"Ignorant donkey-heads!" cried Pinchas next Friday morning. "Him they make a Rabbi and give him the right of answering questions, and he know no more of Judaism," the patriotic poet paused to take a bite out of his ham-sandwich, "than a cow of Sunday. I lof his daughter and I tell him so and he tells me she lof another. But I haf held him up on the point of my pen to the contempt of posterity. I haf written an acrostic on him; it is terrible. Her vill I shoot."
Ah, they are a bad lot, these Rabbis, said Simon Wolf, sipping his sherry. The conversation took place in English and the two men were seated in a small private room in a public-house, awaiting the advent of the Strike Committee.
Dey are like de rest of de Community. I vash my hands of dem, said the poet, waving his cigar in a fiery crescent.
I have long since washed my hands of them, said Simon Wolf, though the fact was not obvious. "We can trust neither our Rabbis nor our philanthropists. The Rabbis engrossed in the hypocritical endeavor to galvanize the corpse of Judaism into a vitality that shall last at least their own lifetime, have neither time nor thought for the great labor question. Our philanthropists do but scratch the surface. They give the working-man with their right hand what they have stolen from him with the left."
Simon Wolf was the great Jewish labor leader. Most of his cronies were rampant atheists, disgusted with the commercialism of the believers. They were clever young artisans from Russia and Poland with a smattering of education, a feverish receptiveness for all the iconoclastic ideas that were in the London air, a hatred of capitalism and strong social sympathies. They wrote vigorous jargon for the _Friend of Labor_ and compassed the extreme proverbial limits of impiety by "eating pork on the Day of Atonement." This was done partly to vindicate their religious opinions whose correctness was demonstrated by the non-appearance of thunderbolts, partly to show that nothing one way or the other was to be expected from Providence or its professors.
The only way for our poor brethren to be saved from their slavery, went on Simon Wolf, "is for them to combine against the sweaters and to let the West-End Jews go and hang themselves."
Ah, dat is mine policee, said Pinchas, "dat was mine policee ven I founded de Holy Land League. Help yourselves and Pinchas vill help you. You muz combine, and den I vill be de Moses to lead you out of de land of bondage. _Nein_, I vill be more dan Moses, for he had not de gift of eloquence."
And he was the meekest man that ever lived, added Wolf.
Yes, he was a fool-man, said Pinchas imperturbably. "I agree with Goethe--_nur Lumpen sind bescheiden_, only clods are modaist. I am not modaist. Is the Almighty modaist? I know, I feel vat I am, vat I can do."
Look here, Pinchas, you're a very clever fellow, I know, and I'm very glad to have you with us--but remember I have organized this movement for years, planned it out as I sat toiling in Belcovitch's machine-room, written on it till I've got the cramp, spoken on it till I was hoarse, given evidence before innumerable Commissions. It is I who have stirred up the East-End Jews and sent the echo of their cry into Parliament, and I will not be interfered with. Do you hear?
Yes, I hear. Vy you not listen to me? You no understand vat I mean!
Oh, I understand you well enough. You want to oust me from my position.
Me? Me? repeated the poet in an injured and astonished tone. "Vy midout you de movement vould crumble like a mummy in de air; be not such a fool-man. To everybody I haf said--ah, dat Simon Wolf he is a great man, a vair great man; he is de only man among de English Jews who can save de East-End; it is he that should be member for Vitechapel--not that fool-man Gideon. Be not such a fool-man! Haf anoder glaz sherry and some more ham-sandwiches." The poet had a simple child-like delight in occasionally assuming the host.
Very well, so long as I have your assurance, said the mollified labor-leader, mumbling the conclusion of the sentence into his wine-glass. "But you know how it is! After I have worked the thing for years, I don't want to see a drone come in and take the credit."
Yes, _sic vos non vobis_, as the Talmud says. Do you know I haf proved that Virgil stole all his ideas from the Talmud?
First there was Black and then there was Cohen--now Gideon, M.P., sees he can get some advertisement out of it in the press, he wants to preside at the meetings. Members of Parliament are a bad lot!
Yes--but dey shall not take de credit from you. I will write and expose dem--the world shall know what humbugs dey are, how de whole wealthy West-End stood idly by with her hands in de working-men's pockets while you vere building up de great organization. You know all de jargon-papers jump at vat I write, dey sign my name in vair large type--Melchitsedek Pinchas--under every ting, and I am so pleased with deir homage, I do not ask for payment, for dey are vair poor. By dis time I am famous everywhere, my name has been in de evening papers, and ven I write about you to de _Times_, you vill become as famous as me. And den you vill write about me--ve vill put up for Vitechapel at de elections, ve vill both become membairs of Parliament, I and you, eh?
I'm afraid there's not much chance of that, sighed Simon Wolf.
Vy not? Dere are two seats. Vy should you not haf de Oder?
Ain't you forgetting about election expenses, Pinchas?
_Nein_! repeated the poet emphatically. "I forgets noding. Ve vill start a fund."
We can't start funds for ourselves.
Be not a fool-man; of course not. You for me, I for you.
You won't get much, said Simon, laughing ruefully at the idea.
Tink not? Praps not. But _you_ vill for me. Ven I am in Parliament, de load vill be easier for us both. Besides I vill go to de Continent soon to give avay de rest of de copies of my book. I expect to make dousands of pounds by it--for dey know how to honor scholars and poets abroad. Dere dey haf not stupid-head stockbrokers like Gideon, M.P., ministers like the Reverend Elkan Benjamin who keep four mistresses, and Rabbis like Reb Shemuel vid long white beards outside and emptiness vidin who sell deir daughters.
I don't want to look so far ahead, said Simon Wolf. "At present, what we have to do is to carry this strike through. Once we get our demands from the masters a powerful blow will have been struck for the emancipation of ten thousand working-men. They will have more money and more leisure, a little less of hell and a little more of heaven. The coming Passover would, indeed, be an appropriate festival even for the most heterodox among them if we could strike oft their chains in the interim. But it seems impossible to get unity among them--a large section appears to mistrust me, though I swear to you, Pinchas, I am actuated by nothing but an unselfish desire for their good. May this morsel of sandwich choke me if I have ever been swayed by anything but sympathy with their wrongs. And yet you saw that malicious pamphlet that was circulated against me in Yiddish--silly, illiterate scribble."
Oh, no! said Pinchas. "It was vair beautiful; sharp as de sting of de hornet. But vat can you expect? Christ suffered. All great benefactors suffer. Am _I_ happy? But it is only your own foolishness that you must tank if dere is dissension in de camp. De _Gomorah_ says ve muz be vize, _chocham_, ve muz haf tact. See vat you haf done. You haf frighten avay de ortodox fool-men. Dey are oppressed, dey sweat--but dey tink deir God make dem sweat. Why you tell dem, no? Vat mattairs? Free dem from hunger and tirst first, den freedom from deir fool-superstitions vill come of itself. Jeshurun vax fat and kick? Hey? You go de wrong vay."
Do you mean I'm to pretend to be _froom_, said Simon Wolf.
And ven? Vat mattairs? You are a fool, man. To get to de goal one muz go crooked vays. Ah, you have no stadesmanship. You frighten dem. You lead processions vid bands and banners on _Shabbos_ to de _Shools_. Many who vould be glad to be delivered by you tremble for de heavenly lightning. Dey go not in de procession. Many go when deir head is on fire--afterwards, dey take fright and beat deir breasts. Vat vill happen? De ortodox are de majority; in time dere vill come a leader who vill be, or pretend to be, ortodox as veil as socialist. Den vat become of you? You are left vid von, two, tree ateists--not enough to make _Minyan_. No, ve muz be _chocham_, ve muz take de men as ve find dem. God has made two classes of men--vise-men and fool-men. Dere! is one vise-man to a million fool-men--and he sits on deir head and dey support him. If dese fool-men vant to go to _Shool_ and to fast on _Yom Kippur_, vat for you make a feast of pig and shock dem, so dey not believe in your socialism? Ven you vant to eat pig, you do it here, like ve do now, in private. In public, ve spit out ven ve see pig. Ah, you are a fool-man. I am a stadesman, a politician. I vill be de Machiavelli of de movement.
Ah, Pinchas, you are a devil of a chap, said Wolf, laughing. "And yet you say you are the poet of patriotism and Palestine."
Vy not? Vy should we lif here in captivity? Vy we shall not have our own state--and our own President, a man who combine deep politic vid knowledge of Hebrew literature and de pen of a poet. No, let us fight to get back our country--ve vill not hang our harps on the villows of Babylon and veep--ve vill take our swords vid Ezra and Judas Maccabaeus, and--
One thing at a time, Pinchas, said Simon Wolf. "At present, we have to consider how to distribute these food-tickets. The committee-men are late; I wonder if there has been any fighting at the centres, where they have been addressing meetings."
Ah, dat is anoder point, said Pinchas. "Vy you no let me address meetings--not de little ones in de street, but de great ones in de hall of de Club? Dere my vords vould rush like de moundain dorrents, sveeping avay de corruptions. But you let all dese fool-men talk. You know, Simon, I and you are de only two persons in de East-End who speak Ainglish properly."
I know. But these speeches must be in Yiddish.
_Gewiss_. But who speak her like me and you? You muz gif me a speech to-night.
I can't; really not, said Simon. "The programme's arranged. You know they're all jealous of me already. I dare not leave one out."
Ah, no; do not say dat! said Pinchas, laying his finger pleadingly on the side of his nose.
I must.
You tear my heart in two. I lof you like a brother--almost like a voman. Just von! There was an appealing smile in his eye.
I cannot. I shall have a hornet's nest about my ears.
Von leedle von, Simon Wolf! Again his finger was on his nose.
It is impossible.
You haf not considair how my Yiddish shall make kindle every heart, strike tears from every eye, as Moses did from de rock.
I have. I know. But what am I to do?
Jus dis leedle favor; and I vill be gradeful to you all mine life.
You know I would if I could.
Pinchas's finger was laid more insistently on his nose.
Just dis vonce. Grant me dis, and I vill nevair ask anyding of you in all my life.
No, no. Don't bother, Pinchas. Go away now, said Wolf, getting annoyed. "I have lots to do."
I vill never gif you mine ideas again! said the poet, flashing up, and he went out and banged the door.
The labor-leader settled to his papers with a sigh of relief.
The relief was transient. A moment afterwards the door was slightly opened, and Pinchas's head was protruded through the aperture. The poet wore his most endearing smile, the finger was laid coaxingly against the nose.
Just von leedle speech, Simon. Tink how I lof you.
Oh, well, go away. I'll see, replied Wolf, laughing amid all his annoyance.
The poet rushed in and kissed the hem of Wolf's coat.
Oh, you be a great man! he said. Then he walked out, closing the door gently. A moment afterwards, a vision of the dusky head, with the carneying smile and the finger on the nose, reappeared.
You von't forget your promise, said the head.
No, no. Go to the devil. I won't forget.
Pinchas walked home through streets thronged with excited strikers, discussing the situation with oriental exuberance of gesture, with any one who would listen. The demands of these poor slop-hands (who could only count upon six hours out of the twenty-four for themselves, and who, by the help of their wives and little ones in finishing, might earn a pound a week) were moderate enough--hours from eight to eight, with an hour for dinner and half an hour for tea, two shillings from the government contractors for making a policeman's great-coat instead of one and ninepence halfpenny, and so on and so on. Their intentions were strictly peaceful. Every face was stamped with the marks of intellect and ill-health--the hue of a muddy pallor relieved by the flash of eyes and teeth. Their shoulders stooped, their chests were narrow, their arms flabby. They came in their hundreds to the hall at night. It was square-shaped with a stage and galleries, for a jargon-company sometimes thrilled the Ghetto with tragedy and tickled it with farce. Both species were playing to-night, and in jargon to boot. In real life you always get your drama mixed, and the sock of comedy galls the buskin of tragedy. It was an episode in the pitiful tussle of hunger and greed, yet its humors were grotesque enough.
Full as the Hall was, it was not crowded, for it was Friday night and a large contingent of strikers refused to desecrate the Sabbath by attending the meeting. But these were the zealots--Moses Ansell among them, for he, too, had struck. Having been out of work already he had nothing to lose by augmenting the numerical importance of the agitation. The moderately pious argued that there was no financial business to transact and attendance could hardly come under the denomination of work. It was rather analogous to attendance at a lecture--they would simply have to listen to speeches. Besides it would be but a black Sabbath at home with a barren larder, and they had already been to synagogue. Thus degenerates ancient piety in the stress of modern social problems. Some of the men had not even changed their everyday face for their Sabbath countenance by washing it. Some wore collars, and shiny threadbare garments of dignified origin, others were unaffectedly poverty-stricken with dingy shirt-cuffs peeping out of frayed sleeve edges and unhealthily colored scarfs folded complexly round their necks. A minority belonged to the Free-thinking party, but the majority only availed themselves of Wolf's services because they were indispensable. For the moment he was the only possible leader, and they were sufficiently Jesuitic to use the Devil himself for good ends.
