She made friends by the hundreds, and friends are a business asset. Those blithe1, dressy, and smooth-spoken gentlemen known as traveling men used to tell her their troubles, perched on a stool near the stove, and show her the picture of their girl in the back of their watch, and asked her to dinner at the Haley House. She listened to their tale of woe3, and advised them; she admired the picture of the girl, and gave some wholesome4 counsel on the subject of traveling men's lonely wives; but she never went to dinner at the Haley House.
It had not taken these debonair5 young men long to learn that there was a woman buyer who bought quickly, decisively, and intelligently, and that she always demanded a duplicate slip. Even the most unscrupulous could not stuff an order of hers, and when it came to dating she gave no quarter. Though they wore clothes that were two leaps ahead of the styles worn by the Winnebago young men—their straw sailors were likely to be saw-edged when the local edges were smooth, and their coats were more flaring6, or their trousers wider than the coats and trousers of the Winnebago boys—they were not, for the most part, the gay dogs that Winnebago's fancy painted them. Many of them were very lonely married men who missed their wives and babies, and loathed7 the cuspidored discomfort8 of the small-town hotel lobby. They appreciated Mrs. Brandeis' good-natured sympathy, and gave her the long end of a deal when they could. It was Sam Kiser who had begged her to listen to his advice to put in Battenberg patterns and braid, long before the Battenberg epidemic9 had become widespread and virulent10.
“Now listen to me, Mrs. Brandeis,” he begged, almost tearfully. “You're a smart woman. Don't let this get by you. You know that I know that a salesman would have as much chance to sell you a gold brick as to sell old John D. Rockefeller a gallon of oil.” Mrs. Brandeis eyed his samples coldly. “But it looks so unattractive. And the average person has no imagination. A bolt of white braid and a handful of buttons—they wouldn't get a mental picture of the completed piece. Now, embroidery11 silk——”
“Then give 'em a real picture!” interrupted Sam. “Work up one of these water-lily pattern table covers. Use No. 100 braid and the smallest buttons. Stick it in the window and they'll tear their hair to get patterns.”
She did it, taking turns with Pearl and Sadie at weaving the great, lacy square during dull moments. When it was finished they placed it in the window, where it lay like frosted lace, exquisitely13 graceful14 and delicate, with its tracery of curling petals15 and feathery fern sprays. Winnebago gazed and was bitten by the Battenberg bug17. It wound itself up in a network of Battenberg braid, in all the numbers. It bought buttons of every size; it stitched away at Battenberg covers, doilies, bedspreads, blouses, curtains. Battenberg tumbled, foamed18, cascaded19 over Winnebago's front porches all that summer. Listening to Sam Kiser had done it.
She listened to the farmer women too, and to the mill girls, and to the scant20 and precious pearls that dropped from the lips of the East End society section. There was something about her brown eyes and her straight, sensible nose that reassured21 them so that few suspected the mischievous22 in her. For she was mischievous. If she had not been I think she could not have stood the drudgery23, and the heartbreaks, and the struggle, and the terrific manual labor24.
She used to guy people, gently, and they never guessed it. Mrs. G. Manville Smith, for example, never dreamed of the joy that her patronage25 brought Molly Brandeis, who waited on her so demurely26. Mrs. G. Manville Smith (nee Finnegan) scorned the Winnebago shops, and was said to send to Chicago for her hairpins27. It was known that her household was run on the most niggardly28 basis, however, and she short-rationed her two maids outrageously29. It was said that she could serve less real food on more real lace doilies than any other housekeeper30 in Winnebago. Now, Mrs. Brandeis sold Scourine two cents cheaper than the grocery stores, using it as an advertisement to attract housewives, and making no profit on the article itself. Mrs. G. Manville Smith always patronized Brandeis' Bazaar31 for Scourine alone, and thus represented pure loss. Also she my-good-womaned Mrs. Brandeis. That lady, seeing her enter one day with her comic, undulating gait, double-actioned like a giraffe's, and her plumes32 that would have shamed a Knight33 of Pythias, decided34 to put a stop to these unprofitable visits.
She waited on Mrs. G. Manville Smith, a dangerous gleam in her eye.
“Scourine,” spake Mrs. G. Manville Smith.
“How many?”
“A dozen.”
“Anything else?”
“No. Send them.”
Mrs. Brandeis, scribbling35 in her sales book, stopped, pencil poised36. “We cannot send Scourine unless with a purchase of other goods amounting to a dollar or more.”
Mrs. G. Manville Smith's plumes tossed and soared agitatedly37. “But my good woman, I don't want anything else!”
“Then you'll have to carry the Scourine?”
“Certainly not! I'll send for it.”
“The sale closes at five.” It was then 4:57.
“I never heard of such a thing! You can't expect me to carry them.”
Now, Mrs. G. Manville Smith had been a dining-room girl at the old Haley House before she married George Smith, and long before he made his money in lumber38.
“You won't find them so heavy,” Molly Brandeis said smoothly39.
“I certainly would! Perhaps you would not. You're used to that sort of thing. Rough work, and all that.”
Aloysius, doubled up behind the lamps, knew what was coming, from the gleam in his boss's eye.
“There may be something in that,” Molly Brandeis returned sweetly. “That's why I thought you might not mind taking them. They're really not much heavier than a laden40 tray.”
“Oh!” exclaimed the outraged41 Mrs. G. Manville Smith. And took her plumes and her patronage out of Brandeis' Bazaar forever.
That was as malicious42 as Molly Brandeis ever could be. And it was forgivable malice43.
