Shylock Reasons with Mr. Chesterton

Jew-baiting still! Two thousand years are run And still, it seems, good Master Chesterton, Nothing’s abated of the old offence. Changing its shape, it never changes tense. Other things were, this only was and is. And whether Judas murder with a kiss, Or Shylock catch a Christian with a gin, All all’s the same—the first enormous sin Traps Judas in the moneylender’s mesh And cuts from Jesus’ side the pound of flesh. Nor is this all the punishment. For still Through centuries to suffer were no ill If we in human axes and the rod Discerned the high pro-consulate of God Chastening his people. But we are not chastened. Age after age upon our hearts is fastened The same cold malice, and for all they bleed They burn for ever with unchanging greed. Grosser with suffering we grow, and one Calls to another “If in Babylon Are gold and silver, be content with them, Better found gold than lost Jerusalem.” They forget Zion; in the market place Rebuild the Temple for the Jewish race, And thus from age to age do Jews like me Have their revenge on Christianity, Since thus from age to age Christians like you Unchristian grow in hounding down the Jew. And thus from age to age His will is done, And Shylock’s sins produce a Chesterton.

But since we both must suffer and both are Bound in the orb of one outrageous star, Hater and hated, for a little while Let us together watch how mile on mile The heavenly moon, all milky white, regains Her gentle empery, and smooths the stains Of red our star left in her heaven, thus Bringing a respite even unto us Before the red star strikes again. The riot Of the heart for a moment sinks, and in the quiet Like a cool bandage on the forehead be Content a second with tranquillity. And from your lips the secular taunt of dog Banish, to hear what in the synagogue We heard once at Barmitzvah (as we call The confirmation, when the praying shawl Is for the first time worn, and the boy waits For law and manhood at the altar gates). Whether ’tis true or no, it shall be true just long enough to build a bridge to you, That hangs a shining second till your laughter Reminds me of my ducats and my daughter.

It happened thus. When the last “adonoi” Had faltered into silence of some boy Whose voice was all a silver miracle Of water, a voice echoed “Israel,” A sweeter voice than even his, but broken With a sorrowful thrill, as though the heart had spoken Of countless generations doomed to pain And none to ease them found. It cried again, Or so we thought who listened, “Ye do well To let the children come, O Israel, But even these are lost and unforgiven, Since not of these His kingdom and His heaven Who at their fathers’ fathers’ hands was sold In Calvary; and not their voice, though gold, Nor innocent eyes, nor ways that children have Of magic in their reaching hands, can save. For, though ye offer these as sacrifice, A nation’s childhood is too small a price To pay the interest upon the debt That all your sorrows cannot liquidate. O what a usury our God has made On thirty pieces that the high priest paid! Profit was none, but from the first the loss That grew of the fourth ghost upon the Cross. Two on the Cross were seen at Jesus’ side, The fourth, the fourth unseen and crucified With piercéd hands and feet, and heart as well, The ghost betrayed of traitor Israel. Yourselves ye bought and sold, yourselves decreed To the end of the world your doom. For who will heed The prayer or utter mercy on a child, However sweet he call? The heart is wild Of your own ghost, and not the softest lamb Of God escapes his sentence. For I am The wraith of all your children from the first Long ere their birth inexorably cursed.” None saw the ghost. Some said it was the boy That spoke. Yet someone answered “adonoi, Thy will be done” and it was finished. All Closer about their foreheads drew the shawl Fearing to see, and as the darkness grows Deeper save where above the altar glows One lamp, in hearts that Pharoah would unharden For pity rises not a cry for pardon, But to the Mills of God a bitter call “Grind quickly, since ye grind exceeding small!”

That is the tale. But mark, the moon in heaven Is hid with clouds. This little time was given To peace and to remembering one another Who might have been (God knows) brother with brother. But since ’tis over and the peace is done Shylock returns and with him Chesterton.