Though Wolf would not give up a Friday-night meeting--especially valuable, as permitting of the attendance of tailors who had not yet struck--Pinchas's politic advice had not failed to make an impression. Like so many reformers who have started with blatant atheism, he was beginning to see the insignificance of irreligious dissent as compared with the solution of the social problem, and Pinchas's seed had fallen on ready soil. As a labor-leader, pure and simple, he could count upon a far larger following than as a preacher of militant impiety. He resolved to keep his atheism in the background for the future and devote himself to the enfranchisement of the body before tampering with the soul. He was too proud ever to acknowledge his indebtedness to the poet's suggestion, but he felt grateful to him all the same.
My brothers, he said in Yiddish, when his turn came to speak. "It pains me much to note how disunited we are. The capitalists, the Belcovitches, would rejoice if they but knew all that is going on. Have we not enemies enough that we must quarrel and split up into little factions among ourselves? (Hear, hear.) How can we hope to succeed unless we are thoroughly organized? It has come to my ears that there are men who insinuate things even about me and before I go on further to-night I wish to put this question to you." He paused and there was a breathless silence. The orator threw his chest forwards and gazing fearlessly at the assembly cried in a stentorian voice:
_"Sind sie zufrieden mit ihrer Chairman?"_ (Are you satisfied with your chairman?)
His audacity made an impression. The discontented cowered timidly in their places.
_Yes_, rolled back from the assembly, proud of its English monosyllables.
_Nein_, cried a solitary voice from the topmost gallery.
Instantly the assembly was on its legs, eyeing the dissentient angrily. "Get down! Go on the platform!" mingled with cries of "order" from the Chairman, who in vain summoned him on to the stage. The dissentient waved a roll of paper violently and refused to modify his standpoint. He was evidently speaking, for his jaws were making movements, which in the din and uproar could not rise above grimaces. There was a battered high hat on the back of his head, and his hair was uncombed, and his face unwashed. At last silence was restored and the tirade became audible.
Cursed sweaters--capitalists--stealing men's brains--leaving us to rot and starve in darkness and filth. Curse them! Curse them! The speaker's voice rose to a hysterical scream, as he rambled on.
Some of the men knew him and soon there flew from lip to lip, "Oh, it's only _Meshuggene David_."
Mad Davy was a gifted Russian university student, who had been mixed up with nihilistic conspiracies and had fled to England where the struggle to find employ for his clerical talents had addled his brain. He had a gift for chess and mechanical invention, and in the early days had saved himself from starvation by the sale of some ingenious patents to a swaggering co-religionist who owned race-horses and a music-hall, but he sank into squaring the circle and inventing perpetual motion. He lived now on the casual crumbs of indigent neighbors, for the charitable organizations had marked him "dangerous." He was a man of infinite loquacity, with an intense jealousy of Simon Wolf or any such uninstructed person who assumed to lead the populace, but when the assembly accorded him his hearing he forgot the occasion of his rising in a burst of passionate invective against society.
When the irrelevancy of his remarks became apparent, he was rudely howled down and his neighbors pulled him into his seat, where he gibbered and mowed inaudibly.
Wolf continued his address.
_Sind sie zufrieden mit ihrer Secretary_?
This time there was no dissent. The _"Yes"_ came like thunder.
_Sind sie zufrieden mit ihrer Treasurer_?
_Yeas_ and _nays_ mingled. The question of the retention, of the functionary was put to the vote. But there was much confusion, for the East-End Jew is only slowly becoming a political animal. The ayes had it, but Wolf was not yet satisfied with the satisfaction of the gathering. He repeated the entire batch of questions in a new formula so as to drive them home.
_Hot aner etwas zu sagen gegen mir_? Which is Yiddish for "has any one anything to say against me?"
_No_! came in a vehement roar.
_Hot aner etwas zu sagen gegen dem secretary_?
_No_!
_Hot aner etwas zu sagen gegen dem treasurer_?
_No!_
Having thus shown his grasp of logical exhaustiveness in a manner unduly exhausting to the more intelligent, Wolf consented to resume his oration. He had scored a victory, and triumph lent him added eloquence. When he ceased he left his audience in a frenzy of resolution and loyalty. In the flush of conscious power and freshly added influence, he found a niche for Pinchas's oratory.
Brethren in exile, said the poet in his best Yiddish.
Pinchas spoke German which is an outlandish form of Yiddish and scarce understanded of the people, so that to be intelligible he had to divest himself of sundry inflections, and to throw gender to the winds and to say "wet" for "wird" and mix hybrid Hebrew and ill-pronounced English with his vocabulary. There was some cheering as Pinchas tossed his dishevelled locks and addressed the gathering, for everybody to whom he had ever spoken knew that he was a wise and learned man and a great singer in Israel.
Brethren in exile, said the poet. "The hour has come for laying the sweaters low. Singly we are sand-grains, together we are the simoom. Our great teacher, Moses, was the first Socialist. The legislation of the Old Testament--the land laws, the jubilee regulations, the tender care for the poor, the subordination of the rights of property to the interests of the working-men--all this is pure Socialism!"
The poet paused for the cheers which came in a mighty volume. Few of those present knew what Socialism was, but all knew the word as a shibboleth of salvation from sweaters. Socialism meant shorter hours and higher wages and was obtainable by marching with banners and brass bands--what need to inquire further?
In short, pursued the poet, "Socialism is Judaism and Judaism is Socialism, and Karl Marx and Lassalle, the founders of Socialism, were Jews. Judaism does not bother with the next world. It says, 'Eat, drink and be satisfied and thank the Lord, thy God, who brought thee out of Egypt from the land of bondage.' But we have nothing to eat, we have nothing to drink, we have nothing to be satisfied with, we are still in the land of bondage." (Cheers.) "My brothers, how can we keep Judaism in a land where there is no Socialism? We must become better Jews, we must bring on Socialism, for the period of Socialism on earth and of peace and plenty and brotherly love is what all our prophets and great teachers meant by Messiah-times."
A little murmur of dissent rose here and there, but Pinchas went on.
When Hillel the Great summed up the law to the would-be proselyte while standing on one leg, how did he express it? 'Do not unto others what you would not have others do unto you.' This is Socialism in a nut-shell. Do not keep your riches for yourself, spread them abroad. Do not fatten on the labor of the poor, but share it. Do not eat the food others have earned, but earn your own. Yes, brothers, the only true Jews in England are the Socialists. Phylacteries, praying-shawls--all nonsense. Work for Socialism--that pleases the Almighty. The Messiah will be a Socialist.
There were mingled sounds, men asking each other dubiously, "What says he?" They began to sniff brimstone. Wolf, shifting uneasily on his chair, kicked the poet's leg in reminder of his own warning. But Pinchas's head was touching the stars again. Mundane considerations were left behind somewhere in the depths of space below his feet.
But how is the Messiah to redeem his people? he asked. "Not now-a-days by the sword but by the tongue. He will plead the cause of Judaism, the cause of Socialism, in Parliament. He will not come with mock miracle like Bar Cochba or Zevi. At the general election, brothers, I will stand as the candidate for Whitechapel. I, a poor man, one of yourselves, will take my stand in that mighty assembly and touch the hearts of the legislators. They shall bend before my oratory as the bulrushes of the Nile when the wind passes. They will make me Prime Minister like Lord Beaconsfield, only he was no true lover of his people, he was not the Messiah. To hell with the rich bankers and the stockbrokers--we want them not. We will free ourselves."
The extraordinary vigor of the poet's language and gestures told. Only half comprehending, the majority stamped and huzzahed. Pinchas swelled visibly. His slim, lithe form, five and a quarter feet high, towered over the assembly. His complexion was as burnished copper, his eyes flashed flame.
Yes, brethren, he resumed. "These Anglo-Jewish swine trample unheeding on the pearls of poetry and scholarship, they choose for Ministers men with four mistresses, for Chief Rabbis hypocrites who cannot even write the holy tongue grammatically, for _Dayanim_ men who sell their daughters to the rich, for Members of Parliament stockbrokers who cannot speak English, for philanthropists greengrocers who embezzle funds. Let us have nothing to do with these swine--Moses our teacher forbade it. (Laughter.) I will be the Member for Whitechapel. See, my name Melchitsedek Pinchas already makes M.P.--it was foreordained. If every letter of the _Torah_ has its special meaning, and none was put by chance, why should the finger of heaven not have written my name thus: M.P.--Melchitsedek Pinchas. Ah, our brother Wolf speaks truth--wisdom issues from his lips. Put aside your petty quarrels and unite in working for my election to Parliament. Thus and thus only shall you be redeemed from bondage, made from beasts of burden into men, from slaves to citizens, from false Jews to true Jews. Thus and thus only shall you eat, drink and be satisfied, and thank me for bringing you out of the land of bondage. Thus and thus only shall Judaism cover the world as the waters cover the sea."
The fervid peroration overbalanced the audience, and from all sides except the platform applause warmed the poet's ears. He resumed his seat, and as he did so he automatically drew out a match and a cigar, and lit the one with the other. Instantly the applause dwindled, died; there was a moment of astonished silence, then a roar of execration. The bulk of the audience, as Pinchas, sober, had been shrewd enough to see, was still orthodox. This public desecration of the Sabbath by smoking was intolerable. How should the God of Israel aid the spread of Socialism and the shorter hours movement and the rise of prices a penny on a coat, if such devil's incense were borne to His nostrils? Their vague admiration of Pinchas changed into definite distrust. "_Epikouros, Epikouros, Meshumad_" resounded from all sides. The poet looked wonderingly about him, failing to grasp the situation. Simon Wolf saw his opportunity. With an angry jerk he knocked the glowing cigar from between the poet's teeth. There was a yell of delight and approbation.
Wolf jumped to his feet. "Brothers," he roared, "you know I am not _froom_, but I will not have anybody else's feelings trampled upon." So saying, he ground the cigar under his heel.
Immediately an abortive blow from the poet's puny arm swished the air. Pinchas was roused, the veins on his forehead swelled, his heart thumped rapidly in his bosom. Wolf shook his knobby fist laughingly at the poet, who made no further effort to use any other weapon of offence but his tongue.
Hypocrite! he shrieked. "Liar! Machiavelli! Child of the separation! A black year on thee! An evil spirit in thy bones and in the bones of thy father and mother. Thy father was a proselyte and thy mother an abomination. The curses of Deuteronomy light on thee. Mayest thou become covered with boils like Job! And you," he added, turning on the audience, "pack of Men-of-the-earth! Stupid animals! How much longer will you bend your neck to the yoke of superstition while your bellies are empty? Who says I shall not smoke? Was tobacco known to Moses our Teacher? If so he would have enjoyed it on the _Shabbos_. He was a wise man like me. Did the Rabbis know of it? No, fortunately, else they were so stupid they would have forbidden it. You are all so ignorant that you think not of these things. Can any one show me where it stands that we must not smoke on _Shabbos_? Is not _Shabbos_ a day of rest, and how can we rest if we smoke not? I believe with the Baal-Shem that God is more pleased when I smoke my cigar than at the prayers of all the stupid Rabbis. How dare you rob me of my cigar--is that keeping _Shabbos_?" He turned back to Wolf, and tried to push his foot from off the cigar. There was a brief struggle. A dozen men leaped on the platform and dragged the poet away from his convulsive clasp of the labor-leader's leg. A few opponents of Wolf on the platform cried, "Let the man alone, give him his cigar," and thrust themselves amongst the invaders. The hall was in tumult. From the gallery the voice of Mad Davy resounded again:
Cursed sweaters--stealing men's brains--darkness and filth--curse them! Blow them up I as we blew up Alexander. Curse them!
Pinchas was carried, shrieking hysterically, and striving to bite the arms of his bearers, through the tumultuous crowd, amid a little ineffective opposition, and deposited outside the door.
Wolf made another speech, sealing the impression he had made. Then the poor narrow-chested pious men went home through the cold air to recite the Song of Solomon in their stuffy back-rooms and garrets. "Behold thou art fair, my love," they intoned in a strange chant. "Behold thou art fair, thou hast doves' eyes. Behold thou art fair, my beloved, yea pleasant; also our couch is green. The beams of our house are cedar and our rafters are fir. For lo, the winter is past, the rain is over and gone; the flowers appear upon the earth; the time of the singing of birds is come and the voice of the turtle is heard in our land. Thy plants are an orchard of pomegranates, with pleasant fruits, calamus, cinnamon with all trees of frankincense; myrrh and aloe with all the chief spices; a fountain of gardens; a well of living waters and streams from Lebanon. Awake, O north wind and come, thou south, blow upon my garden that the spices thereof may flow out."
The strike came to an end soon after. To the delight of Melchitsedek Pinchas, Gideon, M.P., intervened at the eleventh hour, unceremoniously elbowing Simon Wolf out of his central position. A compromise was arranged and jubilance and tranquillity reigned for some months, till the corruptions of competitive human nature brought back the old state of things--for employers have quite a diplomatic reverence for treaties and the brotherly love of employees breaks down under the strain of supporting families. Rather to his own surprise Moses Ansell found himself in work at least three days a week, the other three being spent in hanging round the workshop waiting for it. It is an uncertain trade, is the manufacture of slops, which was all Moses was fitted for, but if you are not at hand you may miss the "work" when it does come.
