by cunning and malice, should drive through the streets in splendid
carriages, surrounded by elegance and wealth, while he was obliged to
creep along, bowed down with sorrow? He had gone down, while Ephraim
had risen higher and higher. He had become poor because he was honest;
but Ephraim had grown rich on usury. His firm had failed, while
Ephraim continued to coin money. What did the Jew care that his name
was branded by the people, that they spoke with cutting sarcasm of the
pewter-money to which he had so skilfully imparted the appearance of
silver coin, and that he was derided by all? Gotzkowsky's name, too,
had been scoffed at, and he had been a benefactor of the people, while
Ephraim had been their blood-sucking leech.

At last, Gotzkowsky came to a firm determination that he would have
revenge--yes, revenge on this ungrateful generation which had betrayed
and forsaken him--revenge on the men who had shown themselves so small
and pitiful. He wanted to remind those who were flourishing in pride
and splendor, of their meanness and ingratitude. He would accuse no
one, but his whole life was an indictment, not against individual men,
but whole communities and cities, against the king himself. They had
all been ungrateful toward him. They were all his debtors, and in
presence of the whole world he would cast their ingratitude, their
meanness, their malice, and knavery in their face, and humble them
by recalling the past. He wrote for that purpose _The History of his
Life_, not in anger and scorn; he did not dip his pen in gall, he made
no ill-natured reflections, no contemptuous remarks. He did nothing
more than quietly and simply, clearly and truthfully, describe
his life and his deeds, and whenever it was necessary, confirm
his assertions by quotations from the official documents relating
thereto.[1]

The very simplicity and truthfulness of this "_Biography of a
Patriotic Merchant_" procured for it an enormous success, and made the
long-forgotten, much-calumniated Gotzkowsky for a while the topic of
conversation, not only in Berlin, but throughout all Germany. Every
one wanted to read the book. All wished to have the malicious pleasure
of seeing how much people of rank, communities, cities, and princes,
were indebted to this man, and how pitilessly they had let him sink.

The natural consequence was that the book, though written simply and
with reserve, gave great offence. Gotzkowsky had accused no one, but
the fa