Chapter XIII: The Social Ethics of Judaism

David Salmon’s visit to the Towers, just that week, was rather unfortunate so far as Celia and Dr. Milnes were concerned. Geoffrey was very desirous of having another interview with Celia before he went abroad, but he could not bring himself to meet her _fiancé_; and feeling himself to be in an equivocal position, he stayed away. Celia was both glad and sorry that he did not come--glad, because under the circumstances it was best that her peace of mind should not be further disturbed; sorry, because Geoffrey was her old friend and playmate, and he was soon to go so far away.

On the day before he sailed, her brother took her to the vicarage to say good-bye. There were two or three visitors present besides the Milnes family, so that she was unable to get a word with him alone: but his eyes scarcely left her face all the time she was there; and he gazed at her so pathetically that once or twice she nearly broke down.

Before she left, he presented her with a living memento of his friendship, in the shape of a tiny Yorkshire terrier, with its silvery hair tied up with ribbon of the colour of forget-me-nots. He knew how fond she was of animals, and noted with gratification that her face lit up with pleasure as she lifted the little creature up and fondled it in her arms. He could not have chosen a more obtrusive reminder of himself, for any inanimate object might have lain unheeded after a time; but Souvenir or “Souvie,” as the little dog was called, remained a living witness to his quondam master’s existence. Such a reminder was quite unnecessary, however, in Celia’s case: she was not in the least danger of forgetting the gallant cavalier of her childhood.

She had wished him good-bye and God-speed in few and simple words, said in the presence of his family and friends; but her heart had been very full. If, at the last moment, he had come to her and persisted in his declaration of love, she might have been persuaded to break off her engagement with David Salmon and accept him, no matter what the consequences. But he had not done so--he had gone without a word,--and therefore she was inclined to think that he had said more than he meant on the night that the news of her father’s death had been received; perhaps he had repented later that he had said so much.

Celia’s state of mind was decidedly paradoxical. She liked David Salmon, and he was her _fiancé_, and she was content therewith--or so she made herself believe. On the other hand, she also liked Geoffrey Milnes (she would not confess even to herself that she loved him), and she could not help wishing that fate had been more propitious to them both.

Before she returned to London she threshed the question out thoroughly, and tried to come to an honest understanding with herself. The one great reason why she had never allowed herself to even think of Geoffrey Milnes as a lover, was because he was a Christian; she would have regarded him in quite a different light had he been a Jew. If he really loved her, however, he ought to have stayed at home and fought for her like a man, instead of letting her go without an effort; therefore she came to the conclusion that he did not care for her, or that his was merely a platonic kind of affection. And if such were indeed the case, it was clearly of no use for her to waste her time in vain regrets of what might have been; besides, her pride would not allow her to be guilty of unrequited affection. In justice to David, she would have to get Geoffrey’s image out of her mind, for it was certainly not right to be engaged to one man, and to be continually hankering after another.

So she went back to the Academy, and plunged into her work with renewed vigour; and tried her very hardest to banish Geoffrey Milnes from her memory. She was kinder to David than heretofore, and only allowed him to see the lighter side of her nature, so that he found her greatly improved for the better. He had obtained a good post as commercial traveller to a large firm of manufacturers, and was only in London at the week-ends--an arrangement which suited Celia very well, for it left her free to follow her own devices during the week, and also prevented her from seeing too much of him. He tried to persuade her continually to give up her musical studies, and marry him as soon as her term of mourning expired; but she was determined to go on with her music, and seemed less inclined to think of marriage than ever.

She was making good progress at the Academy, and thoroughly enjoyed her musical life. Mr. Lambert still refused to allow her to sing at any concert, but she was coming to the fore with her elocution and acting, in which she was greatly encouraged by the dramatic author, Guy Haviland.

The Havilands lived in a pretty house in St. John’s Wood, within easy distance of Maida Vale. Celia went there frequently, either to have a good romp with the children--which she enjoyed immensely,--or to recite a fresh poem to the master of the house, or to sing a new song with Enid Wilton at the piano, and Grace Haviland to play a violin _obliggato_.

Miss Haviland was a fresh-looking girl, five years younger than her brother, and, besides being a very fair violinist, was a writer of verse. One or two of her lyrics Celia sang, to music composed by Enid Wilton; and as they had so much interest in common, the three girls were great chums.

Mrs. Friedberg felt a little bit piqued that Celia was not more friendly with her own girls. She took them with her to the Academy, it was true, and gave them tickets for concerts, but she never told them anything about herself; and after she had been with them a year, they knew her very little better than on the day she had arrived. Adeline had introduced her to some of her friends, and had given her frequent opportunities for going into young Jewish society, but Celia was unresponsive, and held herself aloof--or so it seemed to Mrs. Friedberg.

