ESTHER DEFIES THE UNIVERSE
Esther wore a neat black mantle, and looked taller and more womanly
than usual in a pretty bonnet and a spotted veil. There was a flush of
colour in her cheeks, her eyes sparkled. She had walked, in cold sunny
weather, from the British Museum (where she was still supposed to be),
and the wind had blown loose a little wisp of hair over the small
shell-like ear. In her left hand she held a roll of manuscript--it
contained her criticisms of the May Exhibitions. Whereby hung a tale.
In the dark days that followed the scene with Levi, Esther's
resolution had gradually formed. The position had become untenable.
She could no longer remain a _Schnorrer_, abusing the bounty of her
benefactors into the bargain. She must leave the Goldsmiths, and at
once. That was imperative; the second step could be thought over when
she had taken the first. And yet she postponed taking the first. Once
she drifted out of her present sphere, she could not answer for the
future; could not be certain, for instance, that she would be able to
redeem her promise to Raphael to sit in judgment upon the Academy and
other picture-galleries that bloomed in May. At any rate, once she had
severed connection with the Goldsmith circle she would not care to
renew it, even in the case of Raphael. No; it was best to get this
last duty off her shoulders, then to say farewell to him and all the
other human constituents of her brief period of partial sunshine.
Besides, the personal delivery of the precious manuscript would afford
her the opportunity of this farewell to him. With his social
remissness, it was unlikely he would call soon upon the Goldsmiths,
and she now restricted her friendship with Addie to receiving Addie's
visits, so as to prepare for its dissolution.
Addie amused her by reading extracts from Sidney's letters, for the
brilliant young artist had suddenly gone off to Norway the morning
after the _debut_ of the new Hamlet. Esther felt that it might be as
well if she stayed on to see how the drama of these two lives
developed. These things she told herself in the reaction from the
first impulse of instant flight.
Raphael put down his pipe at the sight of her, and a frank smile of
welcome shone upon his flushed face.
'This is so kind of you!' he said. 'Who would have thought of seeing
you here? I am so glad. I hope you are well. You look better.' He was
wringing her little gloved hand violently as he spoke.
'I feel better, too, thank you. The air is so exhilarating. I'm glad
to see you're still in the land of the living. Addie has told me of
your debauches of work.'
'Addie is foolish. I never felt better. Come inside. Don't be afraid
of walking on the papers, they're all old.'
'I always heard literary people were untidy,' said Esther, smiling.
'_You_ must be a regular genius.'
'Well, you see, we don't have many ladies coming here,' said Raphael
deprecatingly, 'though we have plenty of old women.'
'It's evident you don't, else some of them would go down on their
hands and knees and never get up till this litter was tidied up a
bit.'
'Never mind that now, Miss Ansell. Sit down, won't you? You must be
tired. Take the editorial chair--allow me a minute.' He removed some
books from it.
'Is that the way you sit on the books sent in for review?' She sat
down. 'Dear me! it's quite comfortable. You men like comfort, even the
most self-sacrificing. But where is your fighting editor? It would be
awkward if an aggrieved reader came in and mistook me for the editor,
wouldn't it? It isn't safe for me to remain in this chair!'
'Oh yes, it is! We've tackled our aggrieved readers for to-day,' he
assured her.
She looked curiously round.
'Please pick up your pipe; it's going out. I don't mind smoke--indeed
I don't. Even if I did, I should be prepared to pay the penalty of
bearding an editor in his den.'
Raphael resumed his pipe gratefully.
'I wonder, though, you don't set the place on fire,' Esther rattled
on, 'with all this mass of inflammable matter about.'
'It is very dry, most of it,' he admitted, with a smile.
'Why don't you have a real fire? It must be quite cold sitting here
all day. What's that great ugly picture over there?'
'That steamer? It's an advertisement.'
'Heavens! what a decoration! I should like to have the criticism of
that picture. I've brought you those picture-galleries, you know:
that's what I've come for.'
'Thank you; that's very good of you! I'll send it to the printers at
once.'
He took the roll, and placed it in a pigeon-hole without taking his
eyes off her face.
'Why don't you throw that awful staring thing away?' she asked,
contemplating the steamer with a morbid fascination; 'and sweep away
the old papers, and have a few little water-colours hung up, and put a
vase of flowers on your desk. I wish I had the control of the office
for a week.'
