at is to say, you have
calculated that it will not profit you if I do fail. You have large
drafts on me, and if I fail, you only get a portion of your debt;
whereas, if I stand, you get the whole. You would be magnanimous from
self-interest, but I do not accept your magnanimity--you shall lose.
Let that be your punishment, and my revenge. You have wounded my heart
unto death, therefore I will strike you on the only spot in which
you are sensitive to pain: I attack your greed of money. You come too
late; I am bankrupt! My drafts are no longer current, but my honor
will not die with my firm."

They were all silent, and gazed down to the earth frowningly. Only one
looked toward Gotzkowsky with a clear, bright eye. This was Ephraim,
who, mindful of his conversation with Gotzkowsky, said to himself,
triumphantly, "He has taken one lesson from me--he has learned to
despise mankind."

But Itzig was only the more furious. "You wish our ruin," said he,
angrily. "You will be ungrateful. The Jews, who made you a present of
a handsome ring, have not deserved that of you. What will the world
say?"

"The world will learn the cause of my ruin, and condemn you," said
Gotzkowsky. "Go, take all that I have; I will reserve nothing; I
despise riches and estate. I wish to be poor; for in poverty is peace.
I turn my back upon this house, and I take nothing with me but this
laurel-wreath and you, my children."

Smilingly he gave his hands to Bertram and Elise. "Come, my children!
let us wander out in the happiness of poverty. We shake the dust from
our feet, and are light and free, for though we are poor, we are rich
in love. Yes, we are poor; but poverty means freedom. We are no longer
dependent upon prejudices, conventionalities, and forms. We have
nothing more to conceal or hide. We need not be ashamed of our
poverty, for we dare to show it to all the world; and when we go
through the streets as ragged beggars, these rich people will cast
down their eyes in shame, for our poverty will accuse them, and our
rags testify against them. Come, my children, let us begin our life of
poverty. But when death comes to take me away, crown my cold brow with
this laurel-wreath, given me by the city of Berlin, and write on my
coffin: 'This is the world's reward!'"[1]

And firm and erect, leaning on his children, Gotzkowsky crossed the
room. No one dared to detain him. Shame and remorse, anger and terror,
kept them all spell-bound. "Let us go, let