Most families must be described against the background of their homes, but the Brandeis family life was bounded and controlled by the store. Their meals and sleeping hours and amusements were regulated by it. It taught them much, and brought them much, and lost them much. Fanny Brandeis always said she hated it, but it made her wise, and tolerant, and, in the end, famous. I don't know what more one could ask of any institution. It brought her in contact with men and women, taught her how to deal with them. After school she used often to run down to the store to see her mother, while Theodore went home to practice. Perched on a high stool in some corner she heard, and saw, and absorbed. It was a great school for the sensitive, highly-organized, dramatic little Jewish girl, for, to paraphrase44 a well-known stage line, there are just as many kinds of people in Winnebago as there are in Washington.
It was about this time that Fanny Brandeis began to realize, actively45, that she was different. Of course, other little Winnebago girls' mothers did not work like a man, in a store. And she and Bella Weinberg were the only two in her room at school who stayed out on the Day of Atonement, and on New Year, and the lesser46 Jewish holidays. Also, she went to temple on Friday night and Saturday morning, when the other girls she knew went to church on Sunday. These things set her apart in the little Middle Western town; but it was not these that constituted the real difference. She played, and slept, and ate, and studied like the other healthy little animals of her age. The real difference was temperamental, or emotional, or dramatic, or historic, or all four. They would be playing tag, perhaps, in one of the cool, green ravines that were the beauty spots of the little Wisconsin town.
They nestled like exquisite12 emeralds in the embrace of the hills, those ravines, and Winnebago's civic47 surge had not yet swept them away in a deluge48 of old tin cans, ashes, dirt and refuse, to be sold later for building lots. The Indians had camped and hunted in them. The one under the Court Street bridge, near the Catholic church and monastery49, was the favorite for play. It lay, a lovely, gracious thing, below the hot little town, all green, and lush, and cool, a tiny stream dimpling through it. The plump Capuchin Fathers, in their coarse brown robes, knotted about the waist with a cord, their bare feet thrust into sandals, would come out and sun themselves on the stone bench at the side of the monastery on the hill, or would potter about the garden. And suddenly Fanny would stop quite still in the midst of her tag game, struck with the beauty of the picture it called from the past.
Little Oriental that she was, she was able to combine the dry text of her history book with the green of the trees, the gray of the church, and the brown of the monk's robes, and evolve a thrilling mental picture therefrom. The tag game and her noisy little companions vanished. She was peopling the place with stealthy Indians. Stealthy, cunning, yet savagely51 brave. They bore no relation to the abject52, contemptible53, and rather smelly Oneidas who came to the back door on summer mornings, in calico, and ragged54 overalls55, with baskets of huckleberries on their arm, their pride gone, a broken and conquered people. She saw them wild, free, sovereign, and there were no greasy56, berry-peddling Oneidas among them. They were Sioux, and Pottawatomies (that last had the real Indian sound), and Winnebagos, and Menomonees, and Outagamis. She made them taciturn, and beady-eyed, and lithe2, and fleet, and every other adjectival thing her imagination and history book could supply. The fat and placid57 Capuchin Fathers on the hill became Jesuits, sinister58, silent, powerful, with France and the Church of Rome behind them. From the shelter of that big oak would step Nicolet, the brave, first among Wisconsin explorers, and last to receive the credit for his hardihood. Jean Nicolet! She loved the sound of it. And with him was La Salle, straight, and slim, and elegant, and surely wearing ruffles59 and plumes and sword even in a canoe. And Tonty, his Italian friend and fellow adventurer—Tonty of the satins and velvets, graceful, tactful, poised, a shadowy figure; his menacing iron hand, so feared by the ignorant savages60, encased always in a glove. Surely a perfumed g—— Slap! A rude shove that jerked her head back sharply and sent her forward, stumbling, and jarred her like a fall.
“Ya-a-a! Tag! You're it! Fanny's it!”
Indians, priests, cavaliers, coureurs de bois, all vanished. Fanny would stand a moment, blinking stupidly. The next moment she was running as fleetly as the best of the boys in savage50 pursuit of one of her companions in the tag game.
She was a strange mixture of tomboy and bookworm, which was a mercifully kind arrangement for both body and mind. The spiritual side of her was groping and staggering and feeling its way about as does that of any little girl whose mind is exceptionally active, and whose mother is unusually busy. It was on the Day of Atonement, known in the Hebrew as Yom Kippur, in the year following her father's death that that side of her performed a rather interesting handspring.
Fanny Brandeis had never been allowed to fast on this, the greatest and most solemn of Jewish holy days Molly Brandeis' modern side refused to countenance62 the practice of withholding63 food from any child for twenty-four hours. So it was in the face of disapproval64 that Fanny, making deep inroads into the steak and fried sweet potatoes at supper on the eve of the Day of Atonement, announced her intention of fasting from that meal to supper on the following evening. She had just passed her plate for a third helping65 of potatoes. Theodore, one lap behind her in the race, had entered his objection.
“Well, for the land's sakes!” he protested. “I guess you're not the only one who likes sweet potatoes.”
Fanny applied66 a generous dab67 of butter to an already buttery morsel68, and chewed it with an air of conscious virtue69.
“I've got to eat a lot. This is the last bite I'll have until to-morrow night.”
“What's that?” exclaimed Mrs. Brandeis, sharply.
“Yes, it is!” hooted70 Theodore.
Fanny went on conscientiously71 eating as she explained.
“Bella Weinberg and I are going to fast all day. We just want to see if we can.”
“Betcha can't,” Theodore said.
Mrs. Brandeis regarded her small daughter with a thoughtful gaze. “But that isn't the object in fasting, Fanny—just to see if you can. If you're going to think of food all through the Yom Kippur services——”
“I sha'n't?” protested Fanny passionately72. “Theodore would, but I won't.”
“Wouldn't any such thing,” denied Theodore. “But if I'm going to play a violin solo during the memorial service I guess I've got to eat my regular meals.”
Theodore sometimes played at temple, on special occasions. The little congregation, listening to the throbbing73 rise and fall of this fifteen-year-old boy's violin playing, realized, vaguely74, that here was something disturbingly, harrowingly beautiful. They did not know that they were listening to genius.
