THE 'FLAG' FLUTTERS
The _Flag of Judah_, price one penny, largest circulation of any
Jewish organ, continued to flutter, defying the battle, the breeze,
and its communal contemporaries. At Passover there had been an
illusive augmentation of advertisements proclaiming the virtues of
unleavened everything. With the end of the Festival most of these fell
out, staying as short a time as the daffodils. Raphael was in despair
at the meagre attenuated appearance of the erst prosperous-looking
pages. The weekly loss on the paper weighed upon his conscience.
'We shall never succeed,' said the sub-editor, shaking his romantic
hair, 'till we run it for the Upper Ten. These ten people can make the
paper, just as they are now killing it by refusing their countenance.'
'But they must surely reckon with us sooner or later,' said Raphael.
'It will be a long reckoning, I fear; you take my advice, and put in
more butter. It'll be _kosher_ butter, coming from us.'
The little Bohemian laughed as heartily as his eyeglass permitted.
'No; we must stick to our guns. After all, we have had some very good
things lately. Those articles of Pinchas's are not bad, either.'
'They're so beastly egotistical. Still, his English is improving, and
his theories are ingenious, and far more interesting than those
terribly dull long letters of Goldsmith, which you will put in.'
Raphael flushed a little, and began to walk up and down the new and
superior sanctum with his ungainly strides, puffing furiously at his
pipe. The appearance of the room was less bare; the floor was carpeted
with old newspapers and scraps of letters. A huge picture of an
Atlantic liner, the gift of a steamship company, leaned cumbrously
against a wall.
'Still, all our literary excellences,' pursued Sampson, 'are
outweighed by our shortcomings in getting births, marriages, and
deaths. We are gravelled for lack of that sort of matter. What is the
use of your elaborate essay on the Septuagint, when the public is
dying to hear who's dead?'
'Yes, I am afraid it is so,' said Raphael, emitting a huge volume of
smoke.
'I'm sure it is so. If you would only give me a freer hand I feel sure
I could work up that column. We can, at least, make a better show. I
would avoid the danger of discovery by shifting the scene to foreign
parts. I could marry some people in Bombay, and kill some in Cape
Town, redressing the balance by bringing others into existence at
Cairo and Cincinnati. Our contemporaries would score off us in local
interest, but we should take the shine out of them in cosmopolitanism.'
'No, no; remember that _Meshumad_,' said Raphael, smiling.
'He was real; if you had allowed me to invent a corpse we should have
been saved that contretemps. We have one death this week, fortunately,
and I am sure to fish out another in the daily papers. But we haven't
had a birth for three weeks running; it's just ruining our reputation.
Everybody knows that the orthodox are a fertile lot, and it looks as
if we hadn't got the support even of our own party. Ta-ra-ra-ta! Now,
you must really let me have a birth. I give you my word nobody'll
suspect it isn't genuine. Come now! How's this?'
He scribbled on a piece of paper and handed it to Raphael, who read:
'BIRTH.
'On the 15th inst., at 17 East Stuart Lane, Kennington, the wife
of Joseph Samuels of a son.'
'There!' said Sampson proudly. 'Who would believe the little beggar
had no existence? Nobody lives in Kennington, and that East Stuart
Lane is a master-stroke. You might suspect Stuart Lane, but nobody
would ever dream there's no such place as _East_ Stuart Lane. Don't
say the little chap must die; I begin to take quite a paternal
interest in him. May I announce him? Don't be too scrupulous. Who'll
be a penny the worse for it?'
He began to chirp, with bird-like trills of melody.
Raphael hesitated; his moral fibre had been weakened. It is impossible
to touch print and not be defiled.
Suddenly Sampson ceased to whistle, and smote his head with his chubby
fist.
'Ass that I am!' he exclaimed.
'What new reason have you discovered to think so?' said Raphael.
'Why, we dare not create boys. We shall be found out; boys must be
circumcised, and some of the periphrastically styled "Initiators into
the Abrahamic Covenant" may spot us. It was a girl that Mrs. Joseph
Samuels was guilty of.'
He amended the sex.
Raphael laughed heartily.
'Put it by--there's another day yet--we shall see.'
'Very well,' said Sampson resignedly. 'Perhaps by to-morrow we shall
be in luck, and able to sing "Unto us a child is born, unto us a son
is given." By the way, did you see the letter complaining of our using
that quotation on the ground it was from the New Testament?'
'Yes,' said Raphael, smiling. 'Of course the man doesn't know his Old
Testament, but I trace his misconception to his having heard Handel's
_Messiah_. I wonder he doesn't find fault with the Morning Service for
containing the Lord's prayer, or with Moses for saying, "Thou shalt
love thy neighbour as thyself."'