It never rains but it pours, and so more luck came to the garret of No. 1 Royal Street. Esther won five pounds at school. It was the Henry Goldsmith prize, a new annual prize for general knowledge, instituted by a lady named Mrs. Henry Goldsmith who had just joined the committee, and the semi-divine person herself--a surpassingly beautiful radiant being, like a princess in a fairy tale--personally congratulated her upon her success. The money was not available for a year, but the neighbors hastened to congratulate the family on its rise to wealth. Even Levi Jacob's visits became more frequent, though this could scarcely be ascribed to mercenary motives.
The Belcovitches recognized their improved status so far as to send to borrow some salt: for the colony of No. 1 Royal Street carried on an extensive system of mutual accommodation, coals, potatoes, chunks of bread, saucepans, needles, wood-choppers, all passing daily to and fro. Even garments and jewelry were lent on great occasions, and when that dear old soul Mrs. Simons went to a wedding she was decked out in contributions from a dozen wardrobes. The Ansells themselves were too proud to borrow though they were not above lending.
It was early morning and Moses in his big phylacteries was droning his orisons. His mother had had an attack of spasms and so he was praying at home to be at hand in case of need. Everybody was up, and Moses was superintending the household even while he was gabbling psalms. He never minded breaking off his intercourse with Heaven to discuss domestic affairs, for he was on free and easy terms with the powers that be, and there was scarce a prayer in the liturgy which he would not interrupt to reprimand Solomon for lack of absorption in the same. The exception was the _Amidah_ or eighteen Blessings, so-called because there are twenty-two. This section must be said standing and inaudibly and when Moses was engaged upon it, a message from an earthly monarch would have extorted no reply from him. There were other sacred silences which Moses would not break save of dire necessity and then only by talking Hebrew; but the _Amidah_ was the silence of silences. This was why the utterly unprecedented arrival of a telegraph boy did not move him. Not even Esther's cry of alarm when she opened the telegram had any visible effect upon him, though in reality he whispered off his prayer at a record-beating rate and duly danced three times on his toes with spasmodic celerity at the finale.
Father, said Esther, the never before received species of letter trembling in her hand, "we must go at once to see Benjy. He is very ill."
Has he written to say so?
No, this is a telegram. I have read of such. Oh! perhaps he is dead. It is always so in books. They break the news by saying the dead are still alive. Her tones died away in a sob. The children clustered round her--Rachel and Solomon fought for the telegram in their anxiety to read it. Ikey and Sarah stood grave and interested. The sick grandmother sat up in bed excited.
He never showed me his 'four corners,' she moaned. "Perhaps he did not wear the fringes at all."
Father, dost thou hear? said Esther, for Moses Ansell was fingering the russet envelope with a dazed air. "We must go to the Orphanage at once."
Read it! What stands in the letter? said Moses Ansell.
She took the telegram from the hands of Solomon. "It stands, 'Come up at once. Your son Benjamin very ill.'"
Tu! Tu! Tu! clucked Moses. "The poor child. But how can we go up? Thou canst not walk there. It will take _me_ more than three hours."
His praying-shawl slid from his shoulders in his agitation.
Thou must not walk, either! cried Esther excitedly. "We must get to him at once! Who knows if he will be alive when we come? We must go by train from London Bridge the way Benjy came that Sunday. Oh, my poor Benjy!"
Give me back the paper, Esther, interrupted Solomon, taking it from her limp hand. "The boys have never seen a telegram."
But we cannot spare the money, urged Moses helplessly. "We have just enough money to get along with to-day. Solomon, go on with thy prayers; thou seizest every excuse to interrupt them. Rachel, go away from him. Thou art also a disturbing Satan to him. I do not wonder his teacher flogged him black and blue yesterday--he is a stubborn and rebellious son who should be stoned, according to Deuteronomy."
We must do without dinner, said Esther impulsively.
Sarah sat down on the floor and howled "Woe is me! Woe is me!"
I didden touch 'er, cried Ikey in indignant bewilderment.
'Tain't Ikey! sobbed Sarah. "Little Tharah wants 'er dinner."
Thou hearest? said Moses pitifully. "How can we spare the money?"
How much is it? asked Esther.
It will be a shilling each there and back, replied Moses, who from his long periods of peregrination was a connoisseur in fares. "How can we afford it when I lose a morning's work into the bargain?"
No, what talkest thou? said Esther. "Thou art looking a few months ahead--thou deemest perhaps, I am already twelve. It will be only sixpence for me."
Moses did not disclaim the implied compliment to his rigid honesty but answered:
Where is my head? Of course thou goest half-price. But even so where is the eighteenpence to come from?
But it is not eighteenpence! ejaculated Esther with a new inspiration. Necessity was sharpening her wits to extraordinary acuteness. "We need not take return tickets. We can walk back."
But we cannot be so long away from the mother--both of us, said Moses. "She, too, is ill. And how will the children do without thee? I will go by myself."
No, I must see Benjy! Esther cried.
Be not so stiff-necked, Esther! Besides, it stands in the letter that I am to come--they do not ask thee. Who knows that the great people will not be angry if I bring thee with me? I dare say Benjamin will soon be better. He cannot have been ill long.
But, quick, then, father, quick! cried Esther, yielding to the complex difficulties of the position. "Go at once."
Immediately, Esther. Wait only till I have finished my prayers. I am nearly done.
No! No! cried Esther agonized. "Thou prayest so much--God will let thee off a little bit just for once. Thou must go at once and ride both ways, else how shall we know what has happened? I will pawn my new prize and that will give thee money enough."
Good! said Moses. "While thou art pledging the book I shall have time to finish _davening_." He hitched up his _Talith_ and commenced to gabble off, "Happy are they who dwell in Thy house; ever shall they praise Thee, Selah," and was already saying, "And a Redeemer shall come unto Zion," by the time Esther rushed out through the door with the pledge. It was a gaudily bound volume called "Treasures of Science," and Esther knew it almost by heart, having read it twice from gilt cover to gilt cover. All the same, she would miss it sorely. The pawnbroker lived only round the corner, for like the publican he springs up wherever the conditions are favorable. He was a Christian; by a curious anomaly the Ghetto does not supply its own pawnbrokers, but sends them out to the provinces or the West End. Perhaps the business instinct dreads the solicitation of the racial.
Esther's pawnbroker was a rubicund portly man. He knew the fortunes of a hundred families by the things left with him or taken back. It was on his stuffy shelves that poor Benjamin's coat had lain compressed and packed away when it might have had a beautiful airing in the grounds of the Crystal Palace. It was from his stuffy shelves that Esther's mother had redeemed it--a day after the fair--soon to be herself compressed and packed away in a pauper's coffin, awaiting in silence whatsoever Redemption might be. The best coat itself had long since been sold to a ragman, for Solomon, upon whose back it devolved, when Benjamin was so happily translated, could never be got to keep a best coat longer than a year, and when a best coat is degraded to every-day wear its attrition is much more than six times as rapid.
Good mornen, my little dear, said the rubicund man. "You're early this mornen." The apprentice had, indeed, only just taken down the shutters. "What can I do for you to-day? You look pale, my dear; what's the matter?"
I have a bran-new seven and sixpenny book, she answered hurriedly, passing it to him.
He turned instinctively to the fly-leaf.
Bran-new book! he said contemptuously. "'Esther Ansell--For improvement!' When a book's spiled like that, what can you expect for it?"
Why, it's the inscription that makes it valuable, said Esther tearfully.
Maybe, said the rubicund man gruffly. "But d'yer suppose I should just find a buyer named Esther Ansell?" Do you suppose everybody in the world's named Esther Ansell or is capable of improvement?"
No, breathed Esther dolefully. "But I shall take it out myself soon."
In this world, said the rubicund man, shaking his head sceptically, "there ain't never no knowing. Well, how much d'yer want?"
I only want a shilling, said Esther, "and threepence," she added as a happy thought.
All right, said the rubicund man softened. "I won't 'aggle this mornen. You look quite knocked up. Here you are!" and Esther darted out of the shop with the money clasped tightly in her palm.
Moses had folded his phylacteries with pious primness and put them away in a little bag, and he was hastily swallowing a cup of coffee.
Here is the shilling, she cried. "And twopence extra for the 'bus to London Bridge. Quick!" She put the ticket away carefully among its companions in a discolored leather purse her father had once picked up in the street, and hurried him off. When his steps ceased on the stairs, she yearned to run after him and go with him, but Ikey was clamoring for breakfast and the children had to run off to school. She remained at home herself, for the grandmother groaned heavily. When the other children had gone off she tidied up the vacant bed and smoothed the old woman's pillows. Suddenly Benjamin's reluctance to have his father exhibited before his new companions recurred to her; she hoped Moses would not be needlessly obtrusive and felt that if she had gone with him she might have supplied tact in this direction. She reproached herself for not having made him a bit more presentable. She should have spared another halfpenny for a new collar, and seen that he was washed; but in the rush and alarm all thoughts of propriety had been submerged. Then her thoughts went off at a tangent and she saw her class-room, where new things were being taught, and new marks gained. It galled her to think she was missing both. She felt so lonely in the company of her grandmother, she could have gone downstairs and cried on Dutch Debby's musty lap. Then she strove to picture the room where Benjy was lying, but her imagination lacked the data. She would not let herself think the brilliant Benjamin was dead, that he would be sewn up in a shroud just like his poor mother, who had no literary talent whatever, but she wondered whether he was groaning like the grandmother. And so, half distracted, pricking up her ears at the slightest creak on the stairs, Esther waited for news of her Benjy. The hours dragged on and on, and the children coming home at one found dinner ready but Esther still waiting. A dusty sunbeam streamed in through the garret window as though to give her hope.
Benjamin had been beguiled from his books into an unaccustomed game of ball in the cold March air. He had taken off his jacket and had got very hot with his unwonted exertions. A reactionary chill followed. Benjamin had a slight cold, which being ignored, developed rapidly into a heavy one, still without inducing the energetic lad to ask to be put upon the sick list. Was not the publishing day of _Our Own_ at hand?
The cold became graver with the same rapidity, and almost as soon as the boy had made complaint he was in a high fever, and the official doctor declared that pneumonia had set in. In the night Benjamin was delirious, and the nurse summoned the doctor, and next morning his condition was so critical that his father was telegraphed for. There was little to be done by science--all depended on the patient's constitution. Alas! the four years of plenty and country breezes had not counteracted the eight and three-quarter years of privation and foul air, especially in a lad more intent on emulating Dickens and Thackeray than on profiting by the advantages of his situation.
When Moses arrived he found his boy tossing restlessly in a little bed, in a private little room away from the great dormitories. "The matron"--a sweet-faced young lady--was bending tenderly over him, and a nurse sat at the bedside. The doctor stood--waiting--at the foot of the bed. Moses took his boy's hand. The matron silently stepped aside. Benjamin stared at him with wide, unrecognizing eyes.
_Nu_, how goes it, Benjamin? cried Moses in Yiddish, with mock heartiness.
Thank you, old Four-Eyes. It's very good of you to come. I always said there mustn't be any hits at you in the paper. I always told the fellows you were a very decent chap.
What says he? asked Moses, turning to the company. "I cannot understand English."
They could not understand his own question, but the matron guessed it. She tapped her forehead and shook her head for reply. Benjamin closed his eyes and there was silence. Presently he opened them and looked straight at his father. A deeper crimson mantled on the flushed cheek as Benjamin beheld the dingy stooping being to whom he owed birth. Moses wore a dirty red scarf below his untrimmed beard, his clothes were greasy, his face had not yet been washed, and--for a climax--he had not removed his hat, which other considerations than those of etiquette should have impelled him to keep out of sight.
I thought you were old Four-Eyes, the boy murmured in confusion--"Wasn't he here just now?"
Go and fetch Mr. Coleman, said the matron, to the nurse, half-smiling through tears at her own knowledge of the teacher's nickname and wondering what endearing term she was herself known by.
Cheer up, Benjamin, said his father, seeing his boy had become sensible of his presence. "Thou wilt be all right soon. Thou hast been much worse than this."
What does he say? asked Benjamin, turning his eyes towards the matron.
He says he is sorry to see you so bad, said the matron, at a venture.
But I shall be up soon, won't I? I can't have _Our Own_ delayed, whispered Benjamin.
Don't worry about _Our Own_, my poor boy, murmured the matron, pressing his forehead. Moses respectfully made way for her.
What says he? he asked. The matron repeated the words, but Moses could not understand the English.
Old Four-Eyes arrived--a mild spectacled young man. He looked at the doctor, and the doctor's eye told him all.
Ah, Mr. Coleman, said Benjamin, with joyous huskiness, "you'll see that _Our Own_ comes out this week as usual. Tell Jack Simmonds he must not forget to rule black lines around the page containing Bruno's epitaph. Bony-nose--I--I mean Mr. Bernstein, wrote it for us in dog-Latin. Isn't it a lark? Thick, black lines, tell him. He was a good dog and only bit one boy in his life."