Molly Brandeis, in her second best dress, walked to temple Yom Kippur eve, her son at her right side, her daughter at her left. She had made up her mind that she would not let this next day, with its poignantly75 beautiful service, move her too deeply. It was the first since her husband's death, and Rabbi Thalmann rather prided himself on his rendition of the memorial service that came at three in the afternoon.
A man of learning, of sweetness, and of gentle wit was Rabbi Thalmann, and unappreciated by his congregation. He stuck to the Scriptures77 for his texts, finding Moses a greater leader than Roosevelt, and the miracle of the Burning Bush more wonderful than the marvels78 of twentieth-century wizardy in electricity. A little man, Rabbi Thalmann, with hands and feet as small and delicate as those of a woman. Fanny found him fascinating to look on, in his rabbinical black broadcloth and his two pairs of glasses perched, in reading, upon his small hooked nose. He stood very straight in the pulpit, but on the street you saw that his back was bent79 just the least bit in the world—or perhaps it was only his student stoop, as he walked along with his eyes on the ground, smoking those slender, dapper, pale brown cigars that looked as if they had been expressly cut and rolled to fit him.
The evening service was at seven. The congregation, rustling80 in silks, was approaching the little temple from all directions. Inside, there was a low-toned buzz of conversation. The Brandeis' seat was well toward the rear, as befitted a less prosperous member of the rich little congregation. This enabled them to get a complete picture of the room in its holiday splendor81. Fanny drank it in eagerly, her dark eyes soft and luminous82. The bare, yellow-varnished wooden pews glowed with the reflection from the chandeliers. The seven-branched candlesticks on either side of the pulpit were entwined with smilax. The red plush curtain that hung in front of the Ark on ordinary days, and the red plush pulpit cover too, were replaced by gleaming white satin edged with gold fringe and finished at the corners with heavy gold tassels83. How the rich white satin glistened84 in the light of the electric candles! Fanny Brandeis loved the lights, and the gleam, and the music, so majestic85, and solemn, and the sight of the little rabbi, sitting so straight and serious in his high-backed chair, or standing86 to read from the great Bible. There came to this emotional little Jewess a thrill that was not born of religious fervor87 at all, I am afraid.
The sheer drama of the thing got her. In fact, the thing she had set herself to do to-day had in it very little of religion. Mrs. Brandeis had been right about that. It was a test of endurance, as planned. Fanny had never fasted in all her healthy life. She would come home from school to eat formidable stacks of bread and butter, enhanced by brown sugar or grape jelly, and topped off with three or four apples from the barrel in the cellar. Two hours later she would attack a supper of fried potatoes, and liver, and tea, and peach preserve, and more stacks of bread and butter. Then there were the cherry trees in the back yard, and the berry bushes, not to speak of sundry88 bags of small, hard candies of the jelly-bean variety, fitted for quick and secret munching89 during school. She liked good things to eat, this sturdy little girl, as did her friend, that blonde and creamy person, Bella Weinberg. The two girls exchanged meaningful glances during the evening service. The Weinbergs, as befitted their station, sat in the third row at the right, and Bella had to turn around to convey her silent messages to Fanny. The evening service was brief, even to the sermon. Rabbi Thalmann and his congregation would need their strength for to-morrow's trial.
The Brandeises walked home through the soft September night, and the children had to use all their Yom Kippur dignity to keep from scuffling through the piled-up drifts of crackling autumn leaves. Theodore went to the cellar and got an apple, which he ate with what Fanny considered an unnecessary amount of scrunching90. It was a firm, juicy apple, and it gave forth91 a cracking sound when his teeth met in its white meat. Fanny, after regarding him with gloomy superiority, went to bed.
She had willed to sleep late, for gastronomic92 reasons, but the mental command disobeyed itself, and she woke early, with a heavy feeling. Early as it was, Molly Brandeis had tiptoed in still earlier to look at her strange little daughter. She sometimes did that on Saturday mornings when she left early for the store and Fanny slept late. This morning Fanny's black hair was spread over the pillow as she lay on her back, one arm outflung, the other at her breast. She made a rather startlingly black and white and scarlet95 picture as she lay there asleep. Fanny did things very much in that way, too, with broad, vivid, unmistakable splashes of color. Mrs. Brandeis, looking at the black-haired, red-lipped child sleeping there, wondered just how much determination lay back of the broad white brow. She had said little to Fanny about this feat16 of fasting, and she told herself that she disapproved96 of it. But in her heart she wanted the girl to see it through, once attempted.
Fanny awoke at half past seven, and her nostrils97 dilated98 to that most exquisite, tantalizing99 and fragrant100 of smells—the aroma101 of simmering coffee. It permeated102 the house. It tickled103 the senses. It carried with it visions of hot, brown breakfast rolls, and eggs, and butter. Fanny loved her breakfast. She turned over now, and decided to go to sleep again. But she could not. She got up and dressed slowly and carefully. There was no one to hurry her this morning with the call from the foot of the stairs of, “Fanny! Your egg'll get cold!”
She put on clean, crisp underwear, and did her hair expertly. She slipped an all-enveloping pinafore over her head, that the new silk dress might not be crushed before church time. She thought that Theodore would surely have finished his breakfast by this time. But when she came down-stairs he was at the table. Not only that, he had just begun his breakfast. An egg, all golden, and white, and crisply brown at the frilly edges, lay on his plate. Theodore always ate his egg in a mathematical sort of way. He swallowed the white hastily first, because he disliked it, and Mrs. Brandeis insisted that he eat it. Then he would brood a moment over the yolk104 that lay, unmarred and complete, like an amber105 jewel in the center of his plate. Then he would suddenly plunge106 his fork into the very heart of the jewel, and it would flow over his plate, mingling107 with the butter, and he would catch it deftly108 with little mops of warm, crisp, buttery roll.
