The Red Beadle, who had never read a line of the Midrash, did not deny that he had forgotten the explanation, but persisted: "And even if we didn"t kill Christ, what good will it do to tell the Jews so? It will only make them angry."
"Why so?" said Zussmann, puzzled.
"They will be annoyed to have been punished for nothing."
"But they have not been punished for nothing!" cried Zussmann, setting down his fork in excitement. "They have denied their greatest son.
For, as He said in Matthew, "I come to fulfil the Law of Moses," Did not all the Prophets, His predecessors, cry out likewise against mere form and sacrifice? Did not the teachers in Israel who followed Him likewise insist on a pure heart and a sinless soul? Jesus must be restored to His true place in the glorious chain of Hebrew Prophets.
As I explain in my chapter on the Philosophy of Religion, which I have founded on Immanuel Kant, the ground-work of Reason is--"
But here the Red Beadle, whose coffee had with difficulty got itself sucked into the right channel, gasped--"You have put that into your book?"
The wife touched the ma.n.u.script with reverent pride. "It all stands here," she said.
"What! Quotations from the New Testament?"
"From our Jewish Apostles!" said Zussmann. "Naturally! On every page!"
"Then G.o.d help you!" said the Red Beadle.
III
_The Brotherhood of the Peoples_ was published. Though the bill was far heavier than the Hebrew printer"s estimate--there being all sorts of mysterious charges for corrections, which took away the last _Groschen_ of their savings, Hulda and her husband were happy. They had sown the seed, and waited in serene faith the ingathering, the reconciliation of Israel with the Gentiles.
The book, which was in paper covers, was published at a shilling; five hundred copies had been struck off for the edition. After six months the account stood thus: Sales, eighty-four copies; press notices, two in the jargon papers (printed in the same office as his book and thus amenable to backstairs influence). The Jewish papers written in English, which loomed before Zussmann"s vision as world-shaking, did not even mention its appearance; perhaps it had been better if the jargon papers had been equally silent, for, though less than one hundred copies of _The Brotherhood of the Peoples_ were in circulation, the book was in everybody"s mouth--like a piece of pork to be spat out again shudderingly. The Red Beadle"s instinct had been only too sound. The Ghetto, accustomed by this time to insidious attacks on its spiritual citadel, feared writers even bringing Hebrew.
Despite the Oriental sandal which the cunning shoemaker had fashioned, his fellow-Jews saw the cloven hoof. They were not to be deceived by the specious sanct.i.ty which Darwin and Schopenhauer--probably Bishops of the Established Church--borrowed from their Hebrew lettering. Why, that was the very trick of the Satans who sprinkled the sacred tongue freely about handbills inviting souls that sought for light to come and find it in the Whitechapel Road between three and seven. It had been abandoned as hopeless even by the thin-nosed gentlewomen who had begun by painting a Hebrew designation over their bureau of beneficence. But the fact that the Ghetto was perspicacious did not mitigate the author"s treachery to his race and faith. Zussmann was given violently to understand that his presence in the little synagogue would lead to disturbances in the service. "The Jew needs no house of prayer," he said; "his life is a prayer, his workshop a temple."
His workmen deserted him one by one as vacancies occurred elsewhere.
"We will get Christians," he said.
But the work itself began to fail. He was dependent upon a large firm whose head was Parna.s.s of a North London congregation, and when one of Zussmann"s workers, anxious to set up for himself, went to him with the tale, the contract was transferred to him, and Zussmann"s security-deposit returned. But far heavier than all these blows was Hulda"s sudden illness, and though the returned trust-money came in handy to defray the expense of doctors, the outlook was not cheerful.
But "I will become a hand myself," said Zussmann cheerfully. "The annoyance of my brethren will pa.s.s away when they really understand my Idea; meantime it is working in them, for even to hate an Idea is to meditate upon it."
The Red Beadle grunted angrily. He could hear Hulda coughing in the next room, and that hurt his chest.
