The Romantic Messiah

Her sensual dream lasted for two weeks. In spite of the terrible bitterness of the pleasure which wafted the girl like a light bark along the over-flowing waters of a river, it still remained a dream. A dream:-for the hours and days, having no relation with her past life, seemed as if they were apart from her.Scattered memories fiashed before her mind, but they moved like pallid shadows, listless and foreign. But again she would plang into the happy depths of her passionate longings.

Tezkeiro was astonished by this inexplicable transformation. This young Jewess, who seemed like a child, had revealed hereself to him as a mature Baechante who one would say had stepped down from a painting by Rubens. Her boldness overwhemed him. Never a word of remorse, never the shadow ofa regret. She had become drunk with love proudly, audaciuosly-more audaciously than he himself, the favorite of the carniyals.

It made him happy, for he did not like women’s tears; he had dreaded the tender reproaches of Sarah. Joyous and radiant as a clear golden twilight, th hours flowed by under the splendid autumn sun.

It was a dream, silent and beautiful.

But Sarah was brutally torn from it one morning, when through window curtains gently filtered the fresh glory of dawn.

In her sleep Sarah felt ill at case, confined. She opend her eyes and distinguished Tezkeiro beside her. Whith his mouth slightly opned, breathing regularly, his arm fiung behind him, he was sleeping profoundly Without understanding why, Sarah was frightened.

She leaned over the young man and saw that a herdly perceptible smile played on his lips. A happy dream was doubtless visiting him. If at that moment he had awakened, Sarah, laughing, would have clasped him against her, as she had done so many times before.

But Texkeiro slept on. Putting Sarah aside, he turned his face to the wall and continued his sleep.

Suddenly terror seized the girl: she had a stranger near her!A stranger, a stanger! She leaped up.

Still Tezkeiro did not awake Instinctively his body moved toward the edge of the couch and his sleep became even calmer and sweeter.

A stranger! A stranger! And she-naked, in this room with him!

A feeling of irreparable sin, of endless shame, crushed her. She collapsed in an ssrmchari, her hands lifeless. Her desolate eyes could not tear themselves away form the divan where, with his back turned toward here, the painter slept.

At each second her terror rose, flooding her with dexpair. She was soiled, deflled. And her dreams-her pure and living, her sweet and sacred dreams! She herself had stained them and now they lay broken on this lewd couch. Her dreams! But how could she dare touch them with her impure mind, No, no. Her pilgrimage had ended. Sarah was dead. No longer was she a maid, a sister, the betrothed. Only a young and voluptuous sinner remained. Only the insolent nakendness of her shoulders, the detestable splendor of her body, were left her.

Clean, ardent images from the past hurried on before her. Her mother, her sister, the nuns, the Rabbi, and the chaste and confused vision of Sabbatai Zevy, the divine Deer. These phantoms, vengeful and tormenting, surrounded her. Now they struck at her. So much the better. Her wound must burn her ceaselessly. Only martyrdom would heal her. She must drink deep of shame: she must rend herself with unchastity.

Purity in here would be a sacrilege. She must not dare to think ofit or to desire it. She must cast her dishonored body to the dogs; she must throw it before them like carrion.

She was cold. With a face like stone, she rose. A dazzling sun flung its rays of brightness within the room. The painter slept on Sarah gathered her clothes, strewn here and there, and dressed slowly. Her movements were precise and determined. Once dressed, she found her purse and, without casting another look toward Tezkeiro, she went out the door.

In the street she walked straight before her,without reflecting upon her road. She was certain of one thing alone; she must keep far from Diego’s house. She remembered her letter to Rachel:

“It is not the temptation of tranient pleasures nor the allurement of wordly goods this Sarah whom you have covered with blessings follows. She has gone toward the voice of God, in the footsteps of his Appointed.”

A shudder passed through her body. She must flee Amsterdam. Her chosen road belonged to the past, for now she was no more than a lost woman, indifferent to death.

To be continued tomorrow.