Despite the Red Beadle's Rationalism, which, basing itself on the
facts of life, was not to be crushed by high-flown German words, the
master-shoemaker showed him marked favor and often invited him to stay
on to supper. Although the Beadle felt this was but the due
recognition of one intellect by another, if an inferior intellect, he
was at times irrationally grateful for the privilege of a place to
spend his evenings in. For the Ghetto had cut him--there could be no
doubt of that. The worshippers in his old synagogue whom he had once
dominated as Beadle now passed him by with sour looks--"a dog one does
not treat thus," the Beadle told himself, tugging miserably at his red
beard.
"It is not as if I were a Meshummad--a convert to Christianity." Some
hereditary instinct admitted _that_ as a just excuse for execration.
"I can't make friends with the Christians, and so I am cut off from
both."
When after a thunderstorm two of the hands resigned their places at
Zussmann's benches on the avowed ground that atheism attracts
lightning, Zussmann's loyalty to the freethinker converted the
Beadle's gratitude from fitfulness into a steady glow.
And, other considerations apart, those were enjoyable suppers after
the toil and grime of the day. The Beadle especially admired
Zussmann's hands when the black grease had been washed off them, the
fingers were so long and tapering. Why had his own fingers been made
so stumpy and square-tipped? Since Nature made herself, why was she so
uneven a worker? Nay, why could she not have given him white teeth
like Zussmann's wife? Not that these were ostentatious--you thought
more of the sweetness of the smile of which they were part. Still, as
Nature's irregularity was particularly manifest in his own teeth, he
could not help the reflection.
If the Red Beadle had not been a widower, the unfeigned success of the
Herz union might have turned his own thoughts to that happy state. As
it was, the sight of their happiness occasionally shot through his
breast renewed pangs of vain longing for his Leah, whose death from
cancer had completed his conception of Nature. Lucky Zussmann, to have
found so sympathetic a partner in a pretty female! For Hulda shared
Zussmann's dreams, and was even copying out his great work for the
press, for business was brisk and he would soon have saved up enough
money to print it. The great work, in the secret of which the Red
Beadle came to participate, was written in Hebrew, and the elegant
curves and strokes would have done honor to a Scribe. The Beadle
himself could not understand it, knowing only the formal alphabet such
as appears in books and scrolls, but the first peep at it which the
proud Zussmann permitted him removed his last disrespect for the
intellect of his master, without, however, removing the mystery of
that intellect's aberrations.
"But you dream with the eyes open," he said, when the theme of the
work was explained to him.
"How so?" asked Hulda gently, with that wonderful smile of hers.
"Reconcile the Jews and the Christians! _Meshuggas_--madness." He
laughed bitterly. "Do you forget what we went through in Poland? And
even here in free England, can you walk in the street without every
little _shegetz_ calling after you and asking, 'Who killed Christ?'"
"Yes, but herein my husband explains that it was not the Jews who
killed Christ, but Herod and Pilate."
"As it says in Corinthians," broke in Zussmann eagerly: "'We speak the
wisdom of God in a mystery, which none of the princes of this world
knew; for had they known it, they would not have crucified the Lord of
Glory.'"
"So," said the Red Beadle, visibly impressed.
"Assuredly," affirmed Hulda. "But, as Zussmann explains here, they
threw the guilt upon the Jews, who were too afraid of the Romans to
deny it."
The Beadle pondered.
"Once the Christians understand that," said Zussmann, pursuing his
advantage, "they will stretch out the hand to us."
The Beadle had a flash. "But how will the Christians read you? No
Christian understands Hebrew."
Zussmann was taken momentarily aback. "But it is not so much for the
Christians," he explained. "It is for the Jews--that they should
stretch out the hand to the Christians."
The Red Beadle stared at him in shocked silent amaze. "Still greater
madness!" he gasped at length. "They will treat you worse than they
treat me."
"Not when they read my book."
"Just when they read your book."
Hulda was smiling serenely. "They can do nothing to my husband; he is
his own master, God be thanked; no one can turn him away."
"They can insult him."
Zussmann shook his head gently. "No one can insult me!" he said
simply. "When a dog barks at me I pity it that it does not know I love
it. Now draw to the table. The pickled herring smells well."
But the Red Beadle was unconvinced. "Besides, what should we make it
up with the Christians for--the stupid people?" he asked, as he
received his steaming coffee cup from Frau Herz.
"It is a question of the Future of the World," said Zussmann gravely,
as he shared out the herring, which had already been cut into many
thin slices by the vendor and pickler. "This antagonism is a
perversion of the principles of both religions. Shall we allow it to
continue for ever?"
"It will continue till they both understand that Nature makes
herself," said the Red Beadle.
"It will continue till they both understand my husband's book,"
corrected Hulda.
"Not while Jews live among Christians. Even here they say we take the
bread out of the mouths of the Christian shoemakers. If we had our own
country now--"
"Hush!" said Zussmann. "Do you share that materialistic dream? Our
realm is spiritual. Nationality--the world stinks with it! Germany for
the Germans, Russia for the Russians. Foreigners to the devil--pah!
Egomania posing as patriotism. Human brotherhood is what we stand for.
Have you forgotten how the Midrash explains the verse in the Song of
Solomon: 'I charge you, O ye daughters of Jerusalem, by the roes, and
by the hinds of the field, that ye stir not up, nor awake my love till
he please'?"
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 manuscript 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 God help you!" said the Red Beadle.