STRELITZKI PAVES THE WAY FOR HIS REVENGE
The yard at Mendel’s factory was filled to its utmost capacity. Men
jostled each other’s elbows, and trod on each other’s corns with
good-natured indiscrimination. A jargon of Polish, Yiddish, Roumanian,
and English of the Lancashire dialect smote the air with Babel-like
confusion; and as each man spoke to his neighbour at the precise moment
that his neighbour spoke to him, the amount of comprehension on either
side was reduced to nil.
They had met for the discussion of a grievance. Herbert Karne, after
further provocation, had put his threat into execution: the
night-school, the dispensary, and the club were closed. A notice was
pasted on the doors stating that they would remain closed until he
received, signed by each one of the men, a full and satisfactory apology
for the gratuitous insults levelled at his sister and himself; together
with a promise of better behaviour in future.
The news produced a sensation, some of the men utterly refusing to
believe it until they saw the notice for themselves. The club had been
opened so long, and occupied such a prominent position in the
recreative part of their work-a-day lives, that they had lost sight of
the fact that it was kept up entirely at Herbert Karne’s expense. Nearly
every evening they repaired thither to while away an hour or two in the
comfortable reading or smoke rooms; which were always well heated in
winter, well ventilated in summer. Here they could chat, or
_schmooze_,[19] as they called it, to their heart’s content. They were
also at liberty to play solo-whist, so long as they played for nominal
stakes only, gambling being strictly prohibited; and in the winter
evenings, Herbert Karne arranged numerous entertainments for their
benefit, to which their women folks, in their Sabbath clothes, came as
well.
The club closed, they would be obliged to have recourse to the
bar-parlours of the public-houses; for the gregarious instinct was
strong within them, and their home-life more or less unattractive. But
they knew that, being foreigners and abstemious, they would not receive
a cordial welcome there; nor, indeed, did they desire the society of
public-house frequenters. They had the greatest respect for the British
workman when sober; but they were aware that having waxed convivial by
the aid of beer, he was apt to indulge in uncomplimentary remarks
concerning “them furriners;” and being extremely sensitive, they did not
care for jocularity at their own expense.
It became evident, therefore, that they must endeavour to get the club
re-opened; and it was in order to effect this end, that the meeting was
being held.
In the centre of the yard a number of heavy boxes had been piled up to
serve as a rostrum; and from this a slender olive-skinned man addressed
his fellow-workers. He was Emil Blatz, the foreman of the factory and
manager of the club.
Their present attitude to their benefactor, he told them--when he could
command silence--was senseless to the last degree. They had been
indulging in foolish spleen, and incurring serious harm to themselves,
as the closing of the club and dispensary testified. They were simply
running their heads against a brick wall when they imagined they could
go against a man in Mr. Karne’s position. He advised them to sign an
apology which he himself would prepare; and voted that they should do
all in their power to renew their former friendly relations with Herbert
Karne.
His address was received with expressions of mingled approval and
dissent. The majority of them were half inclined to think that it would
be wiser in the end to cease hostility, especially as the winter was
approaching. They remembered the numerous creature comforts which had
been provided every year at the artist’s expense.
Jacob Strelitzki, with a wild light in his eyes, elbowed his way through
the crowd and sprang on to the platform.
“Mates!” he shouted energetically, “do you want to be turned into
bacon-eating _m’shumadim_ by Herbert Karne and his sister?”
A vigorous reply in the negative rolled towards him like the answer of
one man.
“Well, then, don’t apologize, don’t play into their hands! Herbert Karne
is no true friend of ours! He has taken an interest in our welfare
simply that he might convert us all in the end! Four years ago he did
his best to make a _m’shumad_ of me, but I resisted before it was too
late. We have our wives and children to consider--suppose he converts
them against our will? Let us make a firm stand against it, and swear
that that shall never be!”
Murmurs of indignation and applause came from every throat; but the
foreman Blatz held up his hand to still them.
