The jewess, Leonora; a novel

I

One lovely day in June of the year 1843, St. John’s Park in the City of New York was looking its very best. Delightfully cool and inviting — quiet, too, was this little retreat, remote from the rush and roar of the busy thoroughfares. This Park was situated within a square formed by Laight and Beach, Varick and Hudson Streets. Its vicinity was, in those days, the home of many wealthy and aristocratic families, who lived there until they were fairly pushed northward by the great tidal wave of the city’s prosperity. Central Park, New York’s pride of to-day, had not been laid out; but even now, in all those acres for which Nature and Art have done so much, and which is a master-piece of landscape gardening, it is doubtful whether there can

TEE JEWESS, LEONORA .

be found trees so fine and large as those which fell beneath the axe when St. John’s Park was ruthlessly wiped out of existence. It was not open to the public. Its frequenters were those only who paid the annual rate charged for the enjoyment of the Park privileges, and who were provided by the trustees with keys of admittance.

On this particular day, a woman accompanied by a little girl about twelve years old might be seen walking along the south side of the square. When they came to the entrance she drew a large brass key from her pocket, opened the gate and entered, followed by the little girl. They wended their way along through the shaded walks, seemingly in no haste to find a seat. Finally they chose one under a large tree in the northeast corner. The child carried a doll in her arms. She placed it upon the bench in a sitting position, then seated herself by the side of the old woman.

Children were playing about the fountain; and here and there were groups of people. There was no one else in this corner. They were as much alone, save for an occasional passer-by, as if they were in their own private grounds. They were a singular pair, and would have attracted attention anywhere. The woman had nearly reached her three score years and ten, and she looked even older. Her hair, what little of it could be seen under a bonnet queer and ancient looking even in those days of coal scuttle-shaped bonnets, was silvery white; and the face was deeply lined. The eyes only retained something of the lustre of youth, being unusually keen and bright. Her features were of a peculiar cast. It would have been difficult to tell to what nationality she belonged, for, although she spoke English fluently, she seemed entirely unlike the women of that country. The firm square chin and the set lines about the mouth gave to the face a somewhat severe expression; but the kindly manner in which she looked at the child by her side, and the gentle tones of her voice when she addressed her now and then, bespoke an affectionate nature. She was clothed in a dark brown poplin dress, made with a full plain skirt and old-fashioned ‘body;’ while over the shoulders and folded across her bosom was a kerchief of snowy linen. Her general appearance and her manner indicated her position as nurse; yet there was something out of the ordinary about her, which would give one the impression that she was something more. Could one have heard her conversation with her charge one would easily have seen that she had received a better education than her position implied. She drew some knitting from a silken bag hanging on her arm; and the needles seemed fairly to fly so rapidly did she knit, listening the while to the little girl as she entertained herself carrying on a conversation with her doll in her own pretty childish way. This child was very lovely, quaintly and richly dressed in a frock not unlike those seen on children of the present day, made with a short waist and long skirt, which just grazed the ground when she walked; it quite concealed the dainty slippered feet as she sat on the bench. She wore a poke-shaped, leghorn bonnet fastened by wide ribbons tied under the chin. Her hair, which was of a rich, brown color, fell in soft, fluffy waves below her waist. Her eyes were dark and lustrous, with lids drooping at the corners and fringed with long, curling lashes. Her features were delicate and high bred ; and her complexion, though somewhat pale, was clear and pure.

“Lispeth,” said the child, drawing nearer the old woman, “tell me about the time when you were a little girl like me ; about the house where you were born — the fields, the woods, and all the other nice things you know.’ ,

“Fie! Leonora, child ! You have heard it so many times. I dare say you could tell it all to me now.”

“O, but I do so like to hear about it, Lispeth, dear; please do,” said the child in coaxing tones, which she knew the old woman could never resist. “I will begin for you, so it will be easy. In a beautiful little valley by the side of a clear stream there stood a low stone house with a roof of red tiles — now go on, please, Lispeth, tell all about the lambs playing in the meadows ; and do not forget the cunning little chickens, and the proud pea fowl with his beautiful spreading tail.”

With a smile which lighted up the grim old face the kind hearted woman took up the tale so often told, but which never seemed to grow old to her young listener, whose greatest delight was to hear everything pertaining to a life of which she knew nothing, having lived since she could remember within the narrow confines of four brick walls, with never a glimpse of anything like the country save what she saw in this small Park.