All right. I'll see to it, old Four-Eyes assured him with answering huskiness.
What says he? helplessly inquired Moses, addressing himself to the newcomer.
Isn't it a sad case, Mr. Coleman? said the matron, in a low tone. "They can't understand each other."
You ought to keep an interpreter on the premises, said the doctor, blowing his nose. Coleman struggled with himself. He knew the jargon to perfection, for his parents spoke it still, but he had always posed as being ignorant of it.
Tell my father to go home, and not to bother; I'm all right--only a little weak, whispered Benjamin.
Coleman was deeply perturbed. He was wondering whether he should plead guilty to a little knowledge, when a change of expression came over the wan face on the pillow. The doctor came and felt the boy's pulse.
No, I don't want to hear that _Maaseh_, cried Benjamin. "Tell me about the Sambatyon, father, which refuses to flow on _Shabbos_."
He spoke Yiddish, grown a child again. Moses's face lit up with joy. His eldest born had returned to intelligibility. There was hope still then. A sudden burst of sunshine flooded the room. In London the sun would not break through the clouds for some hours. Moses leaned over the pillow, his face working with blended emotions. Me let a hot tear fall on his boy's upturned face.
Hush, hush, my little Benjamin, don't cry, said Benjamin, and began to sing in his mothers jargon:
"Sleep, little father, sleep, Thy father shall be a Rav, Thy mother shall bring little apples, Blessings on thy little head,
"Moses saw his dead Gittel lulling his boy to sleep. Blinded by his tears, he did not see that they were falling thick upon the little white face.
Nay, dry thy tears, I tell thee, my little Benjamin, said Benjamin, in tones more tender and soothing, and launched into the strange wailing melody:
"Alas, woe is me! How wretched to be Driven away and banished, Yet so young, from thee.
"And Joseph's mother called to him from the grave: Be comforted, my son, a great future shall be thine.
The end is near, old Four-Eyes whispered to the father in jargon. Moses trembled from head to foot. "My poor lamb! My poor Benjamin," he wailed. "I thought thou wouldst say _Kaddish_ after me, not I for thee." Then he began to recite quietly the Hebrew prayers. The hat he should have removed was appropriate enough now.
Benjamin sat up excitedly in bed: "There's mother, Esther!" he cried in English. "Coming back with my coat. But what's the use of it now?"
His head fell back again. Presently a look of yearning came over the face so full of boyish beauty. "Esther," he said. "Wouldn't you like to be in the green country to-day? Look how the sun shines."
It shone, indeed, with deceptive warmth, bathing in gold the green country that stretched beyond, and dazzling the eyes of the dying boy. The birds twittered outside the window. "Esther!" he said, wistfully, "do you think there'll be another funeral soon?".
The matron burst into tears and turned away.
Benjamin, cried the father, frantically, thinking the end had come, "say the _Shemang_."
The boy stared at him, a clearer look in his eyes.
Say the _Shemang_! said Moses peremptorily. The word _Shemang_, the old authoritative tone, penetrated the consciousness of the dying boy.
Yes, father, I was just going to, he grumbled, submissively.
They repeated the last declaration of the dying Israelite together. It was in Hebrew. "Hear, O Israel, the Lord our God, the Lord is one." Both understood that.
Benjamin lingered on a few more minutes, and died in a painless torpor.
He is dead, said the doctor.
Blessed be the true Judge, said Moses. He rent his coat, and closed the staring eyes. Then he went to the toilet table and turned the looking-glass to the wall, and opened the window and emptied the jug of water upon the green sunlit grass.
"No, don't stop me, Pinchas," said Gabriel Hamburg. "I'm packing up, and I shall spend my Passover in Stockholm. The Chief Rabbi there has discovered a manuscript which I am anxious to see, and as I have saved up a little money I shall speed thither."
Ah, he pays well, that boy-fool, Raphael Leon, said Pinchas, emitting a lazy ring of smoke.
What do you mean? cried Gabriel, flushing angrily. "Do you mean, perhaps, that _you_ have been getting money out of him?"
Precisely. That is what I _do_ mean, said the poet naively. "What else?"
Well, don't let me hear you call him a fool. He _is_ one to send you money, but then it is for others to call him so. That boy will be a great man in Israel. The son of rich English Jews--a Harrow-boy, yet he already writes Hebrew almost grammatically.
Pinchas was aware of this fact: had he not written to the lad (in response to a crude Hebrew eulogium and a crisp Bank of England note): "I and thou are the only two people in England who write the Holy Tongue grammatically."
He replied now: "It is true; soon he will vie with me and you."
The old scholar took snuff impatiently. The humors of Pinchas were beginning to pall upon him.
Good-bye, he said again.
No, wait, yet a little, said Pinchas, buttonholing him resolutely. "I want to show you my acrostic on Simon Wolf; ah! I will shoot him, the miserable labor-leader, the wretch who embezzles the money of the Socialist fools who trust him. Aha! it will sting like Juvenal, that acrostic."
I haven't time, said the gentle savant, beginning to lose his temper.
Well, have I time? I have to compose a three-act comedy by to-morrow at noon. I expect I shall have to sit up all night to get it done in time. Then, anxious to complete the conciliation of the old snuff-and-pepper-box, as he mentally christened him for his next acrostic, he added: "If there is anything in this manuscript that you cannot decipher or understand, a letter to me, care of Reb Shemuel, will always find me. Somehow I have a special genius for filling up _lacunae_ in manuscripts. You remember the famous discovery that I made by rewriting the six lines torn out of the first page of that Midrash I discovered in Cyprus."
Yes, those six lines proved it thoroughly, sneered the savant.
Aha! You see! said the poet, a gratified smile pervading his dusky features. "But I must tell you of this comedy--it will be a satirical picture (in the style of Moliere, only sharper) of Anglo-Jewish Society. The Rev. Elkan Benjamin, with his four mistresses, they will all be there, and Gideon, the Man-of-the-Earth, M.P.,--ah, it will be terrible. If I could only get them to see it performed, they should have free passes."
No, shoot them first; it would be more merciful. But where is this comedy to be played? asked Hamburg curiously.
At the Jargon Theatre, the great theatre in Prince's Street, the only real national theatre in England. The English stage--Drury Lane--pooh! It is not in harmony with the people; it does not express them.
Hamburg could not help smiling. He knew the wretched little hall, since tragically famous for a massacre of innocents, victims to the fatal cry of fire--more deadly than fiercest flame.
But how will your audience understand it? he asked.
Aha! said the poet, laying his finger on his nose and grinning. "They will understand. They know the corruptions of our society. All this conspiracy to crush me, to hound me out of England so that ignoramuses may prosper and hypocrites wax fat--do you think it is not the talk of the Ghetto? What! Shall it be the talk of Berlin, of Constantinople, of Mogadore, of Jerusalem, of Paris, and here it shall not be known? Besides, the leading actress will speak a prologue. Ah! she is beautiful, beautiful as Lilith, as the Queen of Sheba, as Cleopatra! And how she acts! She and Rachel--both Jewesses! Think of it! Ah, we are a great people. If I could tell you the secrets of her eyes as she looks at me--but no, you are dry as dust, a creature of prose! And there will be an orchestra, too, for Pesach Weingott has promised to play the overture on his fiddle. How he stirs the soul! It is like David playing before Saul."
Yes, but it won't be javelins the people will throw, murmured Hamburg, adding aloud: "I suppose you have written the music of this overture."
No, I cannot write music, said Pinchas.
Good heavens! You don't say so? gasped Gabriel Hamburg. "Let that be my last recollection of you! No! Don't say another word! Don't spoil it! Good-bye." And he tore himself away, leaving the poet bewildered.
Mad! Mad! said Pinchas, tapping his brow significantly; "mad, the old snuff-and-pepper-box." He smiled at the recollection of his latest phrase. "These scholars stagnate so. They see not enough of the women. Ha! I will go and see my actress."
He threw out his chest, puffed out a volume of smoke, and took his way to Petticoat Lane. The compatriot of Rachel was wrapping up a scrag of mutton. She was a butcher's daughter and did not even wield the chopper, as Mrs. Siddons is reputed to have flourished the domestic table-knife. She was a simple, amiable girl, who had stepped into the position of lead in the stock jargon company as a way of eking out her pocket-money, and because there was no one else who wanted the post. She was rather plain except when be-rouged and be-pencilled. The company included several tailors and tailoresses of talent, and the low comedian was a Dutchman who sold herrings. They all had the gift of improvisation more developed than memory, and consequently availed themselves of the faculty that worked easier. The repertory was written by goodness knew whom, and was very extensive. It embraced all the species enumerated by Polonius, including comic opera, which was not known to the Danish saw-monger. There was nothing the company would not have undertaken to play or have come out of with a fair measure of success. Some of the plays were on Biblical subjects, but only a minority. There were also plays in rhyme, though Yiddish knows not blank verse. Melchitsedek accosted his interpretess and made sheep's-eyes at her. But an actress who serves in a butcher's shop is doubly accustomed to such, and being busy the girl paid no attention to the poet, though the poet was paying marked attention to her.
Kiss me, thou beauteous one, the gems of whose crown are foot-lights, said the poet, when the custom ebbed for a moment.
If thou comest near me, said the actress whirling the chopper, "I'll chop thy ugly little head off."
Unless thou lendest me thy lips thou shalt not play in my comedy, said Pinchas angrily.
_My_ trouble! said the leading lady, shrugging her shoulders.
Pinchas made several reappearances outside the open shop, with his insinuative finger on his nose and his insinuative smile on his face, but in the end went away with a flea in his ear and hunted up the actor-manager, the only person who made any money, to speak of, out of the performances. That gentleman had not yet consented to produce the play that Pinchas had ready in manuscript and which had been coveted by all the great theatres in the world, but which he, Pinchas, had reserved for the use of the only actor in Europe. The result of this interview was that the actor-manager yielded to Pinchas's solicitations, backed by frequent applications of poetic finger to poetic nose.
But, said the actor-manager, with a sudden recollection, "how about the besom?"
The besom! repeated Pinchas, nonplussed for once.
Yes, thou sayest thou hast seen all the plays I have produced. Hast thou not noticed that I have a besom in all my plays?
Aha! Yes, I remember, said Pinchas.
An old garden-besom it is, said the actor-manager. "And it is the cause of all my luck." He took up a house-broom that stood in the corner. "In comedy I sweep the floor with it--so--and the people grin; in comic-opera I beat time with it as I sing--so--and the people laugh; in farce I beat my mother-in-law with it--so--and the people roar; in tragedy I lean upon it--so--and the people thrill; in melodrama I sweep away the snow with it--so--and the people burst into tears. Usually I have my plays written beforehand and the authors are aware of the besom. Dost thou think," he concluded doubtfully, "that thou hast sufficient ingenuity to work in the besom now that the play is written?"
Pinchas put his finger to his nose and smiled reassuringly.
It shall be all besom, he said.
And when wilt thou read it to me?
Will to-morrow this time suit thee?
As honey a bear.
Good, then! said Pinchas; "I shall not fail."
The door closed upon him. In another moment it reopened a bit and he thrust his grinning face through the aperture.
Ten per cent. of the receipts! he said with his cajoling digito-nasal gesture.
Certainly, rejoined the actor-manager briskly. "After paying the expenses--ten per cent. of the receipts."
Thou wilt not forget?
I shall not forget.
Pinchas strode forth into the street and lit a new cigar in his exultation. How lucky the play was not yet written! Now he would be able to make it all turn round the axis of the besom. "It shall be all besom!" His own phrase rang in his ears like voluptuous marriage bells. Yes, it should, indeed, be all besom. With that besom he would sweep all his enemies--all the foul conspirators--in one clean sweep, down, down to Sheol. He would sweep them along the floor with it--so--and grin; he would beat time to their yells of agony--so--and laugh; he would beat them over the heads--so--and roar; he would lean upon it in statuesque greatness--so--and thrill; he would sweep away their remains with it--so--and weep for joy of countermining and quelling the long persecution.
All night he wrote the play at railway speed, like a night express--puffing out volumes of smoke as he panted along. "I dip my pen in their blood," he said from time to time, and threw back his head and laughed aloud in the silence of the small hours.
Pinchas had a good deal to do to explain the next day to the actor-manager where the fun came in. "Thou dost not grasp all the allusions, the back-handed slaps, the hidden poniards; perhaps not," the author acknowledged. "But the great heart of the people--it will understand."
The actor-manager was unconvinced, but he admitted there was a good deal of besom, and in consideration of the poet bating his terms to five per cent. of the receipts he agreed to give it a chance. The piece was billed widely in several streets under the title of "The Hornet of Judah," and the name of Melchitsedek Pinchas appeared in letters of the size stipulated by the finger on the nose.
But the leading actress threw up her part at the last moment, disgusted by the poet's amorous advances; Pinchas volunteered to play the part himself and, although his offer was rejected, he attired himself in skirts and streaked his complexion with red and white to replace the promoted second actress, and shaved off his beard.
But in spite of this heroic sacrifice, the gods were unpropitious. They chaffed the poet in polished Yiddish throughout the first two acts. There was only a sprinkling of audience (most of it paper) in the dimly-lit hall, for the fame of the great writer had not spread from Berlin, Mogadore, Constantinople and the rest of the universe.