But it was summer now, and quite a considerable strip of blue sky could be seen from the window, and the mote-laden sun-rays that streamed in encouraged Hulda to grow better. She was soon up and about again, but the doctor said her system was thoroughly upset and she aught to have sea air. But that, of course, was impossible now. Hulda herself declared there was much better air to be got higher up, in the garret, which was fortunately "to let." It is true there was only one room there. Still, it was much cheaper. The Red Beadle"s heart was heavier than the furniture he helped to carry upstairs. But the unsympathetic couple did not share his gloom. They jested and laughed, as light of heart as the excited children on the staircases who a.s.sisted at the function. "My Idea has raised me nearer heaven," said Zussmann. That night, after the Red Beadle had screwed up the four-poster, he allowed himself to be persuaded to stay to supper. He had given up the habit as soon as Zussmann"s finances began to fail.
By way of house-warming, Hulda had ordered in baked potatoes and liver from the cook-shop, and there were also three tepid slices of plum-pudding.
"Plum-pudding!" cried Zussmann in delight, as his nostrils scented the dainty. "What a good omen for the Idea!"
"How an omen?" inquired the Red Beadle.
"Is not plum-pudding a.s.sociated with Christmas, with peace on earth?"
Hulda"s eyes flashed. "Yes, it is a sign--the Brotherhood of the Peoples! The Jew will be the peace-messenger of the world." The Red Beadle ate on sceptically. He had studied _The Brotherhood of the Peoples_ to the great improvement of his Hebrew but with little edification. He had even studied it in Hulda"s original ma.n.u.script, which he had borrowed and never intended to return. But still he could not share his friends" belief in the perfectibility of mankind.
Perhaps if they had known how he had tippled away his savings after his wife"s death, they might have thought less well of humanity and its potentialities of perfection. After all, Huldas were too rare to make the world sober, much less fraternal. And, charming as they were, honesty demanded one should not curry favor with them by fostering their delusions.
"What put such an idea into your head, Zussmann!" he cried unsympathetically. Zussmann answered navely, as if to a question--
"I have had the idea from a boy. I remember sitting stocking-footed on the floor of the synagogue in Poland on the Fast of Ab, wondering why we should weep so over the destruction of Jerusalem, which scattered us among the nations as fertilizing seeds. How else should the mission of Israel be fulfilled? I remember"--and here he smiled pensively--"I was awakened from my day-dream by a _Patsch_ (smack) in the face from my poor old father, who was angry because I wasn"t saying the prayers."
"There will be always somebody to give you that _Patsch_," said the Red Beadle gloomily. "But in what way is Israel dispersed? It seems to me our life is everywhere as hidden from the nations as if we were all together in Palestine."
"You touch a great truth! Oh, if I could only write in English! But though I read it almost as easily as the German, I can write it as little. You know how one has to learn German in Poland--by stealth--the Christians jealous on one hand, the Jews suspicious on the other. I could not risk the Christians laughing at my bad German--that would hurt my Idea. And English is a language like the Vale of Siddim--full of pits."
"We ought to have it translated," said Hulda. "Not only for the Christians, but for the rich Jews, who are more liberal-minded than those who live in our quarter."
"But we cannot afford to pay for the translating now," said Zussmann.
"Nonsense; one has always a jewel left," said Hulda.
Zussmann"s eyes grew wet. "Yes," he said, drawing her to his breast, "one has always a jewel left."
"More _meshuggas!_" cried the Red Beadle huskily. "Much the English Jews care about ideas! Did they even acknowledge your book in their journals? But probably they couldn"t read it," he added with a laugh.
"A fat lot of Hebrew little Sampson knows! You know little Sampson--he came to report the boot-strike for _The Flag of Judah_. I got into conversation with him--a rank pork-gorger. He believes with me that Nature makes herself."
But Zussmann was scarcely eating, much less listening.
"You have given me a new scheme, Hulda," he said, with exaltation. "I will send my book to the leading English Jews--yes, especially to the ministers. They will see my Idea, they will spread it abroad, they will convert first the Jews and then the Christians."