They remained sitting there a long time; the child listening with eyes alight in the interest of the story, ready to refresh Lispeth’s memory, if she should forget a single part; and giving vent, now and then, to an expression of glad surprise should the old woman chance to think of something new to tell, as she lived over again the years of her childhood passed in that dear old home beyond the seas.

They were undisturbed in their corner. So absorbed were they in their own pleasure that they did not seem to notice the few who passed that way. Two ladies came along the path dressed in the fashion of the day — in large bonnets and gowns whose skirts were ruffled to the waist, and set out by hoops so wide that it required the whole width of the walk for them to pass. The lady on the side towards the occupants of the bench came so near that her skirt brushed against them, and her attention was called to the child first, by one of her bursts of enthusiasm, then, by her remarkable beauty.

“Did you ever see such a lovely child?” she asked quickly of her companion.

“She is certainly a beautiful little thing,” was the reply. “She is a Jewess.”

“Are you quite sure? She does not look like a Jewess. Neither does the old woman with her.”

“O, yes, I am quite sure. Her name is Leonora Arnstein. She lives next door to us ; and I see her very often. She leads a strange life for a child. Her father is very strict with her, and will not allow her to have any associates even among her own faith. She never visits other children, and is not permitted to invite them to her home. Her only companion is that queer looking old woman.”

“Let us pass that way again,” said the first speaker. “The old woman seems to be very kind to the child,” she remarked, when they were again beyond ear-shot.

“Yes, she is perfectly devoted to her. I have sometimes seen her in their back yard playing like a child with her little charge. She seems to have care of the house also. I have often tried to make her acquaintance when we have met at market, for the little girl interests me; but the woman repels all my advances.”

The ladies passed on. Leonora sat quietly for a few moments; then she said in wistful tones: —

“O, Lispeth, I wish we might live in the country. Why does not father take us sometimes? I would like to play in the fields and woods. How nice it would be to have some cows, and some dear little chickens; and O, perhaps a pony to ride! Do you think I will go to the country some day, Lispeth?”

“Yes, child, of course you shall. Old Lispeth will find a way to take you.”

Just then some little girls came along. One of them spoke to Leonora and asked her to join their play.

“Yes, go, dearie,” said the old woman. “I will call you when it is time to go home.” The little girl ran off while Lispeth muttered something about the poor child having few pleasures so dear to childish hearts.

THE JEWESS, LEONORA.

II

The afternoon wore away. It was five o’clock. Lispeth was nodding over her knitting when she was suddenly brought to herself by hearing a voice, which she knew only too well, speaking her name. It was three months since she had heard that voice and it caused her to turn quickly in the direction of the sound. Just outside the Park, as near as possible to the bench where she was sitting, stood a man, who said in peremptory tones: —

“Bring me the key, Lispeth. I wish to enter.”

“Yes, master.”

The old woman arose and handed him the key through the palings. By the time he had admitted himself and joined her, Lispeth was quite composed and knitting busily.

“You were not expecting to see me to-day, I suppose. Where is the child?”

“Playing with some school-mates by the fountain. I did not know when to expect you,” said Lispeth, keeping her eyes fixed on her work, seemingly indifferent to everything save the heel she was just turning.

There was silence for a few minutes. The man looked carefully about him to see if there was anyone near enough to hear their conversation. People were beginning to leave the Park, and they were entirely remote from the few who remained. It would not have been easy for persons generally to judge of this man’s age. He was one of those, who, by assiduous care in dress, try to appear younger than they are. He succeeded to a certain extent; but there are many ways by which Nature betrays the imprints of time, and a close observer would set him down for sixty. His was not a pleasing countenance. The features were too sharp and there was an expression in the dark eyes, gleaming from beneath heavy, overhanging brows, which would make one instinctively shrink from opposing his will. One glance from those eyes when opposition roused the hidden fire within would have the effect of subduing a strong nature even; while one naturally timid would cower and yield through fear, or seek to escape his power. His hair and mustache were carefully dyed. He was almost foppish in his attire ; yet there was a nicety in all the appointments of his dress which displayed good taste. His general appearance was that of a gentleman and a man of wealth.

“I have returned without the casket,” he said in a low tone.

“Yes?” returned Lispeth indifferently, while the needles flew; but the sudden light in the keen eyes might have expressed joy or triumph; certainly anything but indifference. It passed unnoticed by the man and Lispeth added quickly, — “You worked in the wrong direction, perhaps.”

