Chapter X: 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.