Fanny passed the breakfast table just as Theodore plunged109 his fork into the egg yolk. She caught her breath sharply, and closed her eyes. Then she turned and fled to the front porch and breathed deeply and windily of the heady September Wisconsin morning air. As she stood there, with her stiff, short black curls still damp and glistening110, in her best shoes and stockings, with the all-enveloping apron111 covering her sturdy little figure, the light of struggle and renunciation in her face, she typified something at once fine and earthy.
But the real struggle was to come later. They went to temple at ten, Theodore with his beloved violin tucked carefully under his arm. Bella Weinberg was waiting at the steps.
“Did you?” she asked eagerly.
“Of course not,” replied Fanny disdainfully. “Do you think I'd eat old breakfast when I said I was going to fast all day?” Then, with sudden suspicion, “Did you?”
“No!” stoutly112.
And they entered, and took their seats. It was fascinating to watch the other members of the congregation come in, the women rustling, the men subdued113 in the unaccustomed dignity of black on a week day. One glance at the yellow pews was like reading a complete social and financial register. The seating arrangement of the temple was the Almanach de Gotha of Congregation Emanu-el. Old Ben Reitman, patriarch among the Jewish settlers of Winnebago, who had come over an immigrant youth, and who now owned hundreds of rich farm acres, besides houses, mills and banks, kinged it from the front seat of the center section. He was a magnificent old man, with a ruddy face, and a fine head with a shock of heavy iron-gray hair, keen eyes, undimmed by years, and a startling and unexpected dimple in one cheek that gave him a mischievous and boyish look.
Behind this dignitary sat his sons, and their wives, and his daughters and their husbands, and their children, and so on, back to the Brandeis pew, third from the last, behind which sat only a few obscure families branded as Russians, as only the German-born Jew can brand those whose misfortune it is to be born in that region known as hinter-Berlin.
The morning flew by, with its music, its responses, its sermon in German, full of four- and five-syllable German words like Barmherzigkeit and Eigentumlichkeit. All during the sermon Fanny sat and dreamed and watched the shadow on the window of the pine tree that stood close to the temple, and was vastly amused at the jaundiced look that the square of yellow window glass cast upon the face of the vain and overdressed Mrs. Nathan Pereles. From time to time Bella would turn to bestow114 upon her a look intended to convey intense suffering and a resolute115 though dying condition. Fanny stonily116 ignored these mute messages. They offended something in her, though she could not tell what.
At the noon intermission she did not go home to the tempting117 dinner smells, but wandered off through the little city park and down to the river, where she sat on the bank and felt very virtuous118, and spiritual, and hollow. She was back in her seat when the afternoon service was begun. Some of the more devout119 members had remained to pray all through the midday. The congregation came straggling in by twos and threes. Many of the women had exchanged the severely120 corseted discomfort of the morning's splendor for the comparative ease of second-best silks. Mrs. Brandeis, absent from her business throughout this holy day, came hurrying in at two, to look with a rather anxious eye upon her pale and resolute little daughter.
The memorial service was to begin shortly after three, and lasted almost two hours. At quarter to three Bella slipped out through the side aisle121, beckoning122 mysteriously and alluringly123 to Fanny as she went. Fanny looked at her mother.
“Run along,” said Mrs. Brandeis. “The air will be good for you. Come back before the memorial service begins.” Fanny and Bella met, giggling124, in the vestibule.
“Come on over to my house for a minute,” Bella suggested. “I want to show you something.” The Weinberg house, a great, comfortable, well-built home, with encircling veranda125, and a well-cared-for lawn, was just a scant block away. They skipped across the street, down the block, and in at the back door. The big sunny kitchen was deserted126. The house seemed very quiet and hushed. Over it hung the delicious fragrance128 of freshly-baked pastry129. Bella, a rather baleful look in her eyes, led the way to the butler's pantry that was as large as the average kitchen. And there, ranged on platters, and baking boards, and on snowy-white napkins, was that which made Tantalus's feast seem a dry and barren snack. The Weinberg's had baked. It is the custom in the household of Atonement Day fasters of the old school to begin the evening meal, after the twenty-four hours of abstainment, with coffee and freshly-baked coffee cake of every variety. It was a lead-pipe blow at one's digestion130, but delicious beyond imagining. Bella's mother was a famous cook, and her two maids followed in the ways of their mistress. There were to be sisters and brothers and out-of-town relations as guests at the evening meal, and Mrs. Weinberg had outdone herself.
“Oh!” exclaimed Fanny in a sort of agony and delight.
“Take some,” said Bella, the temptress.
The pantry was fragrant as a garden with spices, and fruit scents132, and the melting, delectable133 perfume of brown, freshly-baked dough134, sugar-coated. There was one giant platter devoted135 wholly to round, plump cakes, with puffy edges, in the center of each a sunken pool that was all plum, bearing on its bosom136 a snowy sifting137 of powdered sugar. There were others whose centers were apricot, pure molten gold in the sunlight. There were speckled expanses of cheese kuchen, the golden-brown surface showing rich cracks through which one caught glimpses of the lemon-yellow cheese beneath—cottage cheese that had been beaten up with eggs, and spices, and sugar, and lemon. Flaky crust rose, jaggedly, above this plateau. There were cakes with jelly, and cinnamon kuchen, and cunning cakes with almond slices nestling side by side. And there was freshly-baked bread—twisted loaf, with poppy seed freckling138 its braid, and its sides glistening with the butter that had been liberally swabbed on it before it had been thrust into the oven.
Fanny Brandeis gazed, hypnotized. As she gazed Bella selected a plum tart94 and bit into it—bit generously, so that her white little teeth met in the very middle of the oozing139 red-brown juice and one heard a little squirt as they closed on the luscious140 fruit. At the sound Fanny quivered all through her plump and starved little body.