"Yes, but they will give it as their own Idea," said Hulda.
"And what then? He who has faith in an Idea, his Idea it is. How great for me to have had the Idea first! Is not that enough to thank G.o.d for? If only my Idea gets spread in English! English! Have you ever thought what that means, Hulda? The language of the future! Already the language of the greatest nations, and the most on the lips of men everywhere--in a century it will cover the world." He murmured in Hebrew, uplifting his eyes to the rain-streaked sloping ceiling. "And in that day G.o.d shall be One and His name One."
"Your supper is getting cold," said Hulda gently.
He began to wield his knife and fork as hypnotized by her suggestion, but his vision was inwards.
IV
Fifty copies of _The Brotherhood of the Peoples_ went off by post the next day to the clergy and gentry of the larger Jewry. In the course of the next fortnight seventeen of the recipients acknowledged the receipt with formal thanks, four sent the shilling mentioned on the cover, and one sent five shillings. This last depressed Zussmann more than all the others. "Does he take me for a _Schnorrer_?" he said, almost angrily, as he returned the postal order.
He did not forsee the day when, a _Schnorrer_ indeed, he would have taken five shillings from anybody who could afford it: had no prophetic intuition of that long, slow progression of penurious days which was to break down his spirit. For though he managed for a time to secure enough work to keep himself and the Red Beadle going, his ruin was only delayed. Little by little his apparatus was sold off, his benches and polishing-irons vanished from the garret, only one indispensable set remaining, and master and man must needs quest each for himself for work elsewhere. The Red Beadle dropped out of the menage, and was reduced to semi-starvation. Zussmann and Hulda, by the gradual disposition of their bits of jewellery and their Sabbath garments, held out a little longer, and Hulda also got some sewing of children"s under-garments. But with the return of winter, Hulda"s illness returned, and then the beloved books began to leave bare the nakedness of the plastered walls. At first, Hulda, refusing to be visited by doctors who charged, struggled out bravely through rain and fog to a free dispensary, where she was jostled by a crowd of head-shawled Polish crones, and where a hara.s.sed Christian physician, tired of jargon-speaking Jewesses, bawled and bullied. But at last Hulda grew too ill to stir out, and Zussmann, still out of employment, was driven to look about him for help. Charities enough there were in the Ghetto, but to charity, as to work, one requires an apprenticeship. He knew vaguely that there were persons who had the luck to be ill and to get broths and jellies. To others, also, a board of guardian angels doled out payments, though some one had once told him you had scant chance unless you were a Dutchman. But the inexperienced in begging are naturally not so successful as those always at it. "Twas vain for Zussmann to kick his heels among the dismal crowd in the corridor, the whisper of his misdeeds had been before him, borne by some compet.i.tor in the fierce struggle for a.s.sistance. What! help a hypocrite to sit on the twin stools of Christendom and Judaism, fed by the bounty of both! In this dark hour he was approached by the thin-nosed gentlewomen, who had got wind of his book and who scented souls. Zussmann wavered. Why, indeed, should he refuse their a.s.sistance? He knew their self-sacrificing days, their genuine joy in salvation. On their generosities he was far better posted than on Jewish--the lurid legend of these Mephistophelian matrons included blankets, clothes, port wine, and all the delicacies of the season. He admitted that Hulda had indeed been brought low, and permitted them to call. Then he went home to cut dry bread for the bedridden, emaciated creature who had once been beautiful, and to comfort her--for it was Friday evening--by reading the Sabbath prayers; winding up, "A virtuous woman who can find? For her price is far above rubies."
On the forenoon of the next day arrived a basket, scenting the air with delicious odors of exquisite edibles.
Zussmann received it with delight from the boy who bore it. "G.o.d bless them!" he said. "A chicken--grapes--wine. Look, Hulda!"
Hulda raised herself in bed; her eyes sparkled, a flush of color returned to the wan cheeks.
"Where do these come from?" she asked.
Zussmann hesitated. Then he told her they were the harbingers of a visit from the good sisters.
The flush in her cheek deepened to scarlet.