“The advice is only what might be expected from your Greatness,” said Colonel Czartoriski gravely. “It would be too cruel if all the care Count Mortimer has taken to divert suspicion from his intentions—approaching his goal by such a lengthy route and such gradual stages—were to be wasted.”
“And how sad it would be if Queen Ernestine were to see a dead body carried into her convent, instead of welcoming a living lover!” cried the Bishop, his teeth displayed in a smile that could only be called wolfish.
The two plotters at Damascus and the Princess of Dardania would have been equally surprised to learn that they had credited Cyril with a greater degree of caution than he possessed. No letter had passed from him to Queen Ernestine, and it was not with the idea of concealing his true destination that he approached Palestine from the south. Two motives, the existence of which was scarcely confessed even to himself, he allowed to sway him. One was the determination to do his duty to the utmost before gratifying his personal wishes, which sprang rather from pride in his own self-mastery than from any ascetic notion of self-denial, but the other was a dread lest his humiliation should after all be in vain. Ernestine might spurn him as he had once spurned her. Cyril did not care to contemplate this possibility, but the mere thought made him willing to defer the time when it might become a fact. Attended by his three inseparable followers, he pursued his journey without hurry, and also without undue delay, halting here and there to meet the heads of a Jewish community, and explain the significance of the new state of affairs. Encouragement was little needed at this juncture, except in the case of those Jews who had hitherto regarded the Zionist movement with suspicion or dislike. All the rest appeared to have taken a step forward—the step from bondage to freedom, from despair to hope—and many were already preparing their possessions for the journey to Palestine, awaiting only the summons to start.
At Vindobona Mansfield made the acquaintance of Dr Koepfle, to whom the Chevalier Goldberg was fond of alluding as the brain of Zionism. It struck him as quaintly curious that the man who had been chiefly instrumental in arousing an enthusiasm unprecedented in modern times should himself be enthusiastic purely as a matter of business. Business-like from head to foot was Dr Koepfle, intent on giving practical form to the dreams of many generations, and crystallising the vague maxims of scattered visionaries into a workable constitution. He was not ashamed to confess that it was the intolerant Anti-Semitism of his Christian fellow-subjects that had first suggested to him the possibility of a refuge over-seas for his race. Nay, his mind was so severely practical that he had been willing to look to the New World for a colonising ground when the difficulties in the way of obtaining land in Palestine seemed insuperable. In the same business-like spirit he accepted Cyril’s co-operation, displaying neither the empressement of the Chevalier nor the distrustfulness of Dr Texelius. Cyril, on his side, declared to Mansfield that it was the most refreshing thing on earth to come across a man who was content to accept facts as they were. Capable of meeting men of the world on equal terms, Dr Koepfle was able, on the occasion of conferring with his compatriots, to pump up as much serviceable enthusiasm as assisted him to lead them in the right way, without either chilling their zeal or allowing himself to be carried away by it. With the harshness of youth, Mansfield suggested that an enthusiasm which could be folded up and put away so conveniently might merely be assumed on particular occasions; but Cyril told him that he had failed to allow for the contagious influence of the emotion dominating a crowd.
At Trieste they fell in with a Zionist of a very different type, for here Rabbi Schaul had taken up his abode for a time, in order to bestow his blessing on the members of his flock now to be found on board every steamer leaving for Palestine. Sauntering down to the quay to look for their own vessel, Cyril and Mansfield found themselves accosted by a venerable white-bearded man in shabby robes of black, who raised his hands heavenwards and called down blessings in sonorous Hebrew on the head of the liberator of Israel, following up his words by bowing low enough to kiss the hem of Cyril’s coat. Then turning to the Jews who stood around, gazing in astonishment at the homage paid by their renowned teacher to a Gentile, he explained to them in Jargon that when the Temple was rebuilt, and Messiah reigned in Jerusalem, this stranger would undoubtedly be admitted to the royal table as a guest, not as a servant like other Gentiles, and allowed to feast on the flesh of Leviathan, since it was owing to him that the desolations of Zion were about to be repaired. Mansfield listened, deeply moved, although he understood only a word here and there. He treasured up the incident for Philippa, wishing she could have witnessed it for herself, for he knew that its pathos would have touched her keenly. As for Cyril, he freed himself good-humouredly from the old man, waving aside the throng of disciples who were prepared to follow his example, and called to Mansfield to come on board quickly.
“You know, Rabbi, that I don’t care to advertise myself,” he said.
“But how are we to refrain from showing our gratitude to your Excellency?” asked Rabbi Schaul. “Here are all these sons of Israel leaving the house of bondage for the promised land, and many are gone already. Many more are going in the spring, and I myself among them. How can I forget that, thanks to your Excellency, I shall in truth keep the Passover next year in Jerusalem?”
Cyril nodded pleasantly, and took refuge on board his steamer, where he expressed to Mansfield his satisfaction that Alexandria was their destination, and not Beyrout or Haifa, for which ports these fervid Zionists were bound.
In Egypt, indeed, there proved to be little that was fervid about the patriotism of the Jewish community. Its members were as business-like as Dr Koepfle, but with this difference—that they had their own interests in view, and not those of Zion. They treated the acquisition of Palestine purely as a matter of trade. Doubtless Count Mortimer had arranged with the Chevalier Goldberg to receive a due reward for his services, and, now that his work was over, he had nothing to do with the future of the country. It was the property of the United Nation Syndicate, and they would exploit it and make the most of its commercial capabilities for the benefit of the shareholders. It was a matter for grave discontent that the land was being colonised on such a large scale by the poor city-Jews of Europe, since the aim ought to have been to secure immigrants already accustomed to agricultural life, and not necessarily belonging to the Chosen Race. At present much time, and therefore money, was being wasted in teaching the new settlers and correcting their mistakes. Mansfield listened in sorrowful and wondering disgust while these prosperous people, themselves secure in their enjoyment of liberty and property under British rule, talked glibly of the Holy Land as an estate to be worked for their own advantage, without reference to the needs of their oppressed brethren. A scheme was even proposed, and largely discussed, for making the Holy Places more valuable from a pecuniary point of view, by means of judicious selection and rearrangement.
“It is so miserably mean and degraded!” Mansfield cried angrily to Cyril, who had rallied him on his sour looks. “These people have the romance of the ages behind them, and the fulfilment of the prophecies just ahead, and they think of nothing but cent per cent!”