'I wish you had,' he said gallantly. 'I can't find time to think of
those things. I am sure you are brightening it up already.'
The little blush on her cheek deepened. Compliment was unwonted with
him; and, indeed, he spoke as he felt. The sight of her seated so
strangely and unexpectedly in his own humdrum sanctum, the imaginary
picture of her beautifying it and evolving harmony out of the chaos
with artistic touches of her dainty hands, filled him with pleasant,
tender thoughts such as he had scarce known before. The commonplace
editorial chair seemed to have undergone consecration and poetic
transformation. Surely the sunshine that streamed through the dusty
window would for ever rest on it henceforwards. And yet the whole
thing appeared fantastic and unreal.
'I hope you are speaking the truth,' replied Esther, with a little
laugh. 'You need brightening, you old dry-as-dust philanthropist,
sitting poring over stupid manuscripts when you ought to be in the
country enjoying the sunshine.' She spoke in airy accents, with an
under-current of astonishment at her attack of high spirits on an
occasion she had designed to be harrowing.
'Why, I haven't _looked_ at your manuscript yet,' he retorted gaily,
but as he spoke there flashed upon him a delectable vision of blue sea
and waving pines with one fair wood-nymph flitting through the trees,
luring him on from this musty cell of never-ending work to unknown
ecstasies of youth and joyousness. The leafy avenues were bathed in
sacred sunlight, and a low magic music thrilled through the quiet air.
It was but the dream of a second--the dingy walls closed round him
again; the great ugly steamer, that never went anywhere, sailed on.
But the wood-nymph did not vanish; the sunbeam was still on the
editorial chair, lighting up the little face with a celestial halo.
And when she spoke again it was as if the music that thrilled the
visionary glades was a reality, too.
'It's all very well, your treating reproof as a jest,' she said more
gravely. 'Can't you see that it's false economy to risk a breakdown,
even if you use yourself purely for others? You're looking far from
well. You are over-taxing human strength. Come now, admit my sermon is
just. Remember, I speak not as a Pharisee, but as one who made the
mistake herself--a fellow-sinner.' She turned her dark eyes
reproachfully upon him.
'I--I--don't sleep very well,' he admitted, 'but otherwise I assure
you I feel all right.'
It was the second time she had manifested concern for his health. The
blood coursed deliciously in his veins; a thrill ran through his whole
form. The gentle, anxious face seemed to grow angelic. Could she
really care if his health gave way? Again he felt a rush of self-pity
that filled his eyes with tears. He was grateful to her for sharing
his sense of the empty cheerlessness of his existence. He wondered why
it had seemed so full and cheery just before.
'And you used to sleep so well,' said Esther slyly, remembering
Addie's domestic revelations. 'My stupid manuscript should come in
useful.'
'Oh, forgive my stupid joke!' he said remorsefully.
'Forgive mine!' she answered. 'Sleeplessness is too terrible to joke
about. Again I speak as one who knows.'
'Oh, I'm sorry to hear that!' he said, his egoistic tenderness
instantly transformed to compassionate solicitude.
'Never mind me--I am a woman and can take care of myself. Why don't
you go over to Norway and join Mr. Graham?'
'That's quite out of the question,' he said, puffing furiously at his
pipe. 'I can't leave the paper.'
'Oh, men always say that! Haven't you let your pipe out? I don't see
any smoke.'
He started and laughed. 'Yes, there's no more tobacco in it.' He laid
it down.
'No, I insist on your going on, or else I shall feel uncomfortable.
Where's your pouch?'
He felt all over his pockets. 'It must be on the table.'
She rummaged among the mass of papers. 'Ha! there are your scissors!'
she said scornfully, turning them up. She found the pouch in time and
handed it to him. 'I ought to have the management of this office for a
day,' she remarked again.
'Well, fill my pipe for me,' he said, with an audacious inspiration.
He felt an unreasoning impulse to touch her hand, to smooth her soft
cheek with his fingers, and press her eyelids down over her dancing
eyes. She filled the pipe, full measure and running over; he took it
by the stem, her warm gloved fingers grazing his chilly bare hand and
suffusing him with a delicious thrill.
'Now you must crown your work,' he said. 'The matches are somewhere
about.'
She hunted again, interpolating exclamations of reproof at the risk of
fire.
