And over the fields with the flames there sauntered parties and parties of Chassidîm--the satin and even the satinette cloaks shine like glass, the torn ones and the whole alike--and the little flames that rose from the grass attached themselves to the shining holiday garments and seemed to dance round every Chossid with delight and affection--and every company of Chassidîm gazed up with wonderfully thirsty eyes at the Rebbe's balcony--and I could see how that thirsty gaze of theirs sucked light from the balcony, from the Rebbe's face, and the more light they sucked in, the louder they sang--louder and louder--more cheerfully, more devoutly. And every company sang to its own tune, but all the different tunes and voices blended in the air, and there floated up to the Rebbe's balcony _one_ strain, _one_ melody--as though all were singing _one_ song. And everything sang--the sky, the celestial bodies, the earth beneath, the soul of the world itself--everything was singing! Lord of the world! I thought I should dissolve away for sheer delight! But it was not to be. "It is time for the afternoon prayers!" said the Brisk Rabbi, suddenly, in a sharp tone; and it all vanished. Silence ... the curtain has fallen back across my eyes; above is the usual sky, below--the usual fields, the usual Chassidîm in torn cloaks--old, disconnected fragments of song--the flames are extinguished. I glance at the Rebbe; his face is darkened, too. * * * * * They were not reconciled; the Brisk Rabbi remained a Misnagid as before. But it had one result! He never persecuted again. XXVI THE IMAGE Great people have been known to do great wonders; witness the time when they attacked the Ghetto in Prague, and were about to assault the women, roast the children, and beat the remainder to death. When all means of defense were exhausted, the Maharal[145] laid down the Gemoreh, stepped out into the street, went up to the first mud-heap outside the door of a school-master, and made a clay image. He blew into its nostril, and it began to move; then he whispered a name into its ear, and away went the image out of the Ghetto, and the Maharal sat down again to his book. The image fell upon our enemies who were besieging the Ghetto, and threshed them as it were with flails--they fell before him as thick as flies. Prague was filled with corpses--they say the destruction lasted all Wednesday and Thursday; Friday, at noon, the image was still at it. "Rabbi," exclaimed Kohol, "the image is making a clean sweep of the city! There will be no one left to light the fires on Sabbath or to take down the lamps!"[146] A second time the Maharal shut his book; he took his stand at the desk and began to chant the psalm, "A Song of the Sabbath Day." Whereupon the image ceased from work, came back to the Ghetto, entered the synagogue, and approached the Maharal.