“By no means. We found the place where it was hidden, but it was known to someone before us. It had been taken away.”

“How is it ever to be found then?” asked Lispeth.

“It shall be found,” said the man in quick, decisive tones. “My journey has not been entirely fruitless. We have a clue to the person who forestalled us; and that clue shall be followed up until the casket is in my possession.”

Had the man turned and looked at the woman by his side, he would have noticed the sudden tightening of the thin lips. The needles seemed to fly faster than before. Sh6 spoke, but the words came slowly as if she feared to betray her emotion.

“What reason have you to think that you have really found its former hiding place?”

“A sure proof in the fact that we found the iron chest in which it had been placed, and in that chest a tiny key; also a drawing of the casket with a minute description of the mechanism of the lock. The person who took the casket left those things in her haste.”

Lispeth noticed that the man said her haste, and for the first time the needles paused in their mad combat. Her lips moved, but no sound came from them. She dared not speak, but stooped to pick up Leonora’s doll, which had fallen to the ground by a sudden movement on the part of the man, as he shifted his position on the bench. Most fortunate was the occurrence, for he turned his eyes full upon her suddenly, but saw no signs of her former agitation. “Yes,” he continued, “she left them; also a clue by which she can be traced. Then, when the casket with its precious contents is mine — well, never mind what then.”

“But the casket belongs to the child,” ventured Lispeth as she gave her master a quick side-long glance.

“Yes, but the child belongs to me, and she shall marry among her own people. She is being reared in the faith of her forefathers, and her husband shall be of my choosing. He is chosen — my only brother’s orphan son who bears my name. He will be the head of a family whose wealth and power in this country shall be unrivaled. The name of Arnstein shall be handed down to posterity and shall be known throughout the whole world. It will not be many years now before a beginning can be made; and I shall live to see it.”

The vehemence of the words, and the gleam in the fierce dark eyes bespoke the intense eagerness with which he looked forward to the realization of the great ambition of his life.

Lispeth, whose face had grown white even to the lips as she listened, was trying to put away her knitting, while the old hands trembled, and a look of intense fear overspread the features. She was striving to hide her agitation lest her master should note the effect of his words upon her. He sat musing a while, then spoke again, more to himself: —

“Yes, a woman has found out the secret and taken away the casket. Of that I am quite sure. A man would have done it more thoroughly and left no trace. We have only to find the mate to the silken mitt which lay beside the iron chest to”

He was interrupted by a sudden cry from Lispeth, who was unable to control herself at the mention of the silken mitt; then, frightened at having betrayed herself, she sprang to her feet. Ere her master could speak, as he turned suddenly and looked at her, she said : —

“Oh! I thought I saw Leonora fall, but it was that other little girl.” She sank upon the bench again with a deep sigh, seemingly relieved that Leonora was unhurt, but really at having misled her master as to the true cause of her fright. By a desperate effort she regained her composure and the pallor faded from her face at the man’s next words, —

“You make a fool of yourself over that child, Lispeth; but call her. It is time to go home. I see you do not obey my instructions — that she is to form no associates about here. I have told you that many times; yet I come home and find her playing freely with those children.”

“This is the child’s birthday and I allow it as a treat. They are some little girls who attend Madame Le Roc’s school. It shall not occur again,” said Lispeth, so relieved that this reproof of her master fell lightly upon her. Walking along the path she called Leonora, who came quickly at her bidding. Her face was flushed with exercise and her eyes sparkled with the enjoyment of her play with companions of her own age. Rare indeed was a chance like this. She did not notice the man sitting on the bench until he came forward and greeted her. She stopped suddenly in her animated description of the games they had played and looked at him in surprise. She gave him her hand timidly, saying: —

“You have come back. I am glad to see you safe, father.”

The joy quickly faded from her face, and, taking Lispeth’s hand, she walked demurely by her side as they all wended their way home.

They entered a house on a street in the immediate neighborhood of St. John’s

Square; a house built before the time of long monotonous rows of brown stone fronts, which, during the past fifteen years, have given place in their turn to a more varied and far more pleasing style of architecture, thanks to the advent of a number of architects who are true artists. This three-story and attic house, built of red brick, if preserved to-day, would hold its own as a work of architectural beauty with any built during the following forty years, which brought so many and such rapid changes in a city now spoken of as the possible future metropolis of the world.

