FAREWELL!
Ben Yetzel was not slow to act on his discovery. The news of Lady
Patricia’s secession spread with lightning rapidity, and in two days
every one in Palestine who had the slightest connection with Lionel
Montella was aware of it. In these days of liberty it is difficult to
understand the importance of such an event, but in the eyes of the
Palestinian Jews it was of the greatest consequence. That the Governor’s
wife was not of Jewish birth had always been a drawback in their eyes,
but that she should openly profess the Christian Faith was unendurable.
Her return to Haifa, therefore, was practically out of the question, and
she decided to leave with the Princess at the end of the week.
And then came the dispute about the child. Lady Montella was up in arms
at the suggestion that he should accompany his mother to Europe; and
arrived in Jerusalem in hot haste, or at least as soon as the boat and
train would bring her. She said very little to her daughter-in-law, and
maintained a distinctly cold demeanour; but she spoke her mind freely to
her son, whose filial respect was sadly tried.
“This is the happy result of a mixed marriage!” she exclaimed, with
angry sarcasm. “Did I not tell you that the pride of the Montellas would
depart? Little Julian is practically the last descendant of the
house—for we do not know whether Ferdinand is alive or dead—and that he
should grow up a Christian would be a disgrace I should never survive.
Your poor father trusted to me to do all in my power to keep up the
honour of the family; to keep it—as it has ever been till now—purely
Jewish. Do you think that if Patricia takes the boy she will not educate
him in her faith? Of course she will; she cannot do otherwise, whatever
promises she may make.”
“But he is so young,” urged Montella, with reproach. “You forget that he
is only a baby. Why not let Patricia have the comfort of him until he is
old enough to be taught? It will be several years before he is able to
understand anything of religious matters. Heaven knows I should miss the
little chap if he left me too, but I think it cruel to part mother and
child.”
“It is cruel only to be kind,” she rejoined vigorously. “Julian must be
nurtured in Judaism, must breathe the atmosphere from babyhood if he is
to grow up a true Jew. The earliest years of a child’s life are the most
important, for it is then he imbibes the ideas which cling to him till
he becomes a man. Soon he will be old enough to notice the Sabbath
candles, and we shall be able to teach him the beginnings of our faith.
But remove him from all Jewish influence, let Patricia teach him the
Christian Catechism, and whatever else he may be, he will never grow up
a Jew. No, there is no alternative in the matter; no compromise is
possible. Julian must stay with us to be properly trained for the
responsibilities he will have to fulfil. Patricia ought never to have
married you if she did not mean to remain a Jewess. If she suffers, she
has no one to blame but herself. With us religions are not lightly
received to be afterwards cast away.”
By which it will be seen that Lady Montella was obdurate, and did not
mean to be gainsayed. If Patricia intended to take her baby away, it
would have to be by violence, and she was of much too gentle a nature to
think of forcible measures. Moreover, she knew that Lady Montella was
right, and that if she had the training of the child she could not help
bringing him up as a Christian—thereby breaking the promise she had made
before his birth. She knew also that, tended by his grandmother and the
faithful Anne, he would be in safe hands; but this did not compensate
her for the grief of the parting. The wrench was terrible, and on the
morning of her departure she felt that she must set all at defiance and
take him bodily away. The child seemed to understand what was happening,
and clung to her with the tenacity of fear; and thus, clasped in each
other’s arms, they awaited the dread signal which should warn them that
the hour was come.
Lady Montella, away from her religious principles, was as warm-hearted
as it was possible for woman to be, and could not witness the separation
unmoved. She knew that both husband and wife were suffering keenly, and
that Patricia’s heart was bleeding for her child. But the sternness of
her decision was not relaxed, and the carriage drove up relentlessly to
take the young mother away. Not caring to see the final farewell, she
joined Mrs. Engelmacher in the room above; and a few minutes later she
knew by the sound of wheels that all was over, and Patricia had gone.
The Princess was already at the little station when the unhappy pair
arrived. She had never seen either of them look so ill, but was too wise
to express her concern. Instead, she tried to make light of the whole
matter, and drew their attention to the peculiar mixture of
nationalities and personalities which composed the motley crowd on the
platform. And there was the luggage to be seen to, and the red tape of
Oriental officialism to be overcome, as well as the numerous necessities
for the journey to the West. When all was accomplished, however, there
still remained a little time before the train was due to start; and to
the Montellas these few minutes were the hardest of all.