'They're safety matches, I think,' he said. They proved to be wax
vestas. She gave him a liquid glance of mute reproach that filled him
with bliss as overbrimmingly as his pipe had been filled with
bird's-eye; then she struck a match, protecting the flame
scientifically in the hollow of her little hand. Raphael had never
imagined a wax vesta could be struck so charmingly. She tip-toed to
reach the bowl in his mouth, but he bent his tall form and felt her
breath upon his face. The volumes of smoke curled up triumphantly, and
Esther's serious countenance relaxed in a smile of satisfaction. She
resumed the conversation where it had been broken off by the idyllic
interlude of the pipe.
'But if you can't leave London, there's plenty of recreation to be had
in town. I'll wager you haven't yet been to see _Hamlet_, in lieu of
the night you disappointed us.'
'Disappointed myself, you mean,' he said, with a retrospective
consciousness of folly. 'No, to tell the truth, I haven't been out at
all lately. Life is so short.'
'Then, why waste it?'
'Oh, come, I can't admit I waste it,' he said, with a gentle smile
that filled her with a penetrating emotion. 'You mustn't take such
material views of life.' Almost in a whisper he quoted, '"To him that
hath the kingdom of God all things shall be added"'; and went on,
'Socialism is, at least, as important as Shakespeare.'
'Socialism!' she repeated. 'Are you a Socialist, then?'
'Of a kind,' he answered. 'Haven't you detected the cloven hoof in my
leaders? I'm not violent, you know; don't be alarmed. But I have been
doing a little mild propagandism lately in the evenings--Land
Nationalisation and a few other things which would bring the world
more into harmony with the Law of Moses.'
'What! do you find Socialism, too, in orthodox Judaism?'
'It requires no seeking.'
'Well, you're almost as bad as my father, who found everything in the
Talmud. At this rate you will certainly convert me soon; or, at least,
I shall, like M. Jourdain, discover I've been orthodox all my life
without knowing it!'
'I hope so,' he said gravely. 'But have you Socialistic sympathies?'
She hesitated. As a girl she had felt the crude Socialism which is
the unreasoned instinct of ambitious poverty, the individual revolt
mistaking itself for hatred of the general injustice. When the higher
sphere has welcomed the Socialist, he sees he was but the exception to
a contented class. Esther had gone through the second phase, and was
in the throes of the third, to which only the few attain.
'I used to be a red-hot Socialist once!' she said. 'To-day I doubt
whether too much stress is not laid on material conditions. High
thinking is compatible with the plainest living. "The soul is its own
place, and can make a heaven of hell, a hell of heaven." Let the
people who wish to build themselves lordly treasure-houses do so, if
they can afford it; but let us not degrade our ideals by envying
them.'
The conversation had drifted into seriousness; Raphael's thoughts
reverted to their normal intellectual cast; but he still watched with
pleasure the play of her mobile features as she expounded her
opinions.
'Ah, yes, that is a nice abstract theory,' he said. 'But what if the
mechanism of competitive society works so that thousands don't get
even the plainest living? You should just see the sights I have seen,
then you would understand why for some time the improvement of the
material condition of the masses must be the great problem. Of course,
you won't suspect me of underrating the moral and religious
considerations?'
Esther smiled almost imperceptibly. The idea of Raphael, who could not
see two inches before his nose, telling _her_ to examine the spectacle
of human misery would have been distinctly amusing, even if her early
life had been passed amongst the same scenes as his. It seemed a part
of the irony of things and the paradox of fate that Raphael, who had
never known cold or hunger, should be so keenly sensitive to the
sufferings of others; while she, who had known both, had come to
regard them with philosophical tolerance. Perhaps she was destined ere
long to renew her acquaintance with them. Well, that would test her
theories, at any rate.
'Who is taking material views of life now?' she asked.
'It is by perfect obedience to the Mosaic Law that the kingdom of God
is to be brought about on earth,' he answered. 'And in spirit orthodox
Judaism is, undoubtedly, akin to Socialism.' His enthusiasm set him
pacing the room, as usual, his arms working like the sails of a
windmill.
Esther shook her head.
'Well, give me Shakespeare!' she said. 'I had rather see _Hamlet_ than
a world of perfect prigs!' She laughed at the oddity of her own
comparison, and added, still smiling, 'Once upon a time I used to
think Shakespeare a fraud. But that was merely because he was an
institution. It is a real treat to find one superstition that will
stand analysis!'
'Perhaps you will find the Bible turn out like that,' he said
hopefully.