The entrance door of this old New York house was beautiful. Over the door itself was an arch, elliptical in shape, under which was an arched fan-light. The lintels were delicately decorated; and the handsome railings and high open posts or newals, which flanked the foot of the flight of stone steps leading to the door, were of iron all wrought out by hand.

This house had been built by a rich merchantman about twenty years before our story opens. He had spared no expense in the interior decorations; and it would have been difficult to find in that day a more beautifully carved mantel than could be seen in its spacious drawing' room. To-day we see them patterned after those elegant and artistic mantel pieces, with their slender pillars and carved fronts, over which the simply moulded shelf projects; and as a result they give to a room something of the elegance and homelikeness of those old days before the appearance of the cold, stifflooking marble mantels, which came in with the equally cold and sombre brown - stone fronts — called homes (?).

In the year 1833, after the loss at sea of two of this merchantman’s ships, his name disappeared from the door of this noble looking home in old New York, and a new silver plate shown in its place, bearing the name of Enos Arnstein. He was a Hebrew, who came to this country about that time, and established himself as a jeweler and diamond merchant.

THE JEWESS, LEONORA.

III

Lispeth was sitting in a curtained alcove adjoining a large handsome room over the drawing-room. There were two single beds in this alcove and in one of them Leonora lay asleep. The woman waited until she could hear the soft regular breathing of her little charge in sound slumber. Then she arose, drew the curtains together, and, taking up a lighted candle from the table, she entered a large clothes-press at the farther end of the room. She seated herself on the floor beside an old leather trunk, and, slipping a small key from a slender chain worn around her neck, she quickly unlocked it and raised the lid. She placed the candle on the floor, and began taking out various articles until she held in her hand a box containing odds and ends. She tumbled things over in nervous haste and finally brought to light a delicate silken mitt. This she quickly thrust into her bosom and continued to empty the trunk of its contents. There lay strewn about her articles of attire, which would have puzzled one to decide as to what period in the age of woman they belonged. Raising herself to a kneeling position Lispeth lifted out what seemed to be the bottom of the trunk, but it was only a thin board covered with the lining, which fitted closely over the bottom. Two letters lying side by side were disclosed to view. She took them out and held them in her hand some time, while a smile overspread her features, and a warm light glowed in her fine dark eyes. One of the letters bore a foreign postmark; the seal had been broken and it was addressed to “Karl Sturmer.”

The other letter bore no postmark whatever, and the seal still remained unbroken. The direction read —

“To my daughter,

Leonora Sturmer.”

Lispeth slipped the letters into her pocket, and then began replacing the contents of the trunk. This finished and the trunk locked once more, she withdrew to the outer room. She seated herself by a table, on which lay a capacious work-basket. From its depths she produced a piece of oil silk, and was soon occupied in making a case of double thickness large enough to hold the letters. She drew them from her pocket, slipped them into the case, and was about to sew up the end when a thought seemed to strike her. She took them out again. Her hand sought the bosom of her dress and she drew from its hiding place the silken mitt. She laid it between the two letters; then, after tying a cord securely around them, she slipped the little parcel into the oil silk case and carefully sewed up the end. Her task completed she extinguished the light and seated herself beside the window.

It was growing late. The streets became quiet. The foot-steps of passers-by were few and far between. Still Lispeth sat there in the moonlight of this lovely night in June. A clock in the neighborhood struck eleven, when the sound of a familiar footstep reached her ear. The street door closed and she heard the same foot-steps on the stairs. Then a door on the second floor closed, and Lispeth knew that her master was in his room and would soon retire. Still another hour she waited; then, taking off her shoes, she stole softly from the room with the unlighted candle in her hand and the parcel so precious to her in her pocket. She paused before her master’s door and listened, then placed her eye to the key-hole. Satisfied by the silence and darkness within that he slept, she crept stealthily along till she reached the staircase. Guiding herself by the ballustrade she descended one flight, then another, and disappeared in the darkness below.

The next morning after Leonora had been conducted to school, and Lispeth had returned from market, she was summoned to her master’s presence. He was sitting in a handsome paneled room on the first floor; a room devoted exclusively to his own use, and seldom entered by any one save himself. A square table stood in the center of the room. Its surface was nearly covered by a large map over which Mr. Arnstein had been poring for several hours. At his elbow lay a paper containing rows of figures.

