clouded and sullen—­for a long, long time!  But how merry and joyous they were over there, those people of the happy olden times!  They, like us, had their troubles and trials, and when misfortune visited them it came not to them with soft cushions and tender pressures of the hand.  Rough and hard, with clinched fist, it laid hold upon them.  But when they gave vent to their happy feelings and sought to enjoy themselves, they were like swimmers in cooling waters.  They struck out into the stream with freshness and courage, suffered themselves to be borne along by the current whithersoever it took its course.  This was the cause of such a jubilee, such a thoughtlessly noisy outburst of all kinds of soul-possessing gayety from this house of nuptials.

“And if I had known,” the bride’s father, the rich Ruben Klattaner, had just said, “that it would take the last gulden in my pocket, then out it would have come.”

In fact, it did appear as if the last groschen had really taken flight, and was fluttering about in the form of platters heaped up with geese and pastry-tarts.  Since two o’clock—­that is, since the marriage ceremony had been performed out in the open street—­until nearly midnight, the wedding-feast had been progressing, and even yet the sarvers, or waiters, were hurrying from room to room.  It was as if a twofold blessing had descended upon all this abundance of food and drink, for, in the first place, they did not seem to diminish; secondly, they ever found a new place for disposal.  To be sure, this appetite was sharpened by the presence of a little dwarf-like, unimportant-looking man.  He was esteemed, however, none the less highly by every one.  They had specially written to engage the celebrated “Leb Narr,” of Prague.  And when was ever a mood so out of sorts, a heart so imbittered as not to thaw out and laugh if Leb Narr played one of his pranks.  Ah, thou art now dead, good fool!  Thy lips, once always ready with a witty reply, are closed.  Thy mouth, then never still, now speaks no more!  But when the hearty peals of laughter once rang forth at thy command, intercessors, as it were, in thy behalf before the very throne of God, thou hadst nothing to fear.  And the joy of that “other” world was thine, that joy that has ever belonged to the most pious of country rabbis!

In the mean time the young people had assembled in one of the rooms to dance.  It was strange how the sound of violins and trumpets accorded with the drolleries of the wit from Prague.  In one part the outbursts of merriment were so boisterous that the very candles on the little table seemed to flicker with terror; in another an ordinary conversation was in progress, which now and then only ran over into a loud tittering, when some old lady slipped into the circle and tried her skill at a redowa, then altogether unknown to the young people.  In the very midst of the tangle of dancers was to be seen the bride in a heavy silk wedding-gown.  The point of her golden