“It is false!” he cried in a voice that could be heard at the
furthermost corner of the yard. “Mr. Karne is our true friend, and he is
not a _m’shumad_. He has told us over and over again that he wishes us
to be good Jews and upright men; he has never attempted to teach us any
creed but our own. What right, then, have we to say that he is not a
good Jew?”
“Every right!” replied the dark-bearded man vehemently. “If Herbert
Karne were a good Jew, he would not have received his sister into his
house after she became a Christian. He should have treated her as Bernie
Franks would have done had he lived; he ought to have cast her adrift.
Listen here, friends, Strelitzki is right. If we allow ourselves to be
ruled by the people at the Towers, we shall find our wives and children
being led astray. Only yesterday my little girl Blume met with a slight
accident whilst out on an errand. Miss Celia Franks used it as an excuse
to entice her to the Towers, where she kept her for some time. What she
said to the child I do not know, but when my wife undressed Blume at
night, she discovered this”--lifting a crucifix high above their
heads--“hung round her neck. Comrades, are we to stand by without
protest in the face of an insult such as this?”
“No, no!” responded the angry crowd, their ire aroused at the sight of
the offending emblem. “Stamp on it! Crush the trumpery thing! Down with
those who dare to tamper with our religion! Down with _m’shumadim_!”
A crucifix around a Jewish child’s neck! It was the worst indignity that
could have been offered to them, for nothing could have shocked them
more. Here was proof positive of Celia Franks’ intention to convert
their children by force; here was virtually their call to arms.
Even the foreman Blatz knew not what to think; like the rest of them he
was amazed and shocked. In vain now did he urge them to establish peace;
the incident of the crucifix decided what their course of action should
be.
They accused Blatz himself of apostasy when he again pleaded in favour
of the artist. They would do without Mr. Karne’s gifts rather than be
robbed of the faith of their forefathers. They would ask one of the
Rothschilds or Montefiores to build them a club; they would accept
nothing more from Herbert Karne.
The meeting broke up in noisy confusion, a motion being carried to
arrange further proceedings the following night. The men dispersed in
twos and threes, each discoursing volubly with his neighbour in whatever
his native language happened to be.
Emil Blatz went on his way alone, with heavy heart and thoughtful brow.
Usually he himself, as foreman, took the lead in factory affairs, but
to-night he had been superseded. The men had been swayed by Strelitzki
and Horwitz, who by common consent had established themselves as
leaders, and their temper boded no good towards Herbert Karne.
Blatz possessed a strong admiration for the artist, who had done him
many a good turn. He could not forget a certain eventful night, when his
boy lay dying, and Karne had kept vigil with him for eight weary hours,
until, at dawn, the little soul had fled into the dim unknown. He felt
he owed him a debt of gratitude for that, which, if it were in his
power, he must repay.
Almost involuntarily his steps turned towards the Towers, although he
had only a vague idea as to what he intended to do. Without giving
himself time for thought he pressed the visitors’ bell. Noiselessly the
gate swung back, gaining him admittance to the grounds. The coachman’s
wife peered out at him as he drew near the lodge, but offered no
resistance: and with careful steps he passed along the gravelled path
which bounded the lawn, until the house with its ornamental turrets
loomed clear against the blackness of the night.
Presently the sound of music made him pause; the mellow tones of a
piano, and then a woman’s voice, full, rich, and clear. Blatz listened
with eager attention, for he was a musician born. Softly and sweetly the
notes floated towards him through the half-open windows. He recognized
the melody; it was an _aria_ from _Elijah_.
Moving a few steps to the right he found himself in full view of the
drawing-room. The blinds had not been lowered; and through the
transparent curtains he could see the interior of the room.
The scene struck him strangely, being in such marked contrast to the one
he had just left. It was as if, in the midst of turbulent strife, he had
suddenly come upon a haven of rest. Here for one short moment he might
breathe the atmosphere of peace and refinement. Although but a humble
factory worker, Blatz possessed a passionate love of the beautiful; and
this luxurious apartment, with its dainty touches of femininity,
awakened a keen thrill of pleasure within his breast.
