but a change came over the spirit of the dream. before he could seriously plan out his journey to palestine, he met mabel aaronsberg in the flesh. she was staying in town for the season in charge of an aunt, and the meeting occurred in one of the galleries of the newer art, in front of mabel's own self in marble. she praised the psyche without in the least recognising herself, and barstein, albeit disconcerted, could not but admit how far his statue was from the breathing beauty of the original.

after this the jewish borderland of bohemia, where writers and painters are courted, began to see barstein again. but, unfortunately, this was not mabel's circle, and barstein was reduced to getting himself invited to that jewish bayswater, his loathing for which had not been overcome even by his new-found nationalism. here, amid hundreds of talking and dancing shadows, with which some shadowy self of his own danced and talked, he occasionally had a magic hour of reality—with mabel.

one could not be real and not talk of the national dream. mabel, who took most of her opinions from her brother julius, was frankly puzzled, though her marmoreal gift of beautiful silence saved her lover from premature shocks. she had, indeed, scarcely heard of such things. zionism was something in the east end. nobody in her class ever mentioned it. but, then, barstein was a sculptor and strange, and, besides, he did not look at all like a jew, so it didn't sound so horrible in his mouth. his lithe figure stood [102]out almost anglo-saxon amid the crowds of hulking undersized young men, and though his manners were not so good as a christian's—she never forgot his blunder at her father's dinner-party—still, he looked up to one with almost a christian's adoration, instead of sizing one up with an oriental's calculation. these other london jews thought her provincial, she knew, whereas barstein had one day informed her she was universal. julius, too, had admired barstein's sculpture, the modern note in which had been hailed by the oxford elect. but what most fascinated mabel was the constant eulogy of her lover's work in the christian papers; and when at last the formal proposal came, it found her fearful only of her father's disapproval.

'he's so orthodox,' she murmured, as they sat in a rose-garlanded niche at a great jewish charity ball, lapped around by waltz-music and the sweetness of love confessed.

'well, i'm not so wicked as i was,' he smiled.

'but you smoke on the sabbath, leo—you told me.'

'and you told me your brother julius does the same.'

'yes, but father doesn't know. if julius wants to smoke on friday evening, he always goes to his own room.'

'and i shan't smoke in your father's.'

'no—but you'll tell him. you're so outspoken.'

'well, i won't tell him—unless he asks me.'

she looked sad. 'he won't ask you—he'll never get as far.'

he smiled confidently. 'you're not very encouraging, dear; what's the matter with me?'

[103]'everything. you're an artist, with all sorts of queer notions. and you're not so'—she blushed and hesitated—'not so rich——'

he pressed her fingers. 'yes, i am; i'm the richest man here.'

a little delighted laugh broke from her lips, though they went on: 'but you told me your profits are small—marble is so dear.'

'so is celibacy. i shall economize dreadfully by marrying.'

she pouted; his flippancy seemed inadequate to the situation, and he seemed scarcely to realize that she was an heiress. but he continued to laugh away her fears. she was so beautiful and he was so strong—what could stand between them? certainly not the palestinian patriarch with whose inmost psychology he had, fortunately, become in such cordial sympathy.

but mabel's pessimism was not to be banished even by the supper champagne. they had secured a little table for two, and were recklessly absorbed in themselves.

'at the worst, we can elope to palestine,' he said at last, gaily serious.

mabel shuddered. 'live entirely among jews!' she cried.

the radiance died suddenly out of his face; it was as if she had thrust the knife she was wielding through his heart. her silent reception of his nationalist rhapsodies he had always taken for agreement.

nor might mabel have undeceived him had his ideas remained platonic. their irruption into the world of practical politics, into her own life, was, however, another pair of shoes. since barstein had brought [104]zionism to her consciousness, she had noted that distinguished christians were quite sympathetic, but this was the one subject on which christian opinion failed to impress mabel. 'zionism's all very well for christians—they're in no danger of having to go to palestine,' she had reflected shrewdly.

'and why couldn't you live entirely among jews?' barstein asked slowly.

mabel drew a great breath, as if throwing off a suffocating weight. 'one couldn't breathe,' she explained.

'aren't you living among jews now?'

'don't look so glum, silly. you don't want jews as background as well as foreground. a great ghetto!' and again she shuddered instinctively.

'every other people is background as well as foreground. and you don't call france a ghetto or italy a ghetto?' there was anti-semitism, he felt—unconscious anti-semitism—behind mabel's instinctive repugnance to an aggregation of jews. and he knew that her instinct would be shared by every jew in that festive aggregation around him. his heart sank. never—even in those east end back-rooms where the pitiful disproportion of his consumptive-looking collaborators to their great task was sometimes borne in dismally upon him—had he felt so black a despair as in this brilliant supper-room, surrounded by all that was strong and strenuous in the race—lawyers and soldiers, and men of affairs, whose united forces and finances could achieve almost anything they set their heart upon.

'jews can't live off one another,' mabel explained with an air of philosophy.