She took her to task for it one day, and read her such a lesson on her unsociability, that the poor girl was quite distressed.

“You know I haven’t time, really, Mrs. Friedberg,” she said in extenuation. “Besides, I am in mourning now. But I am going to pay Mrs. Leopold Cohen a visit this afternoon, so you see I am not very unsociable, after all.”

Mrs. Leopold Cohen was the only one of her new acquaintance with whom Celia was on terms of intimacy. She was a very charming woman, and, although quite young, had snow-white hair and a face on which suffering had left its traces. Her husband was a confirmed and fractious invalid, being afflicted with an incurable spinal complaint which necessitated his being always in a recumbent position; and her two children were both so delicate that she was in a perpetual state of anxiety concerning their welfare. Yet, although there was so much to try her--for, besides the ill health of her dear ones, she was worried about ways and means--she possessed a calm and patient nature which was quite incapable of being ruffled by the turbulent storm of adversity. Celia had been struck by the sweetness and repose of her countenance, the more so as she had once been a witness of one of Mr. Cohen’s splenetic outbursts, and knew what the wife had to endure.

“I don’t know how you can stand it, poor dear,” the girl had said to her on that occasion. “You must have the temper of a saint.”

But the brave little woman shook her head; she did not wish to be pitied.

“One gets used to it in time,” she had answered with a wistful smile. “And Leopold doesn’t mean all he says. He is in such pain, you know; it is no wonder that he is fretful.”

On this particular afternoon, however, her husband was better than usual, and peace reigned in the little household, at least for a time. Mrs. Cohen received Celia with cordiality; and when she had attended to the numerous requirements of the invalid, they settled down to a quiet chat.

“Why did you not go to the Isaacsons’ last Tuesday?” she asked her, reproachfully. “I made sure you would be there, especially as the Friedbergs and Mrs. Rosen came.”

“Tuesday?” repeated Celia, thoughtfully. “Oh yes, I remember. I went to recite at an entertainment in Hoxton for Mr. Wilton. Did you enjoy yourself at the Isaacsons’?”

“Fairly well; only my husband sent for me rather early, as he felt ill. I was very disappointed that you were not there, though. Mrs. Friedberg tells me that you do not care for the society of Jewish people; but I hope that is not true?”

Celia looked sheepish. “Did Mrs. Friedberg tell you that?” she said, bending down to fasten her shoe. “She has just been lecturing me about being unsociable. You see, I don’t care about going to card-parties, because I don’t play cards; and even if I did, I could not play just now, because I am in mourning.”

“Yes, but they don’t all play cards,” rejoined Mrs. Cohen. “I don’t, for one. And there are always plenty of young people for you to talk to. Haven’t you made any Jewish girl friends since you came to London?”

“No, only one or two. Most of them seem to me to be so shallow-minded, and they talk of nothing but dress, and theatres, and the latest matrimonial engagement. By-the-bye, I suppose you have heard that Lottie Friedberg is engaged?”

Mrs. Cohen smiled. “Who is talking about the latest engagement now?” she said banteringly. “But I have heard about it--Mrs. Friedberg told me the other night. He is a Birmingham young man, isn’t he? I think Lottie is a very lucky girl. I suppose the Rev. Isaac Abrahams managed the affair, as he did Adeline’s?”

“Yes, that is what I think so horrid about it,” replied the girl with disgust. “It was a made-up match. Lottie didn’t know him any more than the man in the moon, until, by arrangement with her father, Mr. Abrahams brought him over from Birmingham to be introduced, and a week later the engagement was announced. I cannot understand how any self-respecting girl can allow herself to be disposed of in that cut-and-dried manner. I couldn’t, I know.”

Mrs. Cohen sighed. She was thinking of her own marriage, which had come under the category they were discussing.

“Before I was engaged,” continued Celia, indignantly, “Mr. Rosen was always offering to find a young man for me. Whenever I met him, no matter how many people were present, he would always say, ‘Hello, Miss Franks, I am on the look-out for a nice _chosan_[10] for you; one with plenty of money preferred, eh?’ It used to make me so angry. To be honest, Mrs. Cohen, I have not been much impressed with the Jewish society I have met up till now. There seems to be so much money-grubbing, and match-making, and card-playing about it. Can you wonder that I prefer to be with my Christian musical friends? Their company is so much more congenial to me.”

Mrs. Cohen began to look serious, and a little pucker appeared on her usually placid brow.

“You must not judge all Jewish society by the few people you have met,” she said thoughtfully. “There are many Jewish men and women who are cultured and refined in the very highest degree; still I admit that there is some truth in your estimate, unflattering though it seems. But I hope you do not intend to put yourself out of touch with us, Celia. I consider that you, especially, will have your duty to perform to your own people.”

“Why me, especially?” asked the girl, with interest.

