased a horse on the outskirts of Frankfort, disguising himself in the costume of a royal messenger, a part he could well play with his tongue if his appearance did not greatly belie such a personage. Shaking from side to side on the saddle of his huge horse, and a sword rattling in the scabbard on his left, two pistols displayed above the holster, and his spurs pricking the horse unconsciously so that its rough hide alone saved it from wounds, Isaac rode on picking his way through the most unfrequented bridle paths, bespattering himself with mud whenever his horse under his weak guidance stumbled over a pool.
With a lordly air and no little show of insolence he pulled rein at inns, ordered as sumptuous a dinner in a private room as he thought befitted his character, and contented himself with eating the dry bread and drinking the wine, for he could not overcome his natural nausea at forbidden food.
"Good money to waste," he murmured, as he paid his reckonings for the food he had not eaten. He, however, had his revenge, for he packed his uneaten dinner in a large cloth and gave it to the first child he met on the roadside. Often his waggish tongue, and his love of a bargain betrayed him, but a glance of his sword