_The Brotherhood of the Peoples_ was published. Though the bill was
far heavier than the Hebrew printer's estimate--there being all sorts
of mysterious charges for corrections, which took away the last
_Groschen_ of their savings, Hulda and her husband were happy. They
had sown the seed, and waited in serene faith the ingathering, the
reconciliation of Israel with the Gentiles.
The book, which was in paper covers, was published at a shilling; five
hundred copies had been struck off for the edition. After six months
the account stood thus: Sales, eighty-four copies; press notices, two
in the jargon papers (printed in the same office as his book and thus
amenable to backstairs influence). The Jewish papers written in
English, which loomed before Zussmann's vision as world-shaking, did
not even mention its appearance; perhaps it had been better if the
jargon papers had been equally silent, for, though less than one
hundred copies of _The Brotherhood of the Peoples_ were in
circulation, the book was in everybody's mouth--like a piece of pork
to be spat out again shudderingly. The Red Beadle's instinct had been
only too sound. The Ghetto, accustomed by this time to insidious
attacks on its spiritual citadel, feared writers even bringing Hebrew.
Despite the Oriental sandal which the cunning shoemaker had fashioned,
his fellow-Jews saw the cloven hoof. They were not to be deceived by
the specious sanctity which Darwin and Schopenhauer--probably Bishops
of the Established Church--borrowed from their Hebrew lettering. Why,
that was the very trick of the Satans who sprinkled the sacred tongue
freely about handbills inviting souls that sought for light to come
and find it in the Whitechapel Road between three and seven. It had
been abandoned as hopeless even by the thin-nosed gentlewomen who had
begun by painting a Hebrew designation over their bureau of
beneficence. But the fact that the Ghetto was perspicacious did not
mitigate the author's treachery to his race and faith. Zussmann was
given violently to understand that his presence in the little
synagogue would lead to disturbances in the service. "The Jew needs no
house of prayer," he said; "his life is a prayer, his workshop a
temple."
His workmen deserted him one by one as vacancies occurred elsewhere.
"We will get Christians," he said.
But the work itself began to fail. He was dependent upon a large firm
whose head was Parnass of a North London congregation, and when one of
Zussmann's workers, anxious to set up for himself, went to him with
the tale, the contract was transferred to him, and Zussmann's
security-deposit returned. But far heavier than all these blows was
Hulda's sudden illness, and though the returned trust-money came in
handy to defray the expense of doctors, the outlook was not cheerful.
But "I will become a hand myself," said Zussmann cheerfully. "The
annoyance of my brethren will pass away when they really understand my
Idea; meantime it is working in them, for even to hate an Idea is to
meditate upon it."
The Red Beadle grunted angrily. He could hear Hulda coughing in the
next room, and that hurt his chest.
But it was summer now, and quite a considerable strip of blue sky
could be seen from the window, and the mote-laden sun-rays that
streamed in encouraged Hulda to grow better. She was soon up and about
again, but the doctor said her system was thoroughly upset and she
aught to have sea air. But that, of course, was impossible now. Hulda
herself declared there was much better air to be got higher up, in
the garret, which was fortunately "to let." It is true there was only
one room there. Still, it was much cheaper. The Red Beadle's heart was
heavier than the furniture he helped to carry upstairs. But the
unsympathetic couple did not share his gloom. They jested and laughed,
as light of heart as the excited children on the staircases who
assisted at the function. "My Idea has raised me nearer heaven," said
Zussmann. That night, after the Red Beadle had screwed up the
four-poster, he allowed himself to be persuaded to stay to supper. He
had given up the habit as soon as Zussmann's finances began to fail.
By way of house-warming, Hulda had ordered in baked potatoes and liver
from the cook-shop, and there were also three tepid slices of
plum-pudding.
"Plum-pudding!" cried Zussmann in delight, as his nostrils scented the
dainty. "What a good omen for the Idea!"
"How an omen?" inquired the Red Beadle.
"Is not plum-pudding associated with Christmas, with peace on earth?"
Hulda's eyes flashed. "Yes, it is a sign--the Brotherhood of the
Peoples! The Jew will be the peace-messenger of the world." The Red
Beadle ate on sceptically. He had studied _The Brotherhood of the
Peoples_ to the great improvement of his Hebrew but with little
edification. He had even studied it in Hulda's original manuscript,
which he had borrowed and never intended to return. But still he could
not share his friends' belief in the perfectibility of mankind.
Perhaps if they had known how he had tippled away his savings after
his wife's death, they might have thought less well of humanity and
its potentialities of perfection. After all, Huldas were too rare to
make the world sober, much less fraternal. And, charming as they were,
honesty demanded one should not curry favor with them by fostering
their delusions.
"What put such an idea into your head, Zussmann!" he cried
unsympathetically. Zussmann answered naïvely, as if to a question--
"I have had the idea from a boy. I remember sitting stocking-footed on
the floor of the synagogue in Poland on the Fast of Ab, wondering why
we should weep so over the destruction of Jerusalem, which scattered
us among the nations as fertilizing seeds. How else should the mission
of Israel be fulfilled? I remember"--and here he smiled pensively--"I
was awakened from my day-dream by a _Patsch_ (smack) in the face from
my poor old father, who was angry because I wasn't saying the
prayers."
"There will be always somebody to give you that _Patsch_," said the
Red Beadle gloomily. "But in what way is Israel dispersed? It seems to
me our life is everywhere as hidden from the nations as if we were all
together in Palestine."
"You touch a great truth! Oh, if I could only write in English! But
though I read it almost as easily as the German, I can write it as
little. You know how one has to learn German in Poland--by
stealth--the Christians jealous on one hand, the Jews suspicious on
the other. I could not risk the Christians laughing at my bad
German--that would hurt my Idea. And English is a language like the
Vale of Siddim--full of pits."
"We ought to have it translated," said Hulda. "Not only for the
Christians, but for the rich Jews, who are more liberal-minded than
those who live in our quarter."
"But we cannot afford to pay for the translating now," said Zussmann.
"Nonsense; one has always a jewel left," said Hulda.
Zussmann's eyes grew wet. "Yes," he said, drawing her to his breast,
"one has always a jewel left."
"More _meshuggas!_" cried the Red Beadle huskily. "Much the English
Jews care about ideas! Did they even acknowledge your book in their
journals? But probably they couldn't read it," he added with a laugh.
"A fat lot of Hebrew little Sampson knows! You know little Sampson--he
came to report the boot-strike for _The Flag of Judah_. I got into
conversation with him--a rank pork-gorger. He believes with me that
Nature makes herself."
But Zussmann was scarcely eating, much less listening.
"You have given me a new scheme, Hulda," he said, with exaltation. "I
will send my book to the leading English Jews--yes, especially to the
ministers. They will see my Idea, they will spread it abroad, they
will convert first the Jews and then the Christians."
"Yes, but they will give it as their own Idea," said Hulda.
"And what then? He who has faith in an Idea, his Idea it is. How great
for me to have had the Idea first! Is not that enough to thank God
for? If only my Idea gets spread in English! English! Have you ever
thought what that means, Hulda? The language of the future! Already
the language of the greatest nations, and the most on the lips of men
everywhere--in a century it will cover the world." He murmured in
Hebrew, uplifting his eyes to the rain-streaked sloping ceiling. "And
in that day God shall be One and His name One."
"Your supper is getting cold," said Hulda gently.
He began to wield his knife and fork as hypnotized by her suggestion,
but his vision was inwards.