No one could make head or tail of the piece with its incessant play of occult satire against clergymen with four mistresses, Rabbis who sold their daughters, stockbrokers ignorant of Hebrew and destitute of English, greengrocers blowing Messianic and their own trumpets, labor-leaders embezzling funds, and the like. In vain the actor-manager swept the floor with the besom, beat time with the besom, beat his mother-in-law with the besom, leaned on the besom, swept bits of white paper with the besom. The hall, empty of its usual crowd, was fuller of derisive laughter. At last the spectators tired of laughter and the rafters re-echoed with hoots. At the end of the second act, Melchitsedek Pinchas addressed the audience from the stage, in his ample petticoats, his brow streaming with paint and perspiration. He spoke of the great English conspiracy and expressed his grief and astonishment at finding it had infected the entire Ghetto.
There was no third act. It was the poet's first--and last--appearance on any stage.
The learned say that Passover was a Spring festival even before it was associated with the Redemption from Egypt, but there is not much Nature to worship in the Ghetto and the historical elements of the Festival swamp all the others. Passover still remains the most picturesque of the "Three Festivals" with its entire transmogrification of things culinary, its thorough taboo of leaven. The audacious archaeologist of the thirtieth century may trace back the origin of the festival to the Spring Cleaning, the annual revel of the English housewife, for it is now that the Ghetto whitewashes itself and scrubs itself and paints itself and pranks itself and purifies its pans in a baptism of fire. Now, too, the publican gets unto himself a white sheet and suspends it at his door and proclaims that he sells _Kosher rum_ by permission of the Chief Rabbi. Now the confectioner exchanges his "stuffed monkeys," and his bolas and his jam-puffs, and his cheese-cakes for unleavened "palavas," and worsted balls and almond cakes. Time was when the Passover dietary was restricted to fruit and meat and vegetables, but year by year the circle is expanding, and it should not be beyond the reach of ingenuity to make bread itself Passoverian. It is now that the pious shopkeeper whose store is tainted with leaven sells his business to a friendly Christian, buying it back at the conclusion of the festival. Now the Shalotten _Shammos_ is busy from morning to night filling up charity-forms, artistically multiplying the poor man's children and dividing his rooms. Now is holocaust made of a people's bread-crumbs, and now is the national salutation changed to "How do the _Motsos_ agree with you?" half of the race growing facetious, and the other half finical over the spotted Passover cakes.
It was on the evening preceding the opening of Passover that Esther Ansell set forth to purchase a shilling's worth of fish in Petticoat Lane, involuntarily storing up in her mind vivid impressions of the bustling scene. It is one of the compensations of poverty that it allows no time for mourning. Daily duty is the poor man's nepenthe.
Esther and her father were the only two members of the family upon whom the death of Benjamin made a deep impression. He had been so long away from home that he was the merest shadow to the rest. But Moses bore the loss with resignation, his emotions discharging themselves in the daily _Kaddish_. Blent with his personal grief was a sorrow for the commentaries lost to Hebrew literature by his boy's premature transference to Paradise. Esther's grief was more bitter and defiant. All the children were delicate, but it was the first time death had taken one. The meaningless tragedy of Benjamin's end shook the child's soul to its depths. Poor lad! How horrible to be lying cold and ghastly beneath the winter snow! What had been the use of all his long prepay rations to write great novels? The name of Ansell would now become ingloriously extinct. She wondered whether _Our Own_ would collapse and secretly felt it must. And then what of the hopes of worldly wealth she had built on Benjamin's genius? Alas! the emancipation of the Ansells from the yoke of poverty was clearly postponed. To her and her alone must the family now look for deliverance. Well, she would take up the mantle of the dead boy, and fill it as best she might. She clenched her little hands in iron determination. Moses Ansell knew nothing either of her doubts or her ambitions. Work was still plentiful three days a week, and he was unconscious he was not supporting his family in comparative affluence. But even with Esther the incessant grind of school-life and quasi-motherhood speedily rubbed away the sharper edges of sorrow, though the custom prohibiting obvious pleasures during the year of mourning went in no danger of transgression, for poor little Esther gadded neither to children's balls nor to theatres. Her thoughts were full of the prospects of piscine bargains, as she pushed her way through a crowd so closely wedged, and lit up by such a flare of gas from the shops and such streamers of flame from the barrows that the cold wind of early April lost its sting.
Two opposing currents of heavy-laden pedestrians were endeavoring in their progress to occupy the same strip of pavement at the same moment, and the laws of space kept them blocked till they yielded to its remorseless conditions. Rich and poor elbowed one another, ladies in satins and furs were jammed against wretched looking foreign women with their heads swathed in dirty handkerchiefs; rough, red-faced English betting men struggled good-humoredly with their greasy kindred from over the North Sea; and a sprinkling of Christian yokels surveyed the Jewish hucksters and chapmen with amused superiority.
For this was the night of nights, when the purchases were made for the festival, and great ladies of the West, leaving behind their daughters who played the piano and had a subscription at Mudie's, came down again to the beloved Lane to throw off the veneer of refinement, and plunge gloveless hands in barrels where pickled cucumbers weltered in their own "_russell_," and to pick fat juicy olives from the rich-heaped tubs. Ah, me! what tragic comedy lay behind the transient happiness of these sensuous faces, laughing and munching with the shamelessness of school-girls! For to-night they need not hanker in silence after the flesh-pots of Egypt. To-night they could laugh and talk over _Olov hasholom_ times--"Peace be upon him" times--with their old cronies, and loosen the stays of social ambition, even while they dazzled the Ghetto with the splendors of their get-up and the halo of the West End whence they came. It was a scene without parallel in the history of the world--this phantasmagoria of grubs and butterflies, met together for auld lang syne in their beloved hatching-place. Such violent contrasts of wealth and poverty as might be looked for in romantic gold-fields, or in unsettled countries were evolved quite naturally amid a colorless civilization by a people with an incurable talent for the picturesque.
Hullo! Can that be you, Betsy? some grizzled shabby old man would observe in innocent delight to Mrs. Arthur Montmorenci; "Why so it is! I never would have believed my eyes! Lord, what a fine woman you've grown! And so you're little Betsy who used to bring her father's coffee in a brown jug when he and I stood side by side in the Lane! He used to sell slippers next to my cutlery stall for eleven years--Dear, dear, how time flies to be sure."
Then Betsy Montmorenci's creamy face would grow scarlet under the gas-jets, and she would glower and draw her sables around her, and look round involuntarily, to see if any of her Kensington friends were within earshot.
Another Betsy Montmorenci would feel Bohemian for this occasion only, and would receive old acquaintances' greeting effusively, and pass the old phrases and by-words with a strange sense of stolen sweets; while yet a third Betsy Montmorenci, a finer spirit this, and worthier of the name, would cry to a Betsy Jacobs:
Is that you, Betsy, how _are_ you? How _are_ you? I'm so glad to see you. Won't you come and treat me to a cup of chocolate at Bonn's, just to show you haven't forgot _Olov hasholom_ times?
And then, having thus thrown the responsibility of stand-offishness on the poorer Betsy, the Montmorenci would launch into recollections of those good old "Peace be upon him" times till the grub forgot the splendors of the caterpillar in a joyous resurrection of ancient scandals. But few of the Montmorencis, whatever their species, left the Ghetto without pressing bits of gold into half-reluctant palms in shabby back-rooms where old friends or poor relatives mouldered.
Overhead, the stars burned silently, but no one looked up at them. Underfoot, lay the thick, black veil of mud, which the Lane never lifted, but none looked down on it. It was impossible to think of aught but humanity in the bustle and confusion, in the cram and crush, in the wedge and the jam, in the squeezing and shouting, in the hubbub and medley. Such a jolly, rampant, screaming, fighting, maddening, jostling, polyglot, quarrelling, laughing broth of a Vanity Fair! Mendicants, vendors, buyers, gossips, showmen, all swelled the roar.
Here's your cakes! All _yontovdik_ (for the festival)! _Yontovdik_--
Braces, best braces, all--
_Yontovdik_! Only one shilling--
It's the Rav's orders, mum; all legs of mutton must be porged or my license--
Cowcumbers! Cowcumbers!
Now's your chance--
The best trousers, gentlemen. Corst me as sure as I stand--
On your own head, you old--
_Arbah Kanfus_ (four fringes)! _Arbah_--
My old man's been under an operation--
Hokey Pokey! _Yontovdik_! Hokey--
Get out of the way, can't you--
By your life and mine, Betsy--
Gord blesh you, mishter, a toisand year shall ye live.
Eat the best _Motsos_. Only fourpence--
The bones must go with, marm. I've cut it as lean as possible.
_Charoises_ (a sweet mixture). _Charoises! Moroire_ (bitter herb)! _Chraine_ (horseradish)! _Pesachdik_ (for Passover).
Come and have a glass of Old Tom, along o' me, sonny.
Fine plaice! Here y'are! Hi! where's yer pluck! S'elp me--
Bob! _Yontovdik! Yontovdik_! Only a bob!
Chuck steak and half a pound of fat.
A slap in the eye, if you--
Gord bless you. Remember me to Jacob.
_Shaink_ (spare) _meer_ a 'apenny, missis _lieben_, missis _croin_ (dear)--
An unnatural death on you, you--
Lord! Sal, how you've altered!
Ladies, here you are--
I give you my word, sir, the fish will be home before you.
Painted in the best style, for a tanner--
A spoonge, mister?
I'll cut a slice of this melon for you for--
She's dead, poor thing, peace be upon him.
_Yontovdik_! Three bob for one purse containing--
The real live tattooed Hindian, born in the African Harchipellygo. Walk up.
This way for the dwarf that will speak, dance, and sing.
Tree lemons a penny. Tree lemons--
A _Shtibbur_ (penny) for a poor blind man--
_Yontovdik! Yontovdik! Yontovdik! Yontovdik!_
And in this last roar, common to so many of the mongers, the whole Babel would often blend for a moment and be swallowed up, re-emerging anon in its broken multiplicity.
Everybody Esther knew was in the crowd--she met them all sooner or later. In Wentworth Street, amid dead cabbage-leaves, and mud, and refuse, and orts, and offal, stood the woe-begone Meckisch, offering his puny sponges, and wooing the charitable with grinning grimaces tempered by epileptic fits at judicious intervals. A few inches off, his wife in costly sealskin jacket, purchased salmon with a Maida Vale manner. Compressed in a corner was Shosshi Shmendrik, his coat-tails yellow with the yolks of dissolving eggs from a bag in his pocket. He asked her frantically, if she had seen a boy whom he had hired to carry home his codfish and his fowls, and explained that his missus was busy in the shop, and had delegated to him the domestic duties. It is probable, that if Mrs. Shmendrik, formerly the widow Finkelstein, ever received these dainties, she found her good man had purchased fish artificially inflated with air, and fowls fattened with brown paper. Hearty Sam Abrahams, the bass chorister, whose genial countenance spread sunshine for yards around, stopped Esther and gave her a penny. Further, she met her teacher, Miss Miriam Hyams, and curtseyed to her, for Esther was not of those who jeeringly called "teacher" and "master" according to sex after her superiors, till the victims longed for Elisha's influence over bears. Later on, she was shocked to see her teacher's brother piloting bonny Bessie Sugarman through the thick of the ferment. Crushed between two barrows, she found Mrs. Belcovitch and Fanny, who were shopping together, attended by Pesach Weingott, all carrying piles of purchases.
Esther, if you should see my Becky in the crowd, tell her where I am, said Mrs. Belcovitch. "She is with one of her chosen young men. I am so feeble, I can hardly crawl around, and my Becky ought to carry home the cabbages. She has well-matched legs, not one a thick one and one a thin one."'
Around the fishmongers the press was great. The fish-trade was almost monopolized by English Jews--blonde, healthy-looking fellows, with brawny, bare arms, who were approached with dread by all but the bravest foreign Jewesses. Their scale of prices and politeness varied with the status of the buyer. Esther, who had an observant eye and ear for such things, often found amusement standing unobtrusively by. To-night there was the usual comedy awaiting her enjoyment. A well-dressed dame came up to "Uncle Abe's" stall, where half a dozen lots of fishy miscellanaea were spread out.
Good evening, madam. Cold night but fine. That lot? Well, you're an old customer and fish are cheap to-day, so I can let you have 'em for a sovereign. Eighteen? Well, it's hard, but--boy! take the lady's fish. Thank you. Good evening.
How much that? says a neatly dressed woman, pointing to a precisely similar lot.
Can't take less than nine bob. Fish are dear to-day. You won't get anything cheaper in the Lane, by G---- you won't. Five shillings! By my life and by my children's life, they cost me more than that. So sure as I stand here and--well, come, gie's seven and six and they're yours. You can't afford more? Well, 'old up your apron, old gal. I'll make it up out of the rich. By your life and mine, you've got a _Metsiah_ (bargain) there!