'I _have_ found it. Within the last few months I have read it right
through again--Old and New. It is full of sublime truths, noble
apophthegms, endless touches of nature, and great poetry. Our tiny
race may well be proud of having given humanity its greatest, as well
as its most widely-circulated, books. Why can't Judaism take a natural
view of things and an honest pride in its genuine history, instead of
building its synagogues on shifting sand?'
'In Germany--later in America--the reconstruction of Judaism has been
attempted in every possible way; inspiration has been sought, not only
in literature, but in archaeology, and even in anthropology; it is
these which have proved the shifting sand. You see, your scepticism is
not even original.' He smiled a little, serene in the largeness of his
faith. His complacency grated upon her. She jumped up.
'We always seem to get into religion, you and I,' she said. 'I wonder
why! It is certain we shall never agree. Mosaism is magnificent, no
doubt, but I cannot help feeling Mr. Graham is right when he points
out its limitations. Where would the art of the world be if the Second
Commandment had been obeyed? Is there any such thing as an absolute
system of morality? How is it the Chinese have got on all these years
without religion? Why should Jews claim the patent in those moral
ideas which you find just as well in all the great writers of
antiquity? Why----' She stopped suddenly, seeing his smile had
broadened.
'Which of all these objections am I to answer?' he asked merrily.
'Some I'm sure you don't mean.'
'I mean all those you can't answer. So please don't try. After all,
you're not a professional explainer of the universe that I should
heckle you thus.'
'Oh, but I set up to be,' he protested.
'No, you don't. You haven't called me a blasphemer once. I'd better go
before you become really professional. I shall be late for dinner.'
'What nonsense! It is only four o'clock,' he pleaded, consulting an
old-fashioned silver watch.
'As late as that!' said Esther in horrified tones. 'Good-bye. Take
care to go through my "copy" in case any heresies have filtered into
it.'
'Your "copy"? Did you give it me?' he inquired.
'Of course I did. You took it from me. Where did you put it? Oh, I
hope you haven't mixed it up with those papers. It'll be a terrible
task to find it!' cried Esther excitedly.
'I wonder if I could have put it in the pigeon-hole for copy,' he
said. 'Yes; what luck.'
Esther laughed heartily.
'You seem tremendously surprised to find anything in its right place.'
The moment of solemn parting had come, yet she found herself laughing
on. Perhaps she was glad to find the farewell easier than she had
foreseen. It had certainly been made easier by the theological passage
of arms, which brought out all her latent antagonism to the prejudiced
young pietist. Her hostility gave rather a scornful ring to the laugh,
which ended with a suspicion of hysteria.
'What a lot of stuff you've written,' he said. 'I shall never be able
to get this into one number.'
'I didn't intend you should. It's to be used in instalments, if it's
good enough. I did it all in advance, because I'm going away.'
'Going away!' he cried, arresting himself in the midst of an
inhalation of smoke. 'Where?'
'I don't know,' she said wearily.
He looked alarm and interrogation.
'I am going to leave the Goldsmiths,' she said. 'I haven't decided
exactly what to do next.'
'I hope you haven't quarrelled with them.'
'No, no; not at all. In fact, they don't even know I am going. I only
tell you in confidence. Please don't say anything to anybody.
Good-bye. I may not come across you again. So this may be a last
good-bye.'
She extended her hand; he took it mechanically.
'I have no right to pry into your confidence,' he said anxiously, 'but
you make me very uneasy.' He did not let go her hand; the warm touch
quickened his sympathy. He felt he could not part with her, and let
her drift into Heaven knew what. 'Won't you tell me your trouble?' he
went on. 'I am sure it is some trouble. Perhaps I can help you. I
should be so glad if you would give me the opportunity.'
The tears struggled to her eyes, but she did not speak. They stood in
silence, with their hands still clasped, feeling very near to each
other, and yet still so far apart.
'Cannot you trust me?' he asked. 'I know you are unhappy, but I had
hoped you had grown cheerfuller of late. You told me so much at our
first meeting, surely you might trust me yet a little farther.'
'I have told you enough,' she said at last. 'I cannot any longer eat
the bread of charity; I must go away and try to earn my own living.'
'But what will you do?'
'What do other girls do? Teaching, needlework, anything. Remember, I'm
an experienced teacher, and a graduate to boot.'
Her pathetic smile lit up the face with tremulous tenderness.