“Have one,” said Bella generously. “Go on. Nobody'll ever know. Anyway, we've fasted long enough for our age. I could fast till supper time if I wanted to, but I don't want to.” She swallowed the last morsel of the plum tart, and selected another—apricot, this time, and opened her moist red lips. But just before she bit into it (the Inquisition could have used Bella's talents) she selected its counterpart and held it out to Fanny. Fanny shook her head slightly. Her hand came up involuntarily. Her eyes were fastened on Bella's face.
“Go on,” urged Bella. “Take it. They're grand! M-m-m-m!” The first bite of apricot vanished between her rows of sharp white teeth. Fanny shut her eyes as if in pain. She was fighting the great fight of her life. She was to meet other temptations, and perhaps more glittering ones, in her lifetime, but to her dying day she never forgot that first battle between the flesh and the spirit, there in the sugar-scented pantry—and the spirit won. As Bella's lips closed upon the second bite of apricot tart, the while her eye roved over the almond cakes and her hand still held the sweet out to Fanny, that young lady turned sharply, like a soldier, and marched blindly out of the house, down the back steps, across the street, and so into the temple.
The evening lights had just been turned on. The little congregation, relaxed, weary, weak from hunger, many of them, sat rapt and still except at those times when the prayer book demanded spoken responses. The voice of the little rabbi, rather weak now, had in it a timbre141 that made it startlingly sweet and clear and resonant142. Fanny slid very quietly into the seat beside Mrs. Brandeis, and slipped her moist and cold little hand into her mother's warm, work-roughened palm. The mother's brown eyes, very bright with unshed tears, left their perusal143 of the prayer book to dwell upon the white little face that was smiling rather wanly144 up at her. The pages of the prayer book lay two-thirds or more to the left. Just as Fanny remarked this, there was a little moment of hush127 in the march of the day's long service. The memorial hour had begun.
Little Doctor Thalmann cleared his throat. The congregation stirred a bit, changed its cramped145 position. Bella, the guilty, came stealing in, a pink-and-gold picture of angelic virtue. Fanny, looking at her, felt very aloof146, and clean, and remote.
Molly Brandeis seemed to sense what had happened.
“But you didn't, did you?” she whispered softly.
Fanny shook her head.
Rabbi Thalmann was seated in his great carved chair. His eyes were closed. The wheezy little organ in the choir147 loft148 at the rear of the temple began the opening bars of Schumann's Traumerei. And then, above the cracked voice of the organ, rose the clear, poignant76 wail149 of a violin. Theodore Brandeis had begun to play. You know the playing of the average boy of fifteen—that nerve-destroying, uninspired scraping. There was nothing of this in the sounds that this boy called forth from the little wooden box and the stick with its taut150 lines of catgut. Whatever it was—the length of the thin, sensitive fingers, the turn of the wrist, the articulation151 of the forearm, the something in the brain, or all these combined—Theodore Brandeis possessed152 that which makes for greatness. You realized that as he crouched153 over his violin to get his cello154 tones. As he played to-day the little congregation sat very still, and each was thinking of his ambitions and his failures; of the lover lost, of the duty left undone155, of the hope deferred156; of the wrong that was never righted; of the lost one whose memory spells remorse157. It felt the salt taste on its lips. It put up a furtive158, shamed hand to dab at its cheeks, and saw that the one who sat in the pew just ahead was doing likewise. This is what happened when this boy of fifteen wedded159 his bow to his violin. And he who makes us feel all this has that indefinable, magic, glorious thing known as Genius.
When it was over, there swept through the room that sigh following tension relieved. Rabbi Thalmann passed a hand over his tired eyes, like one returning from a far mental journey; then rose, and came forward to the pulpit. He began, in Hebrew, the opening words of the memorial service, and so on to the prayers in English, with their words of infinite humility160 and wisdom.
“Thou hast implanted in us the capacity for sin, but not sin itself!”
Fanny stirred. She had learned that a brief half hour ago. The service marched on, a moving and harrowing thing. The amens rolled out with a new fervor from the listeners. There seemed nothing comic now in the way old Ben Reitman, with his slower eyes, always came out five words behind the rest who tumbled upon the responses and scurried161 briskly through them, so that his fine old voice, somewhat hoarse162 and quavering now, rolled out its “Amen!” in solitary163 majesty164. They came to that gem61 of humility, the mourners' prayer; the ancient and ever-solemn Kaddish prayer. There is nothing in the written language that, for sheer drama and magnificence, can equal it as it is chanted in the Hebrew.
As Rabbi Thalmann began to intone it in its monotonous165 repetition of praise, there arose certain black-robed figures from their places and stood with heads bowed over their prayer books. These were members of the congregation from whom death had taken a toll166 during the past year. Fanny rose with her mother and Theodore, who had left the choir loft to join them. The little wheezy organ played very softly. The black-robed figures swayed. Here and there a half-stifled sob93 rose, and was crushed. Fanny felt a hot haze167 that blurred168 her vision. She winked169 it away, and another burned in its place. Her shoulders shook with a sob. She felt her mother's hand close over her own that held one side of the book. The prayer, that was not of mourning but of praise, ended with a final crescendo170 from the organ, The silent black-robed figures were seated.
Over the little, spent congregation hung a glorious atmosphere of detachment. These Jews, listening to the words that had come from the lips of the prophets in Israel, had been, on this day, thrown back thousands of years, to the time when the destruction of the temple was as real as the shattered spires171 and dome172 of the cathedral at Rheims. Old Ben Reitman, faint with fasting, was far removed from his everyday thoughts of his horses, his lumber mills, his farms, his mortgages. Even Mrs. Nathan Pereles, in her black satin and bugles173 and jets, her cold, hard face usually unlighted by sympathy or love, seemed to feel something of this emotional wave. Fanny Brandeis was shaken by it. Her head ached (that was hunger) and her hands were icy. The little Russian girl in the seat just behind them had ceased to wriggle174 and squirm, and slept against her mother's side. Rabbi Thalmann, there on the platform, seemed somehow very far away and vague. The scent131 of clove175 apples and ammonia salts filled the air. The atmosphere seemed strangely wavering and luminous. The white satin of the Ark curtain gleamed and shifted.