Here old Mrs. Shmendrik, Shosshi's mother, came up, a rich Paisley shawl over her head in lieu of a bonnet. Lane women who went out without bonnets were on the same plane as Lane men who went out without collars.
One of the terrors of the English fishmongers was that they required the customer to speak English, thus fulfilling an important educative function in the community. They allowed a certain percentage of jargon-words, for they themselves took licenses in this direction, but they professed not to understand pure Yiddish.
Abraham, 'ow mosh for dees lot, said old Mrs. Shmendrik, turning over a third similar heap and feeling the fish all over.
Paws off! said Abraham roughly. "Look here! I know the tricks of you Polakinties. I'll name you the lowest price and won't stand a farthing's bating. I'll lose by you, but you ain't, going to worry me. Eight bob! There!"
Avroomkely (dear little Abraham) take lebbenpence!
Elevenpence! By G----, cried Uncle Abe, desperately tearing his hair. "I knew it!" And seizing a huge plaice by the tail he whirled it round and struck Mrs. Shmendrik full in the face, shouting, "Take that, you old witch! Sling your hook or I'll murder you."
Thou dog! shrieked Mrs. Shmendrik, falling back on the more copious resources of her native idiom. "A black year on thee! Mayest thou swell and die! May the hand that struck me rot away! Mayest thou be burned alive! Thy father was a _Gonof_ and thou art a _Gonof_ and thy whole family are _Gonovim_. May Pharaoh's ten plagues--"
There was little malice at the back of it all--the mere imaginative exuberance of a race whose early poetry consisted in saying things twice over.
Uncle Abraham menacingly caught up the plaice, crying:
May I be struck dead on the spot, if you ain't gone in one second I won't answer for the consequences. Now, then, clear off!
Come, Avroomkely, said Mrs. Shmendrik, dropping suddenly from invective to insinuativeness. "Take fourteenpence. _Shemah, beni_! Fourteen _Shtibbur's_ a lot of _Gelt."_
Are you a-going? cried Abraham in a terrible rage. "Ten bob's my price now."
Avroomkely, _noo, zoog_ (say now)! Fourteenpence 'apenny. I am a poor voman. Here, fifteenpence.
Abraham seized her by the shoulders and pushed her towards the wall, where she cursed picturesquely. Esther thought it was a bad time to attempt to get her own shilling's worth--she fought her way towards another fishmonger.
There was a kindly, weather-beaten old fellow with whom Esther had often chaffered job-lots when fortune smiled on the Ansells. Him, to her joy, Esther perceived--she saw a stack of gurnards on his improvised slab, and in imagination smelt herself frying them. Then a great shock as of a sudden icy douche traversed her frame, her heart seemed to stand still. For when she put her hand to her pocket to get her purse, she found but a thimble and a slate-pencil and a cotton handkerchief. It was some minutes before she could or would realize the truth that the four and sevenpence halfpenny on which so much depended was gone. Groceries and unleavened cakes Charity had given, raisin wine had been preparing for days, but fish and meat and all the minor accessories of a well-ordered Passover table--these were the prey of the pickpocket. A blank sense of desolation overcame the child, infinitely more horrible than that which she felt when she spilled the soup; the gurnards she could have touched with her finger seemed far off, inaccessible; in a moment more they and all things were blotted out by a hot rush of tears, and she was jostled as in a dream hither and thither by the double stream of crowd. Nothing since the death of Benjamin had given her so poignant a sense of the hollowness and uncertainty of existence. What would her father say, whose triumphant conviction that Providence had provided for his Passover was to be so rudely dispelled at the eleventh hour. Poor Moses! He had been so proud of having earned enough money to make a good _Yontov_, and was more convinced than ever that given a little capital to start with he could build up a colossal business! And now she would have to go home and spoil everybody's _Yontov_, and see the sour faces of her little ones round a barren _Seder_ table. Oh, it was terrible! and the child wept piteously, unheeded in the block, unheard amid the Babel.
An old _Maaseh_ the grandmother had told her came back to her fevered brain. In a town in Russia lived an old Jew who earned scarce enough to eat, and half of what he did earn was stolen from him in bribes to the officials to let him be. Persecuted and spat upon, he yet trusted in his God and praised His name. And it came on towards Passover and the winter was severe and the Jew was nigh starving and his wife had made no preparations for the Festival. And in the bitterness of her soul she derided her husband's faith and made mock of him, but he said, "Have patience, my wife! Our _Seder_ board shall be spread as in the days of yore and as in former years." But the Festival drew nearer and nearer and there was nothing in the house. And the wife taunted her husband yet further, saying, "Dost thou think that Elijah the prophet will call upon thee or that the Messiah will come?" But he answered: "Elijah the prophet walketh the earth, never having died; who knows but that he will cast an eye my way?" Whereat his wife laughed outright. And the days wore on to within a few hours of Passover and the larder was still empty of provender and the old Jew still full of faith. Now it befell that the Governor of the City, a hard and cruel man, sat counting out piles of gold into packets for the payment of the salaries of the officials and at his side sat his pet monkey, and as he heaped up the pieces, so his monkey imitated him, making little packets of its own to the amusement of the Governor. And when the Governor could not pick up a piece easily, he moistened his forefinger, putting it to his mouth, whereupon the monkey followed suit each time; only deeming its master was devouring the gold, it swallowed a coin every time he put his finger to his lips. So that of a sudden it was taken ill and died. And one of his men said, "Lo, the creature is dead. What shall we do with it?" And the Governor was sorely vexed in spirit, because he could not make his accounts straight and he answered gruffly, "Trouble me not! Throw it into the house of the old Jew down the street." So the man took the carcass and threw it with thunderous violence into the passage of the Jew's house and ran off as hard as he could. And the good wife came bustling out in alarm and saw a carcass hanging over an iron bucket that stood in the passage. And she knew that it was the act of a Christian and she took up the carrion to bury it when Lo! a rain of gold-pieces came from the stomach ripped up by the sharp rim of the vessel. And she called to her husband. "Hasten! See what Elijah the prophet hath sent us." And she scurried into the market-place and bought wine and unleavened bread, and bitter herbs and all things necessary for the _Seder_ table, and a little fish therewith which might be hastily cooked before the Festival came in, and the old couple were happy and gave the monkey honorable burial and sang blithely of the deliverance at the Red Sea and filled Elijah's goblet to the brim till the wine ran over upon the white cloth.
Esther gave a scornful little sniff as the thought of this happy denouement flashed upon her. No miracle like that would happen to her or hers, nobody was likely to leave a dead monkey on the stairs of the garret--hardly even the "stuffed monkey" of contemporary confectionery. And then her queer little brain forgot its grief in sudden speculations as to what she would think if her four and sevenpence halfpenny came back. She had never yet doubted the existence of the Unseen Power; only its workings seemed so incomprehensibly indifferent to human joys and sorrows. Would she believe that her father was right in holding that a special Providence watched over him? The spirit of her brother Solomon came upon her and she felt that she would. Speculation had checked her sobs; she dried her tears in stony scepticism and, looking up, saw Malka's gipsy-like face bending over her, breathing peppermint.
What weepest thou, Esther? she said not unkindly. "I did not know thou wast a gusher with the eyes."
I've lost my purse, sobbed Esther, softened afresh by the sight of a friendly face.
Ah, thou _Schlemihl_! Thou art like thy father. How much was in it?
Four and sevenpence halfpenny! sobbed Esther.
Tu, tu, tu, tu, tu! ejaculated Malka in horror. "Thou art the ruin of thy father." Then turning to the fishmonger with whom she had just completed a purchase, she counted out thirty-five shillings into his hand. "Here, Esther," she said, "thou shalt carry my fish and I will give thee a shilling."
A small slimy boy who stood expectant by scowled at Esther as she painfully lifted the heavy basket and followed in the wake of her relative whose heart was swelling with self-approbation.
Fortunately Zachariah Square was near and Esther soon received her shilling with a proportionate sense of Providence. The fish was deposited at Milly's house, which was brightly illuminated and seemed to poor Esther a magnificent palace of light and luxury. Malka's own house, diagonally across the Square, was dark and gloomy. The two families being at peace, Milly's house was the headquarters of the clan and the clothes-brush. Everybody was home for _Yomtov_. Malka's husband, Michael, and Milly's husband, Ephraim, were sitting at the table smoking big cigars and playing Loo with Sam Levine and David Brandon, who had been seduced into making a fourth. The two young husbands had but that day returned from the country, for you cannot get unleavened bread at commercial hotels, and David in spite of a stormy crossing had arrived from Germany an hour earlier than he had expected, and not knowing what to do with himself had been surveying the humors of the Festival Fair till Sam met him and dragged him round to Zachariah Square. It was too late to call that night on Hannah to be introduced to her parents, especially as he had wired he would come the next day. There was no chance of Hannah being at the club, it was too busy a night for all angels of the hearth; even to-morrow, the even of the Festival, would be an awkward time for a young man to thrust his love-affairs upon a household given over to the more important matters of dietary preparation. Still David could not consent to live another whole day without seeing the light of his eyes.
Leah, inwardly projecting an orgie of comic operas and dances, was assisting Milly in the kitchen. Both young women were covered with flour and oil and grease, and their coarse handsome faces were flushed, for they had been busy all day drawing fowls, stewing prunes and pippins, gutting fish, melting fat, changing the crockery and doing the thousand and one things necessitated by gratitude for the discomfiture of Pharaoh at the Red Sea; Ezekiel slumbered upstairs in his crib.
Mother, said Michael, pulling pensively at his whisker as he looked at his card. "This is Mr. Brandon, a friend of Sam's. Don't get up, Brandon, we don't make ceremonies here. Turn up yours--ah, the nine of trumps."
Lucky men! said Malka with festival flippancy. "While I must hurry off my supper so as to buy the fish, and Milly and Leah must sweat in the kitchen, you can squat yourselves down and play cards."
Yes, laughed Sam, looking up and adding in Hebrew, "Blessed art thou, O Lord, who hath not made me a woman."
Now, now, said David, putting his hand jocosely across the young man's mouth. "No more Hebrew. Remember what happened last time. Perhaps there's some mysterious significance even in that, and you'll find yourself let in for something before you know where you are."
You're not going to prevent me talking the language of my Fathers, gurgled Sam, bursting into a merry operatic whistle when the pressure was removed.
Milly! Leah! cried Malka. "Come and look at my fish! Such a _Metsiah_! See, they're alive yet."
They _are_ beauties, mother, said Leah, entering with her sleeves half tucked up, showing the finely-moulded white arms in curious juxtaposition with the coarse red hands.
O, mother, they're alive! said Milly, peering over her younger sister's shoulder.
Both knew by bitter experience that their mother considered herself a connoisseur in the purchase of fish.
And how much do you think I gave for them? went on Malka triumphantly.
Two pounds ten, said Milly.
Malka's eyes twinkled and she shook her head.
Two pounds fifteen, said Leah, with the air of hitting it now.
Still Malka shook her head.
Here, Michael, what do you think I gave for all this lot?
Diamonds! said Michael.
Be not a fool, Michael, said Malka sternly. "Look here a minute."
Eh? Oh! said Michael looking up from his cards. "Don't bother, mother. My game!"
Michael! thundered Malka. "Will you look at this fish? How much do you think I gave for this splendid lot? here, look at 'em, alive yet."
H'm--Ha! said Michael, taking his complex corkscrew combination out of his pocket and putting it back again. "Three guineas?"
Three guineas! laughed Malka, in good-humored scorn. "Lucky I don't let _you_ do my marketing."
Yes, he'd be a nice fishy customer! said Sam Levine with a guffaw.
Ephraim, what think you I got this fish for? Cheap now, you know?
I don't know, mother, replied the twinkling-eyed Pole obediently. "Three pounds, perhaps, if you got it cheap."
Samuel and David duly appealed to, reduced the amount to two pounds five and two pounds respectively. Then, having got everybody's attention fixed upon her, she exclaimed:
Thirty shillings!
She could not resist nibbling off the five shillings. Everybody drew a long breath.
Tu! Tu! they ejaculated in chorus. "What a _Metsiah_!"
Sam, said Ephraim immediately afterwards, "_You_ turned up the ace."
Milly and Leah went back into the kitchen.
It was rather too quick a relapse into the common things of life and made Malka suspect the admiration was but superficial.
She turned, with a spice of ill-humor, and saw Esther still standing timidly behind her. Her face flushed for she knew the child had overheard her in a lie.
What art thou waiting about for? she said roughly in Yiddish. "Na! there's a peppermint."
I thought you might want me for something else, said Esther, blushing but accepting the peppermint for Ikey. "And I--I--"
Well, speak up! I won't bite thee. Malka continued to talk in Yiddish though the child answered her in English. "I--I--nothing," said Esther, turning away.
Here, turn thy face round, child, said Malka, putting her hand on the girl's forcibly averted head. "Be not so sullen, thy mother was like that, she'd want to bite my head off if I hinted thy father was not the man for her, and then she'd _schmull_ and sulk for a week after. Thank God, we have no one like that in this house. I couldn't live for a day with people with such nasty tempers. Her temper worried her into the grave, though, if thy father had not brought his mother over from Poland my poor cousin might have carried home my fish to-night instead of thee. Poor Gittel, peace be upon him! Come tell me what ails thee, or thy dead mother will be cross with thee."