There were five occupants of the room, all of whom were known to the
foreman, except the dark-haired girl at the piano. Herbert Karne stood
with his back to the fireplace exhibiting a book of sketches to the
white-haired vicar of Durlston. Seated on a low chair in the roseate
glow of the lamp was the vicar’s daughter, her fingers busily plying a
piece of fancy-work; and facing her, by the side of the grand piano,
stood Celia Franks, singing with all her heart.
“_Hear ye, Israel! hear what the Lord speaketh: Oh, hadst thou heeded,
heeded My commandments!_”
Sweetly and half reproachfully she sang the words to their melodious
accompaniment. Her eyes were dimly fixed on the dark swaying trees in
the garden; her thoughts were far from the lighted room.
Then more solemnly she enunciated the question: “_Who hath believed our
report? To whom is the arm of the Lord revealed?_” Afterwards recurring
to the exhortation, “_Hear ye!_” and closing with the pathetic appeal in
the minor key, “_Israel!... Israel!_”
A wave of emotion swept over Emil Blatz as he listened; the mellifluous
beauty of the melody almost carried him away. He knew not whom he envied
the more: Mendelssohn for having composed such music, or the young
singer for her power to interpret it in that way.
The words, too, sounded in his ear with peculiar significance; they
seemed like a justification of the singer’s faith.
Suddenly the voice ceased its tender note of appeal; and after a few
bars of recitative, burst forth into a triumphant assurance of divine
protection, followed by the sublime meditation:--
“_Say, who art thou, that art afraid of a man that shall die? And
forgettest the Lord thy Maker, Who hath stretched forth the heavens, and
laid the earth’s foundations? Be not afraid, for I, thy God, will
strengthen thee!_”
To Blatz there was a note of defiance in the girl’s rendering of the
dramatic music: the very poise of her head, as she sang the “_Be not
afraid_,” seemed like a challenge to those who were her enemies. In his
simplicity he forgot that she was quite unconscious of her uninvited
listener, and that the words were not her own.
When the last note died away, he moved towards the hall door: he had
made up his mind that the artist must be warned.
Karne received him in the smoke-room, expecting that he had been deputed
to bring him the written apology he claimed. He was disappointed to
learn that such was not the case; but although he had no desire to
remain at enmity with Mendel’s people, he fully meant to stand his
ground.
The foreman explained that he had not come on behalf of the people, but
merely to acquaint the artist privately of the strong ill-feeling that
existed against him, and to advise him to take measures towards
self-protection. The situation was graver than he knew.
“It is an absurd affair altogether,” Karne said impatiently. “What your
grievance really is, I haven’t the faintest idea. I wish you would tell
me in what I have offended your people so deeply.”
Blatz spread his hands deprecatingly, as much as to say that it was no
fault of his.
“It’s mostly on account of Miss Celia, sir,” he began with hesitation.
“They think you ought to have adopted severer measures in connection
with her conversion. And because you have painted religious pictures,
and are so friendly with the Rev. Mr. Milnes, they think that you
yourself are going the wrong way. They fear that you and your sister
will attempt to convert them also.”
Karne listened with good-natured contempt on his handsome face.
“What egregious idiots!” he exclaimed, when Blatz had finished. “You may
assure them on my word of honour that I have no intention of becoming a
Christian--not because I have any silly prejudices such as theirs,
however. As for my sister, neither they nor I have the right to deny her
the courage of her opinions. I feel sure that she will not offend by
thrusting her creed upon any of you against your will.”
“Then why did she take little Blume Horwitz home and try to convert her
yesterday, sir?”
The artist raised his eyebrows. “My sister and her friend found the
little girl in distress by the road-side; and enacted the part of good
Samaritan by bringing her here to be attended to,” he replied. “I do not
know what you mean by ‘trying to convert her.’ You surely do not think
that she would argue about religion with a child!”
