The Two Camps

Chapter 6

Michael began to visit that house.

At first he did so only occasionally, but later he began to come every day, in the afternoon or early evening. At first, he intended to arrive just when Hedwig was going to her lesson, and later he thought that they might wonder about this intention. She likes him a lot and the sight of her face gives him some calm he had not previously known.

He speaks to her curtly, thinking that she may not be capable of long conversations. And he, too, is unable to speak to her at length.

Hedwig sits opposite him, and sometimes next to him on the sofa. When he rises to leave, she holds the tail of his coat, as if to say, “Sit with me a little longer.”

Indeed, a form of joy always appeared on her face when she saw him. He is not dressed finely and often speaks of matters she does not understand; but something attracts her to him. . . . She never had relatives, and everyone she sees is equal in her eyes—but when he comes, some intimacy awakens in her soul. She is not capable of thinking about this, but she does think about him every now and then, and then he preoccupies her thoughts. [ . . . ]

The caress of his hand when he occasionally touches her hair draws her nearer to him like the touch of the heart. For him, hair is the soul, or at least the glory of the soul. . . .

And her long, braided hair is truly beautiful and enchanting as it descends over her palm-like form. She is head and shoulders taller than him and her mouth is like the spring lily. A good soul whispers from deep in her pale blue eyes and a slight and charming shadow of sadness flickers across her dark face—

Her gleaming neck is a source of desire for him. He cannot pass his hand over its smoothness. His heart soared inside him with fierce joy when he once placed a red kerchief around her neck, adding an extra touch of charm to her own grace. . . .

He comes to her parents’ home every day. He tells them everything in his heart, without even concealing little incidents that occur in his life; they know—or rather, she, Maria-Josefa, knows—about his comings and goings, his wars and hopes, his thoughts and desires.

The tailor [father] loves him in his kindness, and when he is a little drunk, says to him: “Why don’t you marry our Hedwig? She is a good girl and you are a decent fellow; the two of you make a good match.”

Michael is embarrassed when he hears him say this and lowers his eyes . . . And Maria-Josefa curses her husband playfully, saying, “Leave him alone, Marcus.”

Michael, too, already knows Hedwig’s history. Maria told him everything once, in confidence between them; and this discovery fired his imagination.

In his wars against the zealots in his homeland, he had already thought of taking a Christian wife in order to annoy them; and in his inner struggles, as he now opposes society and its moral foundations, the idea has occurred to him of joining with a gentile girl, born out of wedlock, to amuse his spirit.

Yes indeed, let him stop all the nonsense for once and for all and become a completely free man. Let him leave the last generation, that he still belongs to, and become a new man, a son of the first generation. . . .

With her, he will go to a distant land. He will stop writing to his parents and friends, he will stop reading Hebrew and paying attention to what is happening in the diaspora; and he will live with her in free Eden, unburdened by inherited tradition and ancestral woes.

She, Hedwig, is still a believer; but he will teach her not to believe—and she will obey him and be a faithful wife to him. Their love is a silent love, like the love of the peaceful ones of the world, and their lives are like the sunrise in all its glory.

He will also leave cultured life and return to nature; he will wear simple clothes like a farmer; and she will go barefoot, wearing only a thick jacket and a thin garment. She will sing in the evening as the flock returns from the pasture and he will answer her with his voice. [ . . . ]

And the next day, too, everything was dreamy; the thoughts in the books also seemed to be dreamy. He was reading Schopenhauer at the time. Until then, everything in him seemed to be considered and logical; yet now, at the bottom of his thoughts, he seems to hear a rustling of emotions. He will think because he feels; he will think and feel. . . .

Chapter 7

Hedwig is also dreamlike, in her own way. . . . Her emotions do not dwell in some corner of her soul; her entire soul is not abstract, and its essence and the way it feels are not only emotion. . . . The entire human in her is elevated by Michael’s closeness to her, and all that is in her is activated unconsciously when she sees him face to face.

To her somewhat subdued mental quiet, something is added that calms and endears her vivacity. She senses a connection to him; something elevates her and arouses her spirit like the dawn.

And in the morning she thinks of him. He always comes in the afternoon; she knows that he will indeed come and that he must come.

Essentially, Michael was not here earlier. Her mother says that he comes from a foreign land . . . but she cannot imagine this. After all, he also has parents, but he is not living with them now. He is always learning from books, and she does not understand this at all. She understands eating and drinking, singing, and walking . . . but what is this constant reading of books? All the books are written by God, and God dwells in the heavens, and His Son is the Messiah. . . . The priests in the churches know everything. But Michael is not a priest—he speaks ill of them, yet he is a kind-hearted man. It gives her great pleasure to see him; she always wishes to see him and to speak with him. She cannot say much . . . what could she tell him? Other girls have brothers. If Michael were her brother, she would play with him always. . . . A sister can kiss her brother . . . Michael is not her brother, but he is a good and pleasant person. [ . . . ]

The [female] neighbors say that he is a Hebrew. She has heard this name many times, but does not understand what it means. . . . He speaks their language and dresses as they do. He is a son of another country; what does other mean? Her mother is Polish, but why is she Polish? [ . . . ] Her father is Lutheran and prays in a different church. Why did God not make all churches the same? What does God do all the time up there in heaven? What do the angels do? The pious see angels and speak with them. [ . . . ]

She wishes to loan him a few of her coins. She is embarrassed and asks her mother to attend to this. Her mother smiles and kisses her on the forehead.

“Mother!” she asks, “Do you like Michael?”

“Yes I do, and do you?”

“I do, too, Mother.”

At this moment her beauty is evident in its full innocence and works on those who see her like a lily. It is true that she lacks the light of beauty, she lacks the longing for other souls and the pining of sorrow when our heart is disturbed and seeks new direction. She does not listen to the beating of her heart as something external to her. . . . She does not think about her own innocence. . . . All her father’s blood that flows in her has not mixed with that from her mother’s side, but has only been subsumed in it, as if held within her. . . . And this imbues her with a certain alien mental echo, a charm that is both visible and invisible.