Esther turned her head and murmured: "I thought you might lend me the three and sevenpence halfpenny!"
Lend thee--? exclaimed Malka. "Why, how canst thou ever repay it?"
Oh yes, affirmed Esther earnestly. "I have lots of money in the bank."
Eh! what? In the bank! gasped Malka.
Yes. I won five pounds in the school and I'll pay you out of that.
Thy father never told me that! said Malka. "He kept that dark. Ah, he is a regular _Schnorrer_!"
My father hasn't seen you since, retorted Esther hotly. "If you had come round when he was sitting _shiva_ for Benjamin, peace be upon him, you would have known."
Malka got as red as fire. Moses had sent Solomon round to inform the _Mishpocha_ of his affliction, but at a period when the most casual acquaintance thinks it his duty to call (armed with hard boiled eggs, a pound of sugar, or an ounce of tea) on the mourners condemned to sit on the floor for a week, no representative of the "family" had made an appearance. Moses took it meekly enough, but his mother insisted that such a slight from Zachariah Square would never have been received if he had married another woman, and Esther for once agreed with her grandmother's sentiments if not with her Hibernian expression of them.
But that the child should now dare to twit the head of the family with bad behavior was intolerable to Malka, the more so as she had no defence.
Thou impudent of face! she cried sharply. "Dost thou forget whom thou talkest to?"
No, retorted Esther. "You are my father's cousin--that is why you ought to have come to see him."
I am not thy father's cousin, God forbid! cried Malka. "I was thy mother's cousin, God have mercy on her, and I wonder not you drove her into the grave between the lot of you. I am no relative of any of you, thank God, and from this day forwards I wash my hands of the lot of you, you ungrateful pack! Let thy father send you into the streets, with matches, not another thing will I do for thee."
Ungrateful! said Esther hotly. "Why, what have you ever done for us? When my poor mother was alive you made her scrub your floors and clean your windows, as if she was an Irishwoman."
Impudent of face! cried Malka, almost choking with rage. "What have I done for you? Why--why--I--I--shameless hussy! And this is what Judaism's coming to in England! This is the manners and religion they teach thee at thy school, eh? What have I--? Impudent of face! At this very moment thou holdest one of my shillings in thy hand."
Take it! said Esther. And threw the coin passionately to the floor, where it rolled about pleasantly for a terrible minute of human silence. The smoke-wreathed card-players looked up at last.
Eh? Eh? What's this, my little girl. said Michael genially. "What makes you so naughty?"
A hysterical fit of sobbing was the only reply. In the bitterness of that moment Esther hated the whole world.
Don't cry like that! Don't! said David Brandon kindly.
Esther, her little shoulders heaving convulsively, put her hand on the latch.
What's the matter with the girl, mother? said Michael.
She's _meshugga_! said Malka. "Raving mad!" Her face was white and she spoke as if in self-defence. "She's such a _Schlemihl_ that she lost her purse in the Lane, and I found her gushing with the eyes, and I let her carry home my fish and gave her a shilling and a peppermint, and thou seest how she turns on me, thou seest."
Poor little thing! said David impulsively. "Here, come here, my child."'
Esther refused to budge.
Come here, he repeated gently. "See, I will make up the loss to you. Take the pool. I've just won it, so I shan't miss it."
Esther sobbed louder, but she did not move.
David rose, emptied the heap of silver into his palm, walked over to Esther, and pushed it into her pocket. Michael got up and added half a crown to it, and the other two men followed suit. Then David opened the door, put her outside gently and said: "There! Run away, my little dear, and be more careful of pickpockets."
All this while Malka had stood frozen to the stony dignity of a dingy terra-cotta statue. But ere the door could close again on the child, she darted forward and seized her by the collar of her frock.
Give me that money, she cried.
Half hypnotized by the irate swarthy face, Esther made no resistance while Malka rifled her pocket less dexterously than the first operator.
Malka counted it out.
Seventeen and sixpence, she announced in terrible tones. "How darest thou take all this money from strangers, and perfect strangers? Do my children think to shame me before my own relative?" And throwing the money violently into the plate she took out a gold coin and pressed it into the bewildered child's hand.
There! she shouted. "Hold that tight! It is a sovereign. And if ever I catch thee taking money from any one in this house but thy mother's own cousin, I'll wash my hands of thee for ever. Go now! Go on! I can't afford any more, so it's useless waiting. Good-night, and tell thy father I wish him a happy _Yontov_, and I hope he'll lose no more children."
She hustled the child into the Square and banged the door upon her, and Esther went about her mammoth marketing half-dazed, with an undercurrent of happiness, vaguely apologetic towards her father and his Providence.
Malka stooped down, picked up the clothes-brush from under the side-table, and strode silently and diagonally across the Square.
There was a moment's dread silence. The thunderbolt had fallen. The festival felicity of two households trembled in the balance. Michael muttered impatiently and went out on his wife's track.
He's an awful fool, said Ephraim. "I should make her pay for her tantrums."
The card party broke up in confusion. David Brandon took his leave and strolled about aimlessly under the stars, his soul blissful with the sense of a good deed that had only superficially miscarried. His feet took him to Hannah's house. All the windows were lit up. His heart began to ache at the thought that his bright, radiant girl was beyond that doorstep he had never crossed.
He pictured the love-light in her eyes; for surely she was dreaming of him, as he of her. He took out his watch--the time was twenty to nine. After all, would it be so outrageous to call? He went away twice. The third time, defying the _convenances_, he knocked at the door, his heart beating almost as loudly.
The little servant girl who opened the door for him looked relieved by the sight of him, for it might have been the Rebbitzin returning from the Lane with heaps of supplies and an accumulation of ill-humor. She showed him into the study, and in a few moments Hannah hurried in with a big apron and a general flavor of the kitchen.
How dare you come to-night? she began, but the sentence died on her lips.
How hot your face is, he said, dinting the flesh fondly with his finger, "I see my little girl is glad to have me back."
It's not that. It's the fire. I'm frying fish for _Yomtov_, she said, with a happy laugh.
And yet you say you're not a good Jewess, he laughed back.
You had no right to come and catch me like this, she pouted. "All greasy and dishevelled. I'm not made up to receive visitors."
Call me a visitor? he grumbled. "Judging by your appearance, I should say you were always made up. Why, you're perfectly radiant."
Then the talk became less intelligible. The first symptom of returning rationality was her inquiry--
What sort of a journey did you have back?
The sea was rough, but I'm a good sailor.
And the poor fellow's father and mother?
I wrote you about them.
So you did; but only just a line.
Oh, don't let us talk about the subject just now, dear, it's too painful. Come, let me kiss that little woe-begone look out of your eyes. There! Now, another--that was only for the right eye, this is for the left. But where's your mother?
Oh, you innocent! she replied. "As if you hadn't watched her go out of the house!"
'Pon my honor, not, he said smiling. "Why should I now? Am I not the accepted son-in-law of the house, you silly timid little thing? What a happy thought it was of yours to let the cat out of the bag. Come, let me give you another kiss for it--Oh, I really must. You deserve it, and whatever it costs me you shall be rewarded. There! Now, then! Where's the old man? I have to receive his blessing, I know, and I want to get it over."
It's worth having, I can tell you, so speak more respectfully, said Hannah, more than half in earnest.
_You_ are the best blessing he can give me--and that's worth--well, I wouldn't venture to price it.
It's not your line, eh?
I don't know, I have done a good deal in gems; but where _is_ the Rabbi?
Up in the bedrooms, gathering the _Chomutz_. You know he won't trust anybody else. He creeps under all the beds, hunting with a candle for stray crumbs, and looks in all the wardrobes and the pockets of all my dresses. Luckily, I don't keep your letters there. I hope he won't set something alight--he did once. And one year--Oh, it was so funny!--after he had ransacked every hole and corner of the house, imagine his horror, in the middle of Passover to find a crumb of bread audaciously planted--where do you suppose? In his Passover prayer-book!! But, oh!--with a little scream--"you naughty boy! I quite forgot." She took him by the shoulders, and peered along his coat. "Have you brought any crumbs with you? This room's _pesachdik_ already."
He looked dubious.
She pushed him towards the door. "Go out and give yourself a good shaking on the door-step, or else we shall have to clean out the room all over again."
Don't! he protested. "I might shake out that."
What?
The ring.
She uttered a little pleased sigh.
Oh, have you brought that?
Yes, I got it while I was away. You know I believe the reason you sent me trooping to the continent in such haste, was you wanted to ensure your engagement ring being 'made in Germany.' It's had a stormy passage to England, has that ring, I suppose the advantage of buying rings in Germany is that you're certain not to get Paris diamonds in them, they are so intensely patriotic, the Germans. That was your idea, wasn't it, Hannah?
Oh, show it me! Don't talk so much, she said, smiling.
No, he said, teasingly. "No more accidents for me! I'll wait to make sure--till your father and mother have taken me to their arms. Rabbinical law is so full of pitfalls--I might touch your finger this or that way, and then we should be married. And then, if your parents said 'no,' after all--"
We should have to make the best of a bad job, she finished up laughingly.
All very well, he went on in his fun, "but it would be a pretty kettle of fish."
Heavens! she cried, "so it will be. They will be charred to ashes." And turning tail, she fled to the kitchen, pursued by her lover. There, dead to the surprise of the servant, David Brandon fed his eyes on the fair incarnation of Jewish domesticity, type of the vestal virgins of Israel, Ministresses at the hearth. It was a very homely kitchen; the dressers glistening with speckless utensils, and the deep red glow of the coal over which the pieces of fish sputtered and crackled in their bath of oil, filling the room with a sense of deep peace and cosy comfort. David's imagination transferred the kitchen to his future home, and he was almost dazzled by the thought of actually inhabiting such a fairyland alone with Hannah. He had knocked about a great deal, not always innocently, but deep down at his heart was the instinct of well-ordered life. His past seemed joyless folly and chill emptiness. He felt his eyes growing humid as he looked at the frank-souled girl who had given herself to him. He was not humble, but for a moment he found himself wondering how he deserved the trust, and there was reverence in the touch with which he caressed her hair. In another moment the frying was complete, and the contents of the pan neatly added to the dish. Then the voice of Reb Shemuel crying for Hannah came down the kitchen stairs, and the lovers returned to the upper world. The Reb had a tiny harvest of crumbs in a brown paper, and wanted Hannah to stow it away safely till the morning, when, to make assurance doubly sure, a final expedition in search of leaven would be undertaken. Hannah received the packet and in return presented her betrothed.
Reb Shemuel had not of course expected him till the next morning, but he welcomed him as heartily as Hannah could desire.
The Most High bless you! he said in his charming foreign accents. "May you make my Hannah as good a husband as she will make you a wife."
Trust me, Reb Shemuel, said David, grasping his great hand warmly.
Hannah says you're a sinner in Israel, said the Reb, smiling playfully, though there was a touch of anxiety in the tones. "But I suppose you will keep a _kosher_ house."
Make your mind easy, sir, said David heartily. "We must, if it's only to have the pleasure of your dining with us sometimes."
The old man patted him gently on the shoulder.
Ah, you will soon become a good Jew, he said. "My Hannah will teach you, God bless her." Reb Shemuel's voice was a bit husky. He bent down and kissed Hannah's forehead. "I was a bit _link_ myself before I married my Simcha" he added encouragingly.
No, no, not you, said David, smiling in response to the twinkle in the Reb's eye. "I warrant _you_ never skipped a _Mitzvah_ even as a bachelor."
Oh yes, I did, replied the Reb, letting the twinkle develop to a broad smile, "for when I was a bachelor I hadn't fulfilled the precept to marry, don't you see?"
Is marriage a _Mitzvah_, then? inquired David, amused.
Certainly. In our holy religion everything a man ought to do is a _Mitzvah_, even if it is pleasant.
Oh, then, even I must have laid up some good deeds, laughed David, "for I have always enjoyed myself. Really, it isn't such a bad religion after all."
Bad religion! echoed Reb Shemuel genially. "Wait till you've tried it. You've never had a proper training, that's clear. Are your parents alive?"
No, they both died when I was a child, said David, becoming serious.
I thought so! said Reb Shemuel. "Fortunately my Hannah's didn't." He smiled at the humor of the phrase and Hannah took his hand and pressed it tenderly. "Ah, it will be all right," said the Reb with a characteristic burst of optimism. "God is good. You have a sound Jewish heart at bottom, David, my son. Hannah, get the _Yomtovdik_ wine. We will drink, a glass for _Mazzoltov_, and I hope your mother will be back in time to join in."
Hannah ran into the kitchen feeling happier than she had ever been in her life. She wept a little and laughed a little, and loitered a little to recover her composure and allow the two men to get to know each other a little.
How is your Hannah's late husband? inquired the Reb with almost a wink, for everything combined to make him jolly as a sandboy. "I understand he is a friend of yours."
We used to be schoolboys together, that is all. Though strangely enough I just spent an hour with him. He is very well, answered David smiling. "He is about to marry again."
