here from the
rough costume of a shepherd of Abruzzo to the faded fripperies of a
gentleman of the Court. In the centre a new fountain with two dragons
supplied the Ghetto with water from the Aqueduct of Paul the Fifth in
lieu of the loathly Tiber water, and bore a grateful Latin
inscription. About the edges of the square a few buildings rose in
dilapidated splendor to break the monotony of the Ghetto barracks; the
ancient palace of the Boccapaduli, and a mansion with a high tower and
three abandoned churches. A monumental but forbidding gate, closed at
sundown, gave access to a second Piazza Giudea, where Christians
congregated to bargain with Jews--it was almost a suburb of the
Ghetto. Manasseh had not far to go, for his end of the Via Rua
debouched on the Piazza Giudea; the other end, after running parallel
to the Via Pescheria and the river, bent suddenly near the Gate of
Octavius, and finished on the bridge Quattro Capi. Such was the Ghetto
in the sixteen hundreds.

Soon after Manasseh had left the house, Miriam came in with anxious
face to inquire if Joseph had returned. It was a beautiful Oriental
face, in whose eyes brooded the light of love and pity, a face of the
type which painters have given to the Madonna when they have
remembered that the Holy Mother was a Jewess. She was clad in a simple
woollen gown, without lace or broidery, her only ornament a silver
bracelet. Rachel wept to tell her the lack of news, but Miriam did not
join in her tears. She besought her to be of good courage.

And very soon indeed Joseph appeared, with an expression at once
haggard and ecstatic, his black hair and beard unkempt, his eyes
glittering strangely in his flushed olive face, a curious poetic
figure in his reddish-brown mantle and dark yellow cap.

"_Pax vobiscum_," he cried, in shrill, jubilant accents.

"Joseph, what drunken folly is this?" faltered Rachel.

"_Gloria in altissimis Deo_ and peace on earth to all men of
goodwill," persisted Joseph. "It is Christmas morning, mother." And he
began to troll out the stave of a carol, "Simeon, that good saint of
old--"

Rachel's hand was clapped rudely over her son's mouth.

"Blasphemer!" she cried, an ashen gray overspreading her face.

Joseph gently removed her hand. "It is thou who blasphemest, mother,"
he cried. "Rejoice, rejoice, this day the dear Lord Christ was
born--He who was to die for the sins of the world."

Rachel burst into fresh tears. "Our boy is mad--