'But you will be quite alone in the world,' he said, solicitude
vibrating in every syllable.
'I am used to being quite alone in the world.'
The phrase threw a flash of light along the backward vista of her life
with the Goldsmiths, and filled his soul with pity and yearning.
'But suppose you fail?'
'If I fail----' she repeated, and rounded off the sentence with a
shrug.
It was the apathetic, indifferent shrug of Moses Ansell; only his was
the shrug of faith in Providence, hers of despair. It filled Raphael's
heart with deadly cold, and his soul with sinister forebodings. The
pathos of her position seemed to him intolerable.
'No, no, this must not be!' he cried, and his hand gripped hers
fiercely, as if he were afraid of her being dragged away by main
force.
He was terribly agitated; his whole being seemed to be undergoing
profound and novel emotions. Their eyes met; in one and the same
instant the knowledge broke upon her that she loved him, and that if
she chose to play the woman he was hers and life a Paradisian dream.
The sweetness of the thought intoxicated her, thrilled her veins with
fire. But the next instant she was chilled as by a grey cold fog. The
realities of things came back--a whirl of self-contemptuous thoughts
blent with a hopeless sense of the harshness of life. Who was she, to
aspire to such a match? Had her earlier day-dream left her no wiser
than that? The _Schnorrer's_ daughter setting her cap at the wealthy
Oxford man, forsooth! What would people say? And what would they say
if they knew how she had sought him out in his busy seclusion, to
pitch a tale of woe and move him by his tenderness of heart to a pity
he mistook momentarily for love? The image of Levi came back suddenly;
she quivered, reading herself through his eyes. And yet would not his
crude view be right--suppress the consciousness as she would in her
maiden breast--had she not been urged hither by an irresistible
impulse? Knowing what she felt now, she could not realise she had been
ignorant of it when she set out. She was a deceitful, scheming little
thing. Angry with herself, she averted her gaze from the eyes that
hungered for her, though they were yet unlit by self-consciousness;
she loosed her hand from his, and, as if the cessation of the contact
restored her self-respect, some of her anger passed unreasonably
towards him.
'What right have you to say it must not be?' she inquired haughtily.
'Do you think I can't take care of myself, that I need any one to
protect me or to help me?'
'No--I--I--only mean----' he stammered in infinite distress, feeling
himself somehow a blundering brute.
'Remember I am not like the girls you are used to meet. I have known
the worst that life can offer. I can stand alone--yes, and face the
whole world. Perhaps you don't know that I wrote _Mordecai Josephs_,
the book you burlesqued so mercilessly!'
'_You_ wrote it!'
'Yes, I. I am Edward Armitage. Did those initials never strike you? I
wrote it, and I glory in it. Though all Jewry cry out the picture is
false, I say it is true. So now you know the truth. Proclaim it to all
Hyde Park and Maida Vale, tell it to all your narrow-minded friends
and acquaintances, and let them turn and rend me. I can live without
them or their praise. Too long they have cramped my soul. Now at last
I am going to cut myself free--from them and from you and all your
petty prejudices and interests. Good-bye for ever!'
She went out abruptly, leaving the room dark and Raphael shaken and
dumfounded; she went down the stairs and into the keen bright air with
a fierce exultation at her heart, an intoxicating sense of freedom and
defiance. It was over. She had vindicated herself to herself and to
the imaginary critics. The last link that bound her to Jewry was
snapped; it was impossible it could ever be reforged. Raphael knew her
in her true colours at last. She seemed to herself a Spinoza the race
had cast out.
The editor of the _Flag of Judah_ stood for some minutes as if
petrified; then he turned suddenly to the litter on his table and
rummaged among it feverishly. At last, as with a happy recollection,
he opened a drawer. What he sought was there. He started reading
_Mordecai Josephs_, forgetting to close the drawer. Passage after
passage suffused his eyes with tears; a soft magic hovered about the
nervous sentences; he read her eager little soul in every line. Now he
understood. How blind he had been! How could he have missed seeing?
Esther stared at him from every page. She was the heroine of her own
book; yes, and the hero, too, for he was but another side of herself
translated into the masculine. The whole book was Esther, the whole
Esther and nothing but Esther, for even the satirical descriptions
were but the revolt of Esther's soul against mean and evil things. He
turned to the great love-scene of the book, and read on and on,
fascinated, without getting further than the chapter.