The long service swept on to its close. Suddenly organ and choir burst into a paeon. Little Doctor Thalmann raised his arms. The congregation swept to its feet with a mighty176 surge. Fanny rose with them, her face very white in its frame of black curls, her eyes luminous. She raised her face for the words of the ancient benediction177 that rolled, in its simplicity178 and grandeur179, from the lips of the rabbi:
“May the blessing180 of the Lord our God rest upon you all. God bless thee and keep thee. May God cause His countenance to shine upon thee and be gracious unto thee. May God lift up His countenance unto thee, and grant thee peace.”
The Day of Atonement had come to an end. It was a very quiet, subdued and spent little flock that dispersed181 to their homes. Fanny walked out with scarcely a thought of Bella. She felt, vaguely, that she and this school friend were formed of different stuff. She knew that the bond between them had been the grubby, physical one of childhood, and that they never would come together in the finer relation of the spirit, though she could not have put this new knowledge into words.
Molly Brandeis put a hand on her daughter's shoulder.
“Tired, Fanchen?”
“A little.”
“Bet you're hungry!” from Theodore.
“I was, but I'm not now.”
“M-m-m—wait! Noodle soup. And chicken!”
She had intended to tell of the trial in the Weinberg's pantry. But now something within her—something fine, born of this day—kept her from it. But Molly Brandeis, to whom two and two often made five, guessed something of what had happened. She had felt a great surge of pride, had Molly Brandeis, when her son had swayed the congregation with the magic of his music. She had kissed him good night with infinite tenderness and love. But she came into her daughter's tiny room after Fanny had gone to bed, and leaned over, and put a cool hand on the hot forehead.
“Do you feel all right, my darling?”
“Umhmph,” replied Fanny drowsily182.
“Fanchen, doesn't it make you feel happy and clean to know that you were able to do the thing you started out to do?”
“Umhmph.”
“Only,” Molly Brandeis was thinking aloud now, quite forgetting that she was talking to a very little girl, “only, life seems to take such special delight in offering temptation to those who are able to withstand it. I don't know why that's true, but it is. I hope—oh, my little girl, my baby—I hope——”
But Fanny never knew whether her mother finished that sentence or not. She remembered waiting for the end of it, to learn what it was her mother hoped. And she had felt a sudden, scalding drop on her hand where her mother bent over her. And the next thing she knew it was morning, with mellow183 September sunshine.
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1
blithe
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| adj.快乐的，无忧无虑的 | |
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lithe
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| adj.(指人、身体)柔软的，易弯的 | |
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woe
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| n.悲哀，苦痛，不幸，困难；int.用来表达悲伤或惊慌 | |
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wholesome
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| adj.适合；卫生的；有益健康的；显示身心健康的 | |
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debonair
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| adj.殷勤的，快乐的 | |
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flaring
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| a.火焰摇曳的，过份艳丽的 | |
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loathed
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| v.憎恨，厌恶( loathe的过去式和过去分词 )；极不喜欢 | |
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discomfort
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| n.不舒服，不安，难过，困难，不方便 | |
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epidemic
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| n.流行病；盛行；adj.流行性的，流传极广的 | |
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virulent
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| adj.有毒的，有恶意的，充满敌意的 | |
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embroidery
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| n.绣花，刺绣；绣制品 | |
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12
exquisite
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| adj.精美的；敏锐的；剧烈的，感觉强烈的 | |
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13
exquisitely
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| adv.精致地；强烈地；剧烈地；异常地 | |
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14
graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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15
petals
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| n.花瓣( petal的名词复数 ) | |
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feat
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| n.功绩；武艺，技艺；adj.灵巧的，漂亮的，合适的 | |
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bug
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| n.虫子；故障；窃听器；vt.纠缠；装窃听器 | |
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18
foamed
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| 泡沫的 | |
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19
cascaded
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| 级联的 | |
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scant
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| adj.不充分的，不足的；v.减缩，限制，忽略 | |
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21
reassured
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| adj.使消除疑虑的；使放心的v.再保证，恢复信心( reassure的过去式和过去分词) | |
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22
mischievous
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| adj.调皮的，恶作剧的，有害的，伤人的 | |
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drudgery
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| n.苦工，重活，单调乏味的工作 | |
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24
labor
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| n.劳动，努力，工作，劳工；分娩；vi.劳动，努力，苦干；vt.详细分析；麻烦 | |
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25
patronage
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| n.赞助，支援，援助；光顾，捧场 | |
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demurely
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| adv.装成端庄地，认真地 | |
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27
hairpins
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| n.发夹( hairpin的名词复数 ) | |
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niggardly
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| adj.吝啬的，很少的 | |
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outrageously
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| 凶残地； 肆无忌惮地； 令人不能容忍地； 不寻常地 | |
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30
housekeeper
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| n.管理家务的主妇，女管家 | |
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31
bazaar
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| n.集市，商店集中区 | |
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32
plumes
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| 羽毛( plume的名词复数 )； 羽毛饰； 羽毛状物； 升上空中的羽状物 | |
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33
knight
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| n.骑士，武士；爵士 | |
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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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35
scribbling
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| n.乱涂[写]胡[乱]写的文章[作品]v.潦草的书写( scribble的现在分词 )；乱画；草草地写；匆匆记下 | |
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36
poised
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| a.摆好姿势不动的 | |
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agitatedly
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| 动摇，兴奋； 勃然 | |
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38
lumber
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| n.木材，木料；v.以破旧东西堆满；伐木；笨重移动 | |
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39
smoothly
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| adv.平滑地，顺利地，流利地，流畅地 | |
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40
laden
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| adj.装满了的；充满了的；负了重担的；苦恼的 | |
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41
outraged
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| a.震惊的，义愤填膺的 | |
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42
malicious
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| adj.有恶意的，心怀恶意的 | |
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43
malice
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| n.恶意，怨恨，蓄意；[律]预谋 | |
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44
paraphrase
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| vt.将…释义，改写；n.释义，意义 | |
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45
actively
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| adv.积极地，勤奋地 | |
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lesser
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| adj.次要的，较小的；adv.较小地，较少地 | |
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47
civic
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| adj.城市的，都市的，市民的，公民的 | |
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48
deluge
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| n./vt.洪水，暴雨，使泛滥 | |
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49
monastery
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| n.修道院，僧院，寺院 | |
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50
savage