'Still, that's the sort of man newspapers have to cater for,' said the
sub-editor. 'And we don't. We have cut down our Provincial Notes to a
column. My idea would be to make two pages of them, not cutting out
any of the people's names and leaving in more of the adjectives.
Every man's name we mention means at least one copy sold. Why can't we
drag in a couple of thousand names every week?'
'That would make our circulation altogether nominal,' laughed Raphael,
not taking the suggestion seriously.
Little Sampson was not only the Mephistopheles of the office,
debauching his editor's guileless mind with all the wily ways of the
old journalistic hand; he was of real use in protecting Raphael
against the thousand and one pitfalls that make the editorial chair as
perilous to the occupant as Sweeney Todd's; against the people who
tried to get libels inserted as news or as advertisements, against the
self-puffers and the axe-grinders. He also taught Raphael how to
commence interesting correspondence and how to close awkward. The
_Flag_ played a part in many violent discussions. Little Sampson was
great in inventing communal crises, and in getting the public to
believe it was excited. He also won a great victory over the other
party every three weeks; Raphael did not wish to have so many of these
victories, but Little Sampson pointed out that if he did not have them
the rival newspaper would annex them. One of the earliest sensations
of the _Flag_ was a correspondence exposing the misdeeds of some
communal officials, but in the end the very persons who made the
allegations ate humble pie. Evidently official pressure had been
brought to bear, for red tape rampant might have been the heraldic
device of Jewish officialdom. In no department did Jews exhibit more
strikingly their marvellous powers of assimilation to their
neighbours.
Among the discussions which rent the body politic was the question of
building a huge synagogue for the poor. The _Flag_ said it would only
concentrate them, and its word prevailed. There were also the grave
questions of English and harmoniums in the synagogue, of the
confirmation of girls and their utilisation in the choir. The
Rabbinate, whose grave difficulties in reconciling all parties to its
rule were augmented by the existence of the _Flag_, pronounced it
heinous to introduce English excerpts into the liturgy; if, however,
they were not read from the central platform, they were legitimate;
harmoniums were permissible, but only during special services, and an
organisation of mixed voices was allowable, but not a mixed choir;
children might be confirmed, but the word 'confirmation' should be
avoided. Poor Rabbinate! The politics of the little community were
extremely complex. What with rabid zealots yearning for the piety of
the good old times, spiritually-minded ministers working with
uncomfortable earnestness for a larger Judaism, radicals dropping out,
moderates clamouring for quiet, and schismatics organising new and
tiresome movements, the Rabbinate could scarcely do aught else than
emit sonorous platitudes and remain in office.
And beneath all these surface ruffles was the steady silent drift of
the new generation away from the old landmarks. The synagogue did not
attract; it spoke Hebrew to those whose mother-tongue was English, its
appeal was made through channels which conveyed nothing to them, it
was out of touch with their real lives, its liturgy prayed for the
restoration of sacrifices which they did not want and for the welfare
of Babylonian colleges that had ceased to exist. The old generation
merely believed its beliefs; if the new as much as professed them, it
was only by virtue of the old home associations and the inertia of
indifference. Practically it was without religion. The Reform
Synagogue, though a centre of culture and prosperity, was cold, crude,
and devoid of magnetism. Half a century of stagnant reform and
restless dissolution had left orthodoxy still the established doxy.
For as orthodoxy evaporated in England, it was replaced by fresh
streams from Russia, to be evaporated and replaced in turn, England
acting as an automatic distillery. Thus the Rabbinate still reigned,
though it scarcely governed either the East End or the West. For the
East End formed a Federation of the smaller synagogues to oppose the
dominance of the United Synagogue, importing a minister of superior
orthodoxy from the Continent, and the _Flag_ had powerful leaders on
the great struggle between plutocracy and democracy, and the voice of
Mr. Henry Goldsmith was heard on behalf of Whitechapel. And the West,
in so far as it had spiritual aspirations, fed them on non-Jewish
literature and the higher thought of the age. The finer spirits,
indeed, were groping for a purpose and a destiny, doubtful even if the
racial isolation they perpetuated were not an anachronism. While the
community had been battling for civil and religious liberty, there had
been a unifying, almost spiritualising, influence in the sense of
common injustice, and the question _Cui bono_ had been postponed.