“But she hung a crucifix around Blume’s neck,” affirmed Blatz, eagerly.
“That was a great mistake, sir. It was like throwing down the gauntlet,
so to speak.”
Karne looked puzzled and incredulous. “Surely you must be mistaken!” he
exclaimed in surprise. “However we can easily ask my sister about it.
Will you come with me into the drawing-room? Oh, that’s all right”--as
Blatz looked ruefully down at his corduroys--“the ladies will excuse
your attire.”
He led the way across the hall, the foreman nervously following. Blatz
dreaded the highly polished parquet floor, and the rugs which slipped
away directly one’s feet touched them. The only occasion on which he had
been there before he had executed an involuntary war dance; and he was
not anxious for a repetition of the performance.
Higgins, who had just brought in the after-dinner coffee, favoured the
unusual visitor with a look of supercilious superiority; but Celia, with
her usual sweetness, invited him to sit down; and insisted on his taking
a cup of coffee with them.
Blatz shuffled to the nearest chair, and sat on the edge of it. From
the outside the room with its handsome belongings had delighted his
artistic sense; but now that he was inside he half wished himself out
again.
Herbert Karne explained the nature of the foreman’s errand.
“Things have come to a pretty pass,” he said, bitterly, “when we, who
have done those people nothing but good, should have to be warned
concerning our own safety because of their sinister designs. One might
imagine that we were living in the days of the Inquisition.”
The girls looked scared.
“What do you think they will do?” asked Gladys Milnes.
“I have not the least idea. However, we need not be afraid. Fortunately
there is a telephone in the house, so that I can easily ring up the
police if there should be occasion to do so.”
Blatz pricked up his ears, and made a mental note of the latter
statement.
“By-the-bye,” continued the artist slowly, “did you tie a crucifix round
that little Horwitz girl’s neck, yesterday, Celia?”
The girl seemed astounded. “I? No, of course not,” she answered,
emphatically. “I have never possessed such a thing.”
“Miss Franks is not a Roman Catholic. She does not wear baubles of that
sort,” put in the vicar, who was extremely Low Church.
“I thought so,” said Karne, with satisfaction. “So you see you were
mistaken, Mr. Blatz.”
The foreman was disconcerted. “The child wore one when she returned from
the Towers, sir,” he said but half convinced. “Perhaps Miss Celia’s
friend----?”
Enid Wilton shook her head. “No, I had nothing to do with it either,”
she said. “It is a strange occurrence.”
It was indeed strange. Blatz did not know what to make of it. He could
not possibly doubt the statement of the two young ladies; and yet, if
neither of them had put the crucifix on the child, how had it got there?
He puzzled over the question, but could find no solution; and when,
after finding that his warning was futile so far as Herbert Karne was
concerned, he left the Towers, the incident of the crucifix still
occupied his mind.
As the foreman shut the gate which led into the private road, a man
sprang suddenly out of the darkness, and laid a detaining grip on his
shoulder. It was Jacob Strelitzki, somewhat the worse for drink.
“I thought that was what you were going to do, so I followed you up to
here,” he said, with a vicious shake. “Been blabbing, I suppose, you
mean sneak?”
“Let me go!” cried the foreman, angrily. “I’ve been finding out the
truth. You and Horwitz are on the wrong track. Mr. Karne is no more a
_m’shumad_ than you are; and his sister did not put the crucifix on the
child. There’s been some trickery somewhere. I should not be surprised
if you had something to do with it, either, Jacob Strelitzki. I know you
have a grudge against Mr. Karne.”
Strelitzki was furious. Hurling various choice epithets at his companion
he shook him off with such violence that Blatz fell against the wall,
knocking his head, and severely bruising his shoulder.
Strelitzki immediately became repentant. Apologizing for his hasty
temper, he saw the foreman to his home, and helped to dress his wounds.
But Blatz was too indisposed to attend the meeting of the factory people
the following evening; and as there was no one to tell the truth
concerning Herbert Karne and his sister, Strelitzki ruled with unopposed
sway.