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| adj.野蛮的；凶恶的，残暴的；n.未开化的人 | |
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51
savagely
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| adv. 野蛮地，残酷地 | |
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52
abject
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| adj.极可怜的，卑屈的 | |
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53
contemptible
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| adj.可鄙的，可轻视的，卑劣的 | |
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54
ragged
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| adj.衣衫褴褛的，粗糙的，刺耳的 | |
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55
overalls
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| n.（复）工装裤；长罩衣 | |
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56
greasy
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| adj. 多脂的，油脂的 | |
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57
placid
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| adj.安静的，平和的 | |
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58
sinister
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| adj.不吉利的，凶恶的，左边的 | |
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59
ruffles
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| 褶裥花边( ruffle的名词复数 ) | |
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60
savages
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| 未开化的人，野蛮人( savage的名词复数 ) | |
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61
gem
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| n.宝石，珠宝；受爱戴的人 [同]jewel | |
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62
countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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withholding
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| 扣缴税款 | |
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disapproval
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| n.反对，不赞成 | |
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helping
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| n.食物的一份&adj.帮助人的，辅助的 | |
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66
applied
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| adj.应用的；v.应用，适用 | |
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67
dab
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| v.轻触，轻拍，轻涂；n.(颜料等的)轻涂 | |
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68
morsel
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| n.一口，一点点 | |
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69
virtue
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| n.德行，美德；贞操；优点；功效，效力 | |
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70
hooted
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| （使）作汽笛声响，作汽车喇叭声( hoot的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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71
conscientiously
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| adv.凭良心地；认真地，负责尽职地；老老实实 | |
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72
passionately
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| ad.热烈地，激烈地 | |
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73
throbbing
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| a. 跳动的,悸动的 | |
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vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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75
poignantly
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76
poignant
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| adj.令人痛苦的，辛酸的，惨痛的 | |
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77
scriptures
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| 经文，圣典( scripture的名词复数 )； 经典 | |
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78
marvels
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| n.奇迹( marvel的名词复数 )；令人惊奇的事物（或事例）；不平凡的成果；成就v.惊奇，对…感到惊奇( marvel的第三人称单数 ) | |
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79
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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80
rustling
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| n. 瑟瑟声，沙沙声 adj. 发沙沙声的 | |
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81
splendor
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| n.光彩；壮丽，华丽；显赫，辉煌 | |
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82
luminous
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| adj.发光的，发亮的；光明的；明白易懂的；有启发的 | |
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83
tassels
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| n.穗( tassel的名词复数 )；流苏状物；（植物的）穗；玉蜀黍的穗状雄花v.抽穗， （玉米）长穗须( tassel的第三人称单数 )；使抽穗， （为了使作物茁壮生长）摘去穗状雄花；用流苏装饰 | |
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84
glistened
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| v.湿物闪耀，闪亮( glisten的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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85
majestic
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| adj.雄伟的，壮丽的，庄严的，威严的，崇高的 | |
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86
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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87
fervor
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| n.热诚；热心；炽热 | |
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88
sundry
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| adj.各式各样的，种种的 | |
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89
munching
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| v.用力咀嚼（某物），大嚼( munch的现在分词 ) | |
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90
scrunching
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| v.发出喀嚓声( scrunch的现在分词 )；蜷缩；压；挤压 | |
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91
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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92
gastronomic
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| adj.美食（烹饪）法的，烹任学的 | |
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93
sob
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| n.空间轨道的轰炸机；呜咽，哭泣 | |
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94
tart
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| adj.酸的；尖酸的，刻薄的；n.果馅饼；淫妇 | |
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95
scarlet
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| n.深红色，绯红色，红衣；adj.绯红色的 | |
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96
disapproved
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| v.不赞成( disapprove的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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nostrils
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| 鼻孔( nostril的名词复数 ) | |
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98
dilated
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| adj.加宽的，扩大的v.（使某物）扩大，膨胀，张大( dilate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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99
tantalizing
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| adj.逗人的；惹弄人的；撩人的；煽情的v.逗弄，引诱，折磨( tantalize的现在分词 ) | |
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100
fragrant
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| adj.芬香的，馥郁的，愉快的 | |
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101
aroma
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| n.香气，芬芳，芳香 | |
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102
permeated
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| 弥漫( permeate的过去式和过去分词 )； 遍布； 渗入； 渗透 | |
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103
tickled
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| （使）发痒( tickle的过去式和过去分词 )； （使）愉快，逗乐 | |
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104
yolk
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| n.蛋黄，卵黄 | |
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105
amber
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| n.琥珀；琥珀色；adj.琥珀制的 | |
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106
plunge
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| v.跳入，(使)投入，(使)陷入；猛冲 | |
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107
mingling
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| adj.混合的 | |
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108
deftly
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| adv.灵巧地，熟练地，敏捷地 | |
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109
plunged
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| v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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110
glistening
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| adj.闪耀的，反光的v.湿物闪耀，闪亮( glisten的现在分词 ) | |
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111
apron
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| n.围裙；工作裙 | |
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112
stoutly
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| adv.牢固地，粗壮的 | |
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113
subdued
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| adj. 屈服的，柔和的，减弱的 动词subdue的过去式和过去分词 | |
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114
bestow
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| v.把…赠与，把…授予；花费 | |
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115
resolute
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| adj.坚决的，果敢的 | |
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116
stonily
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| 石头地，冷酷地 | |
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117