There was perfect repo'se in Lispeth’s manner this morning, and she met the piercing eye or her master unflinchingly, as he told her that he wished to talk with her on an important subject, and that he had some questions to ask her. She seated herself at his bidding and waited for him to begin.

“You have been in my employ just nine years,” said Mr. Arnstein, as he pushed back his chair and faced this woman who served him, and yet towards whom he entertained a feeling he could not have described. Had any one told him that there was one person in this world whom he feared he would have scoffed at the idea; nevertheless in his own secret heart he knew that here was a woman who was always subservient to his wishes and devoted to his. interests, yet who held him somewhat in her power. Perhaps it was because he knew she understood him thoroughly, while he had never been able to fathom this strange woman’s nature. Once only had he tried to rid himself of her, thinking to place Leonora in charge of a younger person. He learned then what force lay hidden behind this woman’s taciturnity, and, thoroughly baffled in the attempt, he never made another. This morning his mind was occupied with the one great scheme of his life, and Lispeth was to him only as a factor towards its success. He did not carefully weigh his words when he asked : —

“How long did you serve that Christian dog?”

“Who, sir!” exclaimed Lispeth angrily, while her eyes flashed fire.

Her master hastened to propitiate her, for he feared lest she might relapse into one of her sullen moods, with which he was familiar; then he knew he could get nothing from her.

“There — there, never mind the expression. You know the very mention of that man’s name is hateful to me. I will put the question differently. How long were you in the employ of Leonora’s parents?”

“Seven years less three months,” replied Lispeth calmly, for she had a secret to guard, and she realized that it would require all her self control to answer her master’s questions in such a way that he would remain in ignorance of it.

“Leonora was one year old when her mother died,” resumed Mr. Arnstein. She was three when I claimed her after her father’s death. He survived his wife about a year, so the child must have been in your care for nearly a year after that. How long had you been in this country when you entered their employ?”

“Only a short time until I found — Lispeth hesitated a moment — 'employment,’ she finished. They were my first and only employers in America.”

“And before that?” asked her master.

“What matters it? I served them faithfully, and I promised to watch over and care for their little one so long as my life should last. And I will do it. You know whether or not I have kept that promise during these nine years.”

“Yes, yes, I know you have. But whenever I touch upon your past life you will say nothing, save that you are of Jewish parentage. I suppose it does not matter. You possess a good education, and I have sometimes thought you might not have been in service prior to your coming to America.”

“You are mistaken. I had been in service many years.”

“Yet the exact nature of that service you will not disclose. Your past seems to be a closed book. Well, so let it remain if you choose. I care not. My particular reason for questioning you to-day is because I think you can be of assistance to me in finding the silken mitt; in other words, in tracing the woman who obtained possession of the casket and — where are you going?” asked her master quickly as Lispeth arose.

“I wish to change my seat. The light from that window is too strong for my eyes.”

Lispeth seated herself so that her face would be in shadow. Mr. Arnstein continued:

“I wish you to let your memory travel backward, and see if you can tell me anything concerning a woman whose history I will relate, at least as much of it as I have been able to learn. From your own statement it is plain that you entered my daughter’s employ about eight months after her marriage and flight to this country. Tell me who were the members of their household during the following years.”

“Only Herr Sturmer, his wife, and myself during the first five years. Then Leonora was born, and a maid-of-all-work was added to that household.”

“There was no other person living with them?”

“No, sir.”

“Strange indeed,” said Mr. Arnstein partly to himself. After a pause he resumed,“Can you tell me, Lispeth, whether my daughter and her husband ever spoke of the homes they left in the old country? Did they talk over their affairs in your presence? You seemed to have been much to them. No doubt they trusted you implicitly.”

Lispeth’s eyes flashed once more. She hesitated ere she spoke.

“They had no reason to distrust me, sir. Yes, they talked freely of their affairs. They had done nothing to be ashamed of, and they never felt a pang of regret; for they were perfectly happy in their love. Your daughter seldom spoke of her old home.” Lispeth answered that question fearlessly; for she knew, although her master turned somewhat uneasily in his chair, and a dark frown gathered upon his brow, that he would keep his temper, when so much depended upon it. “But,” she continued, “Herr Sturmer always spoke most lovingly of the ‘Dear Fatherland’ as he was fond of calling it, and of his old home there. He liked to tell stories of his boyhood days, and all the inmates of his father’s household were known to us, even the humblest servant in his employ.”