Drowning men do not ask if life is worth living. Later the Russian
persecutions came to interfere again with national introspection,
sending a powerful wave of racial sympathy round the earth. In England
a backwash of the wave left the Asmonean society, wherein, for the
first time in history, Jews gathered with nothing in common save
blood--artists, lawyers, writers, doctors--men who in pre-emancipation
times might have become Christians like Heine, but who now formed an
effective protest against the popular conceptions of the Jew, and a
valuable antidote to the disproportionate notoriety achieved by less
creditable types. At the Asmonean society, brilliant free-lances, each
thinking himself a solitary exception to a race of bigots, met one
another in mutual astonishment. Raphael alienated several readers by
uncompromising approval of this characteristically modern movement.
Another symptom of the new intensity of national brotherhood was the
attempt towards amalgamating the Spanish and German communities, but
brotherhood broke down under the disparity of revenue, the rich
Spanish sect displaying once again the exclusiveness which has marked
its history.
Amid these internal problems, the unspeakable immigrant was an added
thorn. Very often the victim of Continental persecution was assisted
on to America, but the idea that he was hurtful to native labour
rankled in the minds of Englishmen, and the Jewish leaders were
anxious to remove it, all but proving him a boon. In despair it was
sought to anglicise him by discourses in Yiddish. With the poor alien
question was connected the return to Palestine. The Holy Land League
still pinned its faith to Zion, and the _Flag_ was with it to the
extent of preferring the ancient fatherland, as the scene of
agricultural experiments, to the South American soils selected by
other schemes. It was generally felt that the redemption of Judaism
lay largely in a return to the land, after several centuries of less
primitive and more degrading occupations. When South America was
chosen, Strelitski was the first to counsel the League to co-operate
in the experiment, on the principle that half a loaf is better than no
bread. But for the orthodox the difficulties of regeneration by the
spade were enhanced by the Sabbatical Year Institute of the
Pentateuch, ordaining that land must lie fallow in the seventh year.
It happened that this septennial holiday was just going on, and the
faithful Palestine farmers were starving in voluntary martyrdom. The
_Flag_ raised a subscription for their benefit. Raphael wished to head
the list with twenty pounds, but on the advice of Little Sampson he
broke it up into a variety of small amounts spread over several weeks,
and attached to imaginary names and initials. Seeing so many other
readers contributing, few readers felt called upon to tax themselves.
The _Flag_ received the ornate thanks of a pleiad of Palestine Rabbis
for its contribution of twenty-five guineas, two of which were from
Mr. Henry Goldsmith. Gideon, the member for Whitechapel, remained
callous to the sufferings of his brethren in the Holy Land. In daily
contact with so many diverse interests Raphael's mind widened as
imperceptibly as the body grows. He learnt the manners of many men and
committees--admired the genuine goodness of some of the Jewish
philanthropists and the fluent oratory of all, even while he realised
the pettiness of their outlook and their reluctance to face facts.
They were timorous, with a dread of decisive action and definite
speech suggesting the deferential, deprecatory corporeal wrigglings of
the mediaeval Jew. They seemed to keep strict ward over the technical
privileges of the different bodies they belonged to, and in their
capacity of members of the Fiddle-de-dee to quarrel with themselves as
members of the Fiddle-de-dum, and to pass votes of condolence or
congratulation twice over as members of both. But the more he saw of
his race the more he marvelled at the omnipresent ability, being
tempted at times to allow truth to the view that Judaism was a
successful sociological experiment, the moral and physical training of
a chosen race whose very dietary had been religiously regulated.
And even the revelations of the seamy side of human character, which
thrust themselves upon the most purblind of editors, were blessings in
disguise. The office of the _Flag_ was a forcing house for Raphael;
many latent thoughts developed into extraordinary maturity. A month of
the _Flag_ was equal to a year of experience in the outside world. And
not even Little Sampson himself was keener to appreciate the humours
of the office, when no principle was involved; though what made the
sub-editor roar with laughter often made the editor miserable for the
day. For compensation Raphael had felicities from which Little Sampson
was cut off; gladdened by revelations of earnestness and piety in
letters that were merely bad English to the sub-editor.
A thing that set them both laughing occurred on the top of their
conversation about the reader who objected to quotations from the Old
Testament. A package of four old _Flags_ arrived, accompanied by a
letter. This was the letter:
'DEAR SIR,
'Your man called upon me last night, asking for payment for four
advertisements of my Passover groceries. But I have changed my
mind about them and do not want them, and therefore beg to
return the four numbers sent me. You will see I have not opened
them or soiled them in any way, so please cancel the claim in
your books.
'Yours truly,
'ISAAC WOLLBERG.'
'He evidently thinks the vouchers sent him _are_ the advertisements,'
screamed Little Sampson.
'But if he is as ignorant as all that, how could he have written the
letter?' asked Raphael.