tempting
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| a.诱人的, 吸引人的 | |
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118
virtuous
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| adj.有品德的，善良的，贞洁的，有效力的 | |
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119
devout
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| adj.虔诚的，虔敬的，衷心的 (n.devoutness) | |
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120
severely
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| adv.严格地；严厉地；非常恶劣地 | |
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121
aisle
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| n.（教堂、教室、戏院等里的）过道，通道 | |
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122
beckoning
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| adj.引诱人的，令人心动的v.（用头或手的动作）示意，召唤( beckon的现在分词 ) | |
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123
alluringly
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| 诱人地，妩媚地 | |
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124
giggling
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| v.咯咯地笑( giggle的现在分词 ) | |
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125
veranda
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| n.走廊；阳台 | |
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126
deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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127
hush
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| int.嘘，别出声；n.沉默，静寂；v.使安静 | |
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128
fragrance
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| n.芬芳，香味，香气 | |
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129
pastry
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| n.油酥面团，酥皮糕点 | |
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130
digestion
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| n.消化，吸收 | |
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131
scent
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| n.气味，香味，香水，线索，嗅觉；v.嗅，发觉 | |
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132
scents
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| n.香水( scent的名词复数 )；气味；（动物的）臭迹；（尤指狗的）嗅觉 | |
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133
delectable
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| adj.使人愉快的；美味的 | |
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134
dough
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| n.生面团；钱，现款 | |
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135
devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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136
bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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137
sifting
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| n.筛，过滤v.筛( sift的现在分词 )；筛滤；细查；详审 | |
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138
freckling
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| n.斑点v.雀斑，斑点( freckle的现在分词 ) | |
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139
oozing
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| v.（浓液等）慢慢地冒出，渗出( ooze的现在分词 )；使（液体）缓缓流出；（浓液）渗出，慢慢流出 | |
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140
luscious
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| adj.美味的；芬芳的；肉感的，引与性欲的 | |
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141
timbre
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| n.音色，音质 | |
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142
resonant
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| adj.(声音)洪亮的，共鸣的 | |
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143
perusal
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| n.细读，熟读；目测 | |
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144
wanly
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| adv.虚弱地；苍白地，无血色地 | |
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145
cramped
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| a.狭窄的 | |
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146
aloof
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| adj.远离的；冷淡的，漠不关心的 | |
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147
choir
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| n.唱诗班，唱诗班的席位，合唱团，舞蹈团；v.合唱 | |
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148
loft
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| n.阁楼，顶楼 | |
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149
wail
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| vt./vi.大声哀号，恸哭；呼啸，尖啸 | |
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150
taut
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| adj.拉紧的，绷紧的，紧张的 | |
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151
articulation
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| n.（清楚的）发音；清晰度，咬合 | |
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152
possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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153
crouched
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| v.屈膝，蹲伏( crouch的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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154
cello
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| n.大提琴 | |
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155
undone
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| a.未做完的，未完成的 | |
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156
deferred
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| adj.延期的，缓召的v.拖延，延缓，推迟( defer的过去式和过去分词 )；服从某人的意愿，遵从 | |
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157
remorse
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| n.痛恨，悔恨，自责 | |
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158
furtive
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| adj.鬼鬼崇崇的，偷偷摸摸的 | |
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159
wedded
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| adj.正式结婚的；渴望…的，执著于…的v.嫁，娶，（与…）结婚( wed的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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160
humility
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| n.谦逊，谦恭 | |
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161
scurried
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| v.急匆匆地走( scurry的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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162
hoarse
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| adj.嘶哑的，沙哑的 | |
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163
solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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164
majesty
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| n.雄伟，壮丽，庄严，威严；最高权威，王权 | |
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165
monotonous
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| adj.单调的，一成不变的，使人厌倦的 | |
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166
toll
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| n.过路(桥)费；损失，伤亡人数；v.敲(钟) | |
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167
haze
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| n.霾，烟雾；懵懂，迷糊；vi.(over)变模糊 | |
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168
blurred
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| v.（使）变模糊( blur的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）难以区分；模模糊糊；迷离 | |
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169
winked
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| v.使眼色( wink的过去式和过去分词 )；递眼色（表示友好或高兴等）；（指光）闪烁；闪亮 | |
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170
crescendo
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| n.(音乐)渐强，高潮 | |
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171
spires
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| n.（教堂的） 塔尖，尖顶( spire的名词复数 ) | |
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172
dome
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| n.圆屋顶，拱顶 | |
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173
bugles
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| 妙脆角，一种类似薯片但做成尖角或喇叭状的零食； 号角( bugle的名词复数 )； 喇叭； 匍匐筋骨草； （装饰女服用的）柱状玻璃（或塑料）小珠 | |
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174
wriggle
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| v./n.蠕动，扭动；蜿蜒 | |
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175
clove
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| n.丁香味 | |
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176
mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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177
benediction
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| n.祝福；恩赐 | |
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178
simplicity
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| n.简单，简易；朴素；直率，单纯 | |
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179
grandeur
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| n.伟大，崇高，宏伟，庄严，豪华 | |
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180
blessing
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| n.祈神赐福；祷告；祝福，祝愿 | |
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181
dispersed
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| adj. 被驱散的, 被分散的, 散布的 | |
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182
drowsily
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| adv.睡地，懒洋洋地，昏昏欲睡地 | |
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183
mellow
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| adj.柔和的；熟透的；v.变柔和；(使)成熟 | |
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