[105]barstein did not reply. he was asking himself with an artist's analytical curiosity whence came this suicidal anti-semitism. was it the self-contempt natural to a race that had not the strength to build and fend for itself? no, alas! it did not even spring from so comparatively noble a source. it was merely a part of their general imitation of their neighbours—jews, reflecting everything, had reflected even the dislike for the jew; only since the individual could not dislike himself, he applied the dislike to the race. and this unconscious assumption of the prevailing point of view was quickened by the fact that the jewish firstcomers were always aware of an existence on sufferance, with their slowly-won privileges jeopardized if too many other jews came in their wake. he consulted his own pre-zionist psychology. 'yes,' he decided. 'every jew who moves into our country, our city, our watering-place, our street even, seems to us an invader or an interloper. he draws attention to us, he accentuates our difference from the normal, he increases the chance of the renewal of rishus (malice). and so we become anti-semites ourselves. but by what a comical confusion of logic is it that we carry over the objection to jewish aggregation even to an aggregation in palestine, in our own land! or is it only too logical? is it that the rise of a jewish autonomous power would be a standing reminder to our fellow-citizens that we others are not so radically british or german or french or american as we have vaunted ourselves? are we afraid of being packed off to palestine and is the fulfilment of the dream of eighteen centuries our deadliest dread?'

the thought forced from him a sardonic smile.

[106]'and i feared you were like king henry—never going to smile again.' mabel smiled back in relief.

'we're such a ridiculous people,' he answered, his smile fading into sombreness. 'neither fish, flesh, fowl, nor good red herring.'

'well, finish your good white fowl,' laughed mabel. she had felt her hold over him slipping, and her own apprehensions now vanished in the effort to banish his gloom.

but she had only started him on a new tack. 'fowl!' he cried grimly. 'kosher, of course, but with bits of fried wurst to ape the scraps of bacon. and presently we shall be having water ices to simulate cream. we can't even preserve our dietary individuality. truly said feuerbach, "der mensch ist was er isst." in palestine we shall at least dare to be true to our own gullets.' he laughed bitterly.

'you're not very romantic,' mabel pouted. indeed, this barstein, whose mere ideal could so interrupt the rhapsodies due to her admissions of affection, was distinctly unsatisfactory. she touched his hand furtively under the tablecloth.

'after all, she is very young,' he thought, thrilling. and youth was plastic—he, the sculptor, could surely mould her. besides, was she not sir asher's daughter? she must surely have inherited some of his love for palestine and his people. it was this philistine set that had spoiled her. julius, too, that young oxford prig—he reflected illogically—had no doubt been a baleful influence.

'shall i give you some almond-pudding?' he replied tenderly.

mabel laughed uneasily. 'i ask for romance, and [107]you offer me almond-pudding. oh, i should like to go to a jewish party where there wasn't almond-pudding!'

'you shall—in palestine,' he laughed back.

she pouted again. 'all roads lead to palestine.'

'they do,' he said seriously. 'without palestine our past is a shipwreck and our future a quicksand.'

she looked frightened again. 'but what should we do there? we can't pray all day long.'

'of course not,' he said eagerly. 'there's the new generation to train for its glorious future. i shall teach in the arts and crafts school. bezalel, it's called; isn't that a beautiful name? it's from bezalel, the first man mentioned in the bible as filled with divine wisdom and understanding in all manner of workmanship.'

she shook her head. 'you'll be excommunicated. the palestine rabbis always excommunicate everything and everybody.'

he laughed. 'what do you know about palestine?'

'more than you think. father gets endless letters from there with pressed flowers and citrons, and olive-wood boxes and paper-knives—a perennial shower. the letters are generally in the most killing english. and he won't let me laugh at them because he has a vague feeling that even palestine spelling and grammar are holy.'

barstein laughed again. 'we'll send all the rabbis to jericho.'

she smiled, but retorted: 'that's where they'll send you, you maker of graven images. why, your very profession is forbidden.'

[108]'i'll corner 'em with this very bezalel text. the cutting of stones is just one of the arts which god says he had inspired bezalel with. besides, you forget my statue at the bale congress.'

'bale isn't palestine. there's nothing but superstition and squalor, and i'm sorry to say father's always bolstering it all up with his cheques.'

'bravo, sir asher! unconsciously he has been bolstering up the eventual renaissance. your father and his kind have kept the seed alive; we shall bring it to blossom.'

his prophetic assurance cast a fresh shade of apprehension over her marmoreal brow. but her face lightened with a sudden thought. 'well, perhaps, after all, we shan't need to elope.'

'i never thought for a moment we should,' he answered as cheerfully. 'but, all the same, we can spend our honeymoon in palestine.'

'oh, i don't mind that,' said mabel. 'lots of christians do that. there was a cook's party went out from middleton for last easter.'

the lover was too pleased with her acquiescence in the palestinian honeymoon to analyse the terms in which it was given. he looked into her eyes, and saw there the shechinah—the divine glory that once rested on zion.