'Oh, it was probably written for him for twopence by the Shalotten
Shammos, the begging-letter writer.'
'This is almost as funny as Karlkammer,' said Raphael.
Karlkammer had sent in a long essay on the 'Sabbatical Year Question,'
which Raphael had revised and published, with Karlkammer's title at
the head and Karlkammer's name at the foot. Yet, owing to the few
rearrangements and inversions of sentences, Karlkammer never
identified it as his own, and was perpetually calling to inquire when
his article would appear. He brought with him fresh manuscripts of the
article as originally written. He was not the only caller. Raphael was
much pestered by visitors on kindly counsel bent or stern exhortation.
The sternest were those who had never yet paid their subscriptions. De
Haan also kept up proprietorial rights of interference. In private
life Raphael suffered much from pillars of the Montagu Samuels type,
who accused him of flippancy, and no communal crisis invented by
Little Sampson ever equalled the pother and commotion that arose when
Raphael incautiously allowed him to burlesque the notorious _Mordecai
Josephs_ by comically exaggerating its exaggerations. The community
took it seriously as an attack upon the race. Mr. and Mrs. Henry
Goldsmith were scandalised, and Raphael had to shield Little Sampson
by accepting the whole responsibility for its appearance.
'Talking of Karlkammer's article, are you ever going to use up
Herman's scientific paper?' asked Little Sampson.
'I'm afraid so,' said Raphael, 'I don't know how we can get out of it.
But his eternal _kosher_ meat sticks in my throat. We are Jews for the
love of God, not to be saved from consumption bacilli. But I won't use
it to-morrow; we have Miss Cissy Levine's tale. It's not half bad.
What a pity she has the expenses of her books paid! If she had to
achieve publication by merit, her style might be less slipshod.'
'I wish some rich Jew would pay the expenses of my opera tour,' said
Little Sampson ruefully. 'My style of doing the thing would be
improved. The people who are backing me up are awfully stingy.
Actually buying up battered old helmets for my chorus of Amazons.'
Intermittently the question of the sub-editor's departure for the
provinces came up; it was only second in frequency to his
'victories.' About once a month the preparations for the tour were
complete, and he would go about in a heyday of jubilant vocalisation;
then his comic _prima donna_ would fall ill or elope, his conductor
would get drunk, his chorus would strike, and Little Sampson would
continue to sub-edit the _Flag of Judah_.
Pinchas unceremoniously turned the handle of the door and came in. The
sub-editor immediately hurried out to get a cup of tea. Pinchas had
fastened upon him the responsibility for the omission of an article
last week, and had come to believe that he was in league with rival
Continental scholars to keep Melchitzedek Pinchas's effusions out of
print, and so Little Sampson dared not face the angry savant. Raphael,
thus deserted, cowered in his chair. He did not fear death, but he
feared Pinchas, and had fallen into the cowardly habit of bribing him
lavishly not to fill the paper. Fortunately the poet was in high
feather.
'Don't forget the announcement that I lecture at the Club on Sunday.
You see, all the efforts of Reb Shemuel, of the Rev. Joseph
Strelitski, of the Chief Rabbi, of Ebenezer vid his blue spectacles,
of Sampson, of all the phalanx of English Men-of-the-Earth, they all
fail. Ah, I am a great man.'
'I won't forget,' said Raphael wearily. 'The announcement is already
in print.'
'Ah, I love you. You are the best man in the vorld. It is you who have
championed me against those who are thirsting for my blood. And now I
vill tell you joyful news. There is a maiden coming up to see you; she
is asking in the publisher's office. Oh, such a lovely maiden!'
Pinchas grinned all over his face, and was like to dig his editor in
the ribs.
'What maiden?'
'I do not know, but vai-r-r-y beaudiful. Aha, I vill go! Have you not
been good to _me_? But vy come not beaudiful maidens to _me_?'
'No, no, you needn't go,' said Raphael, getting red.
Pinchas grinned, as one who knew better, and struck a match to
rekindle a stump of cigar.
'No, no, I go write my lecture; oh, it vill be a great lecture. You
vill announce it in the paper? You vill not leave it out like Sampson
left out my article last week?'
He was at the door now, with his finger alongside his nose.
Raphael shook himself impatiently, and the poet threw the door wide
and disappeared.
For a full minute Raphael dared not look towards the door, for fear of
seeing the poet's cajoling head framed in the opening. When he did, he
was transfixed to see Esther Ansell's there, regarding him pensively.
His heart beat painfully at the shock; the room seemed flooded with
sunlight.
'May I come in?' she said, smiling.