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.

III

_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 t