His first love of course, said the Reb.
Yes, people always come back to that, said David laughing.
That's right, that's right, said the Reb. "I am glad there was no unpleasantness."
Unpleasantness. No, how could there be? Leah knew it was only a joke. All's well that ends well, and we may perhaps all get married on the same day and risk another mix-up. Ha! Ha! Ha!
Is it your wish to marry soon, then?
Yes; there are too many long engagements among our people. They often go off.
Then I suppose you have the means?
Oh yes, I can show you my--
The old man waved his hand.
I don't want to see anything. My girl must be supported decently--that is all I ask. What do you do for a living?
I have made a little money at the Cape and now I think of going into business.
What business?
I haven't settled.
You won't open on _Shabbos_? said the Reb anxiously.
David hesitated a second. In some business, Saturday is the best day. Still he felt that he was not quite radical enough to break the Sabbath deliberately, and since he had contemplated settling down, his religion had become rather more real to him. Besides he must sacrifice something for Hannah's sake.
Have no fear, sir, he said cheerfully.
Reb Shemuel gripped his hand in grateful silence.
You mustn't think me quite a lost soul, pursued David after a moment of emotion. "You don't remember me, but I had lots of blessings and halfpence from you when I was a lad. I dare say I valued the latter more in those days." He smiled to hide his emotion.
Reb Shemuel was beaming. "Did you, really?" he inquired. "I don't remember you. But then I have blessed so many little children. Of course you'll come to the _Seder_ to-morrow evening and taste some of Hannah's cookery. You're one of the family now, you know."
I shall be delighted to have the privilege of having _Seder_ with you, replied David, his heart going out more and more to the fatherly old man.
What _Shool_ will you be going to for Passover? I can get you a seat in mine if you haven't arranged.
Thank you, but I promised Mr. Birnbaum to come to the little synagogue of which he is President. It seems they have a scarcity of _Cohenim_, and they want me to bless the congregation, I suppose.
What! cried Reb Shemuel excitedly. "Are you a _Cohen_?"
Of course I am. Why, they got me to bless them in the Transvaal last _Yom Kippur_. So you see I'm anything but a sinner in Israel. He laughed--but his laugh ended abruptly. Reb Shemuel's face had grown white. His hands were trembling.
What is the matter? You are ill, cried David.
The old man shook his head. Then he struck his brow with his fist. "_Ach, Gott_!" he cried. "Why did I not think of finding out before? But thank God I know it in time."
Finding out what? said David, fearing the old man's reason was giving way.
My daughter cannot marry you, said Reb Shemuel in hushed, quavering tones.
Eh? What? said David blankly.
It is impossible.
What are you talking about. Reb Shemuel?
You are a _Cohen_. Hannah cannot marry a _Cohen_.
Not marry a _Cohen_? Why, I thought they were Israel's aristocracy.
That is why. A _Cohen_ cannot marry a divorced woman.
The fit of trembling passed from the old Reb to the young man. His heart pulsed as with the stroke of a mighty piston. Without comprehending, Hannah's prior misadventure gave him a horrible foreboding of critical complications.
Do you mean to say I can't marry Hannah? he asked almost in a whisper.
Such is the law. A woman who has had _Gett_ may not marry a _Cohen_.
But you surely wouldn't call Hannah a divorced woman? he cried hoarsely.
How shall I not? I gave her the divorce myself.
Great God! exclaimed David. "Then Sam has ruined our lives." He stood a moment in dazed horror, striving to grasp the terrible tangle. Then he burst forth. "This is some of your cursed Rabbinical laws, it is not Judaism, it is not true Judaism. God never made any such law."
Hush! said Reb Shemuel sternly. "It is the holy Torah. It is not even the Rabbis, of whom you speak like an Epicurean. It is in Leviticus, chapter 21, verse 7: '_Neither shall they take a woman put away from her husband; for he is holy unto his God. Thou shalt sanctify him, therefore; for he offereth the bread of thy God; he shall be holy unto thee, for I the Lord which sanctify you am holy._'"
For an instant David was overwhelmed by the quotation, for the Bible was still a sacred book to him. Then he cried indignantly:
But God never meant it to apply to a case like this!
We must obey God's law, said Reb Shemuel.
Then it is the devil's law! shouted David, losing all control of himself.
The Reb's face grew dark as night. There was a moment of dread silence.
Here you are, father, said Hannah, returning with the wine and some glasses which she had carefully dusted. Then she paused and gave a little cry, nearly losing her hold of the tray.
What's the matter? What has happened? she asked anxiously.
Take away the wine--we shall drink nobody's health to-night, cried David brutally.
My God! said Hannah, all the hue of happiness dying out of her cheeks. She threw down the tray on the table and ran to her father's arms.
What is it! Oh, what is it, father? she cried. "You haven't had a quarrel?"
The old man was silent. The girl looked appealingly from one to the other.
No, it's worse than that, said David in cold, harsh tones. "You remember your marriage in fun to Sam?"
Yes. Merciful heavens! I guess it! There was something not valid in the _Gett_ after all.
Her anguish at the thought of losing him was so apparent that he softened a little.
No, not that, he said more gently. "But this blessed religion of ours reckons you a divorced woman, and so you can't marry me because I'm a _Cohen_."
Can't marry you because you're a _Cohen_! repeated Hannah, dazed in her turn.
We must obey the Torah, said Reb Shemuel again, in low, solemn tones. "It is your friend Levine who has erred, not the Torah."
The Torah cannot visit a mere bit of fun so cruelly, protested David. "And on the innocent, too."
Sacred things should not be jested with, said the old man in stern tones that yet quavered with sympathy and pity. "On his head is the sin; on his head is the responsibility."
Father, cried Hannah in piercing tones, "can nothing be done?"
The old man shook his head sadly. The poor, pretty face was pallid with a pain too deep for tears. The shock was too sudden, too terrible. She sank helplessly into a chair.
Something must be done, something shall be done, thundered David. "I will appeal to the Chief Rabbi."
And what can he do? Can he go behind the Torah? said Reb Shemuel pitifully.
I won't ask him to. But if he has a grain of common sense he will see that our case is an exception, and cannot come under the Law.
The Law knows no exceptions, said Reb Shemuel gently, quoting in Hebrew, "'The Law of God is perfect, enlightening the eyes.' Be patient, my dear children, in your affliction. It is the will of God. The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away--bless ye the name of the Lord."
Not I! said David harshly. "But look to Hannah. She has fainted."
No, I am all right, said Hannah wearily, opening the eyes she had closed. "Do not make so certain, father. Look at your books again. Perhaps they do make an exception in such a case."
The Reb shook his head hopelessly.
Do not expect that, he said. "Believe me, my Hannah, if there were a gleam of hope I would not hide it from you. Be a good girl, dear, and bear your trouble like a true Jewish maiden. Have faith in God, my child. He doeth all things for the best. Come now--rouse yourself. Tell David you will always be a friend, and that your father will love him as though he were indeed his son." He moved towards her and touched her tenderly. He felt a violent spasm traversing her bosom.
I can't, father, she cried in a choking voice. "I can't. Don't ask me."
David leaned against the manuscript-littered table in stony silence. The stern granite faces of the old continental Rabbis seemed to frown down on him from the walls and he returned the frown with interest. His heart was full of bitterness, contempt, revolt. What a pack of knavish bigots they must all have been! Reb Shemuel bent down and took his daughter's head in his trembling palms. The eyes were closed again, the chest heaved painfully with silent sobs.
Do you love him so much, Hannah? whispered the old man.
Her sobs answered, growing loud at last.
But you love your religion more, my child? he murmured anxiously. "That will bring you peace."
Her sobs gave him no assurance. Presently the contagion of sobbing took him too.
O God! God! he moaned. "What sin have I committed; that thou shouldst punish my child thus?"
Don't blame God! burst forth David at last. "It's your own foolish bigotry. Is it not enough your daughter doesn't ask to marry a Christian? Be thankful, old man, for that and put away all this antiquated superstition. We're living in the nineteenth century."
And what if we are! said Reb Shemuel, blazing up in turn. "The Torah is eternal. Thank God for your youth, and your health and strength, and do not blaspheme Him because you cannot have all the desire of your heart or the inclination of your eyes."
The desire of my heart, retorted David. "Do you imagine I am only thinking of my own suffering? Look at your daughter--think of what you are doing to her and beware before it is too late."
Is it in my hand to do or to forbear? asked the old man, "It is the Torah. Am I responsible for that?"
Yes, said David, out of mere revolt. Then, seeking to justify himself, his face lit up with sudden inspiration. "Who need ever know? The _Maggid_ is dead. Old Hyams has gone to America. So Hannah has told me. It's a thousand to one Leah's people never heard of the Law of Leviticus. If they had, it's another thousand to one against their putting two and two together. It requires a Talmudist like you to even dream of reckoning Hannah as an ordinary divorced woman. If they did, it's a third thousand to one against their telling anybody. There is no need for you to perform the ceremony yourself. Let her be married by some other minister--by the Chief Rabbi himself, and to make assurance doubly sure I'll not mention that I'm a _Cohen_" The words poured forth like a torrent, overwhelming the Reb for a moment. Hannah leaped up with a hysterical cry of joy.
Yes, yes, father. It will be all right, after all. Nobody knows. Oh, thank God! thank God!
There was a moment of tense silence. Then the old man's voice rose slowly and painfully.
Thank God! he repeated. "Do you dare mention the Name even when you propose to profane it? Do you ask me, your father, Reb Shemuel, to consent to such a profanation of the Name?"
And why not? said David angrily. "Whom else has a daughter the right to ask mercy from, if not her father?"
God have mercy on me! groaned the old Reb, covering his face with his hands.
Come, come! said David impatiently. "Be sensible. It's nothing unworthy of you at all. Hannah was never really married, so cannot be really divorced. We only ask you to obey the spirit of the Torah instead of the letter."
The old man shook his head, unwavering. His cheeks were white and wet, but his expression was stern and solemn.
Just think! went on David passionately. "What am I better than another Jew--than yourself for instance--that I shouldn't marry a divorced woman?"
It is the Law. You are a _Cohen_--a priest.
A priest, Ha! Ha! Ha! laughed David bitterly. "A priest--in the nineteenth century! When the Temple has been destroyed these two thousand years."
It will be rebuilt, please God, said Reb Shemuel. "We must be ready for it."
Oh yes, I'll be ready--Ha! Ha! Ha! A priest! Holy unto the Lord--I a priest! Ha! Ha! Ha! Do you know what my holiness consists in? In eating _tripha_ meat, and going to _Shool_ a few times a year! And I, _I_ am too holy to marry _your_ daughter. Oh, it is rich! He ended in uncontrollable mirth, slapping his knee in ghastly enjoyment.
His laughter rang terrible. Reb Shemuel trembled from head to foot. Hannah's cheek was drawn and white. She seemed overwrought beyond endurance. There followed a silence only less terrible than David's laughter.
A _Cohen_, burst forth David again. "A holy _Cohen_ up to date. Do you know what the boys say about us priests when we're blessing you common people? They say that if you look on us once during that sacred function, you'll get blind, and if you look on us a second time you'll die. A nice reverent joke that, eh! Ha! Ha! Ha! You're blind already, Reb Shemuel. Beware you don't look at me again or I'll commence to bless you. Ha! Ha! Ha!"
Again the terrible silence.
Ah well, David resumed, his bitterness welling forth in irony. "And so the first sacrifice the priest is called upon to make is that of your daughter. But I won't, Reb Shemuel, mark my words; I won't, not till she offers her own throat to the knife. If she and I are parted, on you and you alone the guilt must rest. _You_ will have to perform the sacrifice."
What God wishes me to do I will do, said the old man in a broken voice. "What is it to that which our ancestors suffered for the glory of the Name?"
Yes, but it seems you suffer by proxy, retorted David, savagely.
My God! Do you think I would not die to make Hannah happy? faltered the old man. "But God has laid the burden on her--and I can only help her to bear it. And now, sir, I must beg you to go. You do but distress my child."
What say you, Hannah? Do you wish me to go?
Yes--What is the use--now? breathed Hannah through white quivering lips.
My child! said the old man pitifully, while he strained her to his breast.
All right! said David in strange harsh tones, scarcely recognizable as his. "I see you are your father's daughter."
He took his hat and turned his back upon the tragic embrace.
David! She called his name in an agonized hoarse voice. She held her arms towards him. He did not turn round.
David! Her voice rose to a shriek. "You will not leave me?"
He faced her exultant.
Ah, you will come with me. You will be my wife.
No--no--not now, not now. I cannot answer you now. Let me think--good-bye, dearest, good-bye. She burst out weeping. David took her in his arms and kissed her passionately. Then he went out hurriedly.
Hannah wept on--her father holding her hand in piteous silence.
Oh, it is cruel, your religion, she sobbed. "Cruel, cruel!"
Hannah! Shemuel! Where are you? suddenly came the excited voice of Simcha from the passage. "Come and look at the lovely fowls I've bought--and such _Metsiahs_. They're worth double. Oh, what a beautiful _Yomtov_ we shall have!"