Lionel stood with his arm around his wife, and gazed piteously at the
Princess.
“You will take care of my darling, won’t you, Olive?” he said, with a
pathetic air of appeal. “In letting her go, I am parting with half of my
life, and I know she feels it as much as I do, and perhaps more, because
she is leaving the one little ray of sunshine she might have retained.
But don’t let her fret, will you? Fretting doesn’t do a bit of good, and
it will make her ill. Perhaps I shall be able to come over to
Felsen-Schvoenig for a holiday next winter, or—or— Oh, we must look
forward to meeting again soon, however it’s managed or whatever we do.
So you’ll cheer her up, won’t you? Don’t let her get depressed. And I’ll
write every mail, and—and—”
But his flow of language gave way; he could not bring himself to say
another word.
“Oh, I’ll cheer her up,” the Princess returned confidently. “You may
rely on me. You both look as mournful as if you were parting for ever;
but that’s quite absurd. After I’ve seen my poor old Karl, I shall go to
England and get my sister to work round that wooden-headed Moore. I
fancy from what Mamie writes that the Expulsion Act is not working so
well as he anticipated. Anyway, coming straight from the Holy Land, I
shall be able to give them both a piece of my mind. Oh, there’s no
knowing what may happen in another year. You must both keep up your
spirits and hope for the best. It’s a long lane that has no turning, and
I guess yours will turn pretty soon.”
She was so anxious to comfort them that the words seemed to fall over
each other at express speed. Lionel thanked her from the bottom of his
heart, and did his best to conjure up a wan smile. Then the signal for
starting was given, and the final leavetakings had to be exchanged. A
last fond embrace, a cordial hand-shake with the Princess, and Montella
assisted the two travellers to mount their somewhat ungainly carriage.
Then a vista of waving handkerchiefs, of straining eyes, as the train
puffed and snorted on its way; and a few minutes later he was left
standing on the platform surrounded by people—but alone. Turning
resolutely, he made his way through the crowd and back to Dr.
Engelmacher’s house, his shoulders thrown back, his head bravely raised.
His mother, anxious and suddenly diffident, awaited him in the
drawing-room, and as he approached the door, gently called his name. But
either he did not hear, or he was not inclined to respond, for he passed
by quickly, and ascended to the nursery.
“He has gone to his boy for consolation,” said Dr. Engelmacher, as the
baby’s joyful “Daddy!” reached their ears. “Poor chap! he seems very
much—what do you call it—cut down? No, I meant to say cut up. Ach, the
women! Nine-tenths sorrow to a man, and one-tenth joy. Poor Montella! I
am full of regrets. He loves his wife.”
“Yes, but he must love duty more,” Lady Montella rejoined, feeling a
trifle hurt that he had not come straight back to her. “It will do him
no harm to suffer a little; he is a man, and men are made strong through
suffering. Ah, if I were only a man, what would I not do for my people,
what would I not undergo for them! Years ago I determined that what I
could not do should be accomplished by my son; and all my thoughts, my
prayers have been centred on him for that purpose. He must show the
world what can be done by a Jew who has had all the advantages of
Western culture that wealth and influence can procure; it is his
vocation, and he must not shirk it. That is why I am hard as adamant
when any hindrance occurs. He ought never to have taken a Christian
wife.”
“Of course not,” assented the doctor complacently. “Your sentiments are
most admirable, dear lady; but Montella, though a man, is human, and has
a heart. It is impossible to expect him to be a mere patriotic machine;
and even the greatest patriots in history have had a feminine angel
somewhere in the background. Ach, the women! But Ben Yetzel was a beast;
it ought never to have been necessary to send Lady Patricia away.
However, whats done is done. Montella must make the best of a bad
business, and live it down.”
And upstairs the young Governor was already trying to carry out this
very injunction. He was sitting near the open window with the child on
his knee, and battling with the sore and angry feelings which threatened
to rise and overwhelm him. Anne, busying herself about the room, saw
that his face was white and set, and likened the expression in his eyes
to that of a gazelle who had been cruelly wounded. But although her kind
old heart was overflowing with sympathy, she had too much tact to speak,
and knew that her respectful silence was perhaps more eloquent than
words. Afterwards he joined the others below, and entered into their
conversation with such zest that they were almost astonished. Lady
Montella glanced at him with pride, and congratulated herself upon the
fact that he had borne the separation well.
But from that day forth he was a changed man. The iron had entered into
his soul.