“Because, with your voice and your wealth, there is every chance of your attaining a certain amount of fame,” answered her hostess, earnestly. “And I trust that we shall consider you a credit to our race. And don’t you think, Celia, that if such should be the case, and knowing that a certain amount of narrow-minded prejudice always exists against our People, don’t you think that it will be your duty to ever stand up for the race to which you belong, and to say to those Gentiles who admire your talents and your beauty, ‘I, who have won such golden opinions from you all, I am a Jewess, and I glory in it’?”

Her words rang with enthusiasm, yet they awakened only a feeble response in Celia’s heart. The girl’s mind was troubled and perplexed, and she could not endorse a sentiment which was not honestly her own. Her eyes sought the ground, and she remained silent for a moment.

“Are you really proud of being a Jewess?” she asked suddenly, with shy diffidence. “Honestly glad and proud, I mean? I try to be, but somehow I--I can’t!”

She blushed as she made the confession. Mrs. Cohen regarded her musingly. Her sombre mourning-gown threw into relief the brilliancy of her hair and complexion. Her eyes were deeply thoughtful, and her face glowed with the health and ingenuousness of girlhood. It was a pity, the elder lady thought, that this sweet and beautiful girl should have picked up such strangely unconventional ideas.

“Don’t you think, dear child,” she said slowly, “that we have a right to be proud of our ancient Race? Think of our great and glorious past. What other nation has been through the vicissitudes and misfortunes which have afflicted us, and yet come through them all uncrushed as we have done? Surely you have read our history in the Old Testament--how we were made the chosen people of God in Abraham’s time; and although the other nations which surrounded us gave themselves over to idolatry and lasciviousness, we ever remained faithful to our divine heritage, until our pure Monotheism became the religion of the civilized world.

“Think of our great men of bygone days--Moses, who received the Decalogue, which is as potent to-day as when it was given on Mount Sinai; Joshua, the mighty leader; David, the soldier-poet; Solomon, the wise king; Elijah, the prophet. Is it not something to belong to a race which has produced such men as those--a race upon whom God has set His seal, and, in spite of assimilation, has kept a peculiar people unto Himself?”

But Celia still looked doubtful. “You are like my brother,” she said. “You look at Israel through a veil of idealism. I can only think of what we are to-day. We have had a great past--yes; but what have we to link us with that past? Our glory departed when Jerusalem was destroyed, and since the dispersion we have surely fallen into disrepute. I always feel, in reading over our history, that, from the call of Abraham, we were working up to a climax, and no climax came, unless ’twere overlooked; as if we were, so to speak, a building without a coping-stone. We were established as a nation, we throve and grew great; but our greatness was overthrown, and we toppled over from the eminence on which we stood, with our divine purpose but half fulfilled. And we cannot live in the past, grand though it may have been. It seems to me that we must have degenerated greatly since then. Our national characteristics of to-day are not such as should give us cause for pride; and even though they have undoubtedly been exaggerated by our Gentile neighbours, we cannot deny that there is some foundation for the unfortunate reputation we bear.”

“That may be so,” rejoined Mrs. Cohen, impressed by her young friend’s earnestness. “But you must not forget that for generations past our people abroad have been persecuted and oppressed, and that the sinister effects of that persecution will yet take many years to eradicate. How could we develop our higher and nobler qualities whilst the heel of the despot was upon our necks? Are we not redeeming our character here in England, where, thank God, we are free? Look how steadily Jews are coming to the fore in all the higher walks of life--in commerce, in politics, in what we term high society, and in the fine arts. There is scarcely a cause of national import in which our people do not participate; and where will you find a more thrifty, sober, responsible, law-abiding citizen than the modern English Jew? You see, Celia, I am optimistic. I believe that there is a great future for us yet; and that is why I am so anxious to encourage you, who are full of the impetuosity of youth, to make up your mind to defend all that is highest in our Jewish life, and to be an example of what the true type of a Jewess should be. Then both Jews and Christians will respect you, and you will feel that you have not lived in vain!”

She paused, for the tinkle of Mr. Cohen’s bell warned her that her services were required. She had said quite enough, however, to give Celia food for a wider range of thought. The girl began to wonder if, after all, her own outlook upon Judaism were not a very limited one; and when she left Mrs. Cohen that afternoon she resolved to try and cherish more loyal feelings towards her own people.

It was a pity, perhaps, that so much of her life had been spent amongst Gentiles, for she had unconsciously been educated in a non-Jewish school of thought. She was unable as yet to discern the real goodness of heart underlying the apparent self-interest and occasional vulgarity of the average Jew of her acquaintance. She was not able, either to look below the surface of the many Jewish rites and observances which struck her as so meaningless and irksome; but she was a conscientious little soul, and meant to persevere until her Judaism should give her the happiness and contentment that she sought. Mrs. Cohen’s words had done her good.