The boy was thirteen years old.  His learning in the Holy Scriptures was already celebrated for miles around.  He was the pupil of the rabbi, who had treated him with a love and tenderness becoming his own father.  He said that he was a remarkable child, endowed with rare talents.  The boy was to be sent to Hungary, to one of the most celebrated teachers of the times, in order to lay the foundation for his sacred studies under this instructor’s guidance and wisdom.  Years might perhaps pass before she would see him again.  But Veile let her boy go from her embrace.  She did not say a blessing over him when he went; only her lips twitched with the pain of silence.

Long years expired before the boy returned from the strange land, a full-grown, noble youth.  When Veile had her son with her again a smile played about her mouth, and for a moment it seemed as if her former beauty had enjoyed a second spring.  The extraordinary ability of her son already made him famous.  Wheresoever he went people were delighted with his beauty, and admired the modesty of his manner, despite such great scholarship.

The next Sabbath the young disciple of the Talmud, scarcely twenty years of age, was to demonstrate the first marks of this great learning.

The people crowded shoulder to shoulder in this great synagogue.  Curious glances were cast through the lattice-work of the women’s gallery above upon the dense throng.  Veile occupied one of the foremost seats.  She could see everything that took place below.  Her face was extremely pale.  All eyes were turned towards her—­the mother, who was permitted to see such a day for her son!  But Veile did not appear to notice what was happening before her.  A weariness, such as she had never felt before, even in her greatest suffering, crept over her limbs.  It was as if she must sleep during her son’s address.  He had hardly mounted the stairs before the ark of the laws—­hardly uttered his first words—­when a remarkable change crossed her face.  Her cheeks burned.  She arose.  All her vital energy seemed aroused.  Her son meanwhile was speaking down below.  She could not have told what he was saying.  She did not hear him—­she only heard the murmur of approbation, sometimes low, sometimes loud, which came to her ears from the quarters of the men.  The people were astonished at the noble bearing of the speaker, his melodious speech, and his powerful energy.  When he stopped at certain times to rest it seemed as if one were in a wood swept by a storm.  She could now and then hear a few voices declaring that such a one had never before been listened to.  The women at her side wept; she alone could not.  A choking pain pressed from her breast to her lips.  Forces were astir in her heart which struggled for expression.  The whole synagogue echoed with buzzing voices, but to her it seemed as if she must speak louder than these.  At the very moment her son had ended she cried out unconsciously, violently throwing herself against the lattice-work: