When the gentlemen joined the ladies, Raphael instinctively1 returned to his companion of the dinner-table. She had been singularly silent during the meal, but her manner had attracted him. Over his black coffee and cigarette it struck him that she might have been unwell, and that he had been insufficiently2 attentive3 to the little duties of the table, and he hastened to ask if she had a headache.
"No, no," she said, with a grateful smile. "At least not more than usual." Her smile was full of pensive4 sweetness, which made her face beautiful. It was a face that would have been almost plain but for the soul behind. It was dark, with great earnest eyes. The profile was disappointing, the curves were not perfect, and there was a reminder5 of Polish origin in the lower jaw6 and the cheek-bone. Seen from the front, the face fascinated again, in the Eastern glow of its coloring, in the flash of the white teeth, in the depths of the brooding eyes, in the strength of the features that yet softened7 to womanliest tenderness and charm when flooded by the sunshine of a smile. The figure was _petite_ and graceful8, set off by a simple tight-fitting, high-necked dress of ivory silk draped with lace, with a spray of Neapolitan violets at the throat. They sat in a niche9 of the spacious10 and artistically11 furnished drawing-room, in the soft light of the candles, talking quietly while Addie played Chopin.
Mrs. Henry Goldsmith's aesthetic12 instincts had had full play in the elaborate carelessness of the _ensemble_, and the result was a triumph, a medley13 of Persian luxury and Parisian grace, a dream of somniferous couches and arm-chairs, rich tapestry14, vases, fans, engravings, books, bronzes, tiles, plaques15 and flowers. Mr. Henry Goldsmith was himself a connoisseur16 in the arts, his own and his father's fortunes having been built up in the curio and antique business, though to old Aaron Goldsmith appreciation18 had meant strictly19 pricing, despite his genius for detecting false Correggios and sham20 Louis Quatorze cabinets.
"Do you suffer from headaches?" inquired Raphael solicitously21.
"A little. The doctor says I studied too much and worked too hard when a little girl. Such is the punishment of perseverance22. Life isn't like the copy-books."
"Oh, but I wonder your parents let you over-exert yourself."
A melancholy23 smile played about the mobile lips. "I brought myself up," she said. "You look puzzled--Oh, I know! Confess you think I'm Miss Goldsmith!"
"No, my name is Ansell, Esther Ansell."
"Pardon me. I am so bad at remembering names in introductions. But I've just come back from Oxford25 and it's the first time I've been to this house, and seeing you here without a cavalier when we arrived, I thought you lived here."
"You thought rightly, I do live here." She laughed gently at his changing expression.
"I wonder Sidney never mentioned you to me," he said.
"Do you mean Mr. Graham?" she said with a slight blush.
"Yes, I know he visits here."
"Oh, he is an artist. He has eyes only for the beautiful." She spoke26 quickly, a little embarrassed.
"You wrong him; his interests are wider than that."
"Do you know I am so glad you didn't pay me the obvious compliment?" she said, recovering herself. "It looked as if I were fishing for it. I'm so stupid."
He looked at her blankly.
"_I'm_ stupid," he said, "for I don't know what compliment I missed paying."
"If you regret it I shall not think so well of you," she said. "You know I've heard all about your brilliant success at Oxford."
"They put all those petty little things in the Jewish papers, don't they?"
"I read it in the _Times_," retorted Esther. "You took a double first and the prize for poetry and a heap of other things, but I noticed the prize for poetry, because it is so rare to find a Jew writing poetry."
"Prize poetry is not poetry," he reminded her. "But, considering the Jewish Bible contains the finest poetry in the world, I do not see why you should be surprised to find a Jew trying to write some."
"Oh, you know what I mean," answered Esther. "What is the use of talking about the old Jews? We seem to be a different race now. Who cares for poetry?"
"Our poet's scroll27 reaches on uninterruptedly through the Middle Ages. The passing phenomenon of to-day must not blind us to the real traits of our race," said Raphael.
"Nor must we be blind to the passing phenomenon of to-day," retorted Esther. "We have no ideals now."
"I see Sidney has been infecting you," he said gently.
"No, no; I beg you will not think that," she said, flushing almost resentfully. "I have thought these things, as the Scripture28 tells us to meditate29 on the Law, day and night, sleeping and waking, standing30 up and sitting down."
"You cannot have thought of them without prejudice, then," he answered, "if you say we have no ideals."
"I mean, we're not responsive to great poetry--to the message of a Browning for instance."
"I deny it. Only a small percentage of his own race is responsive. I would wager31 our percentage is proportionally higher. But Browning's philosophy of religion is already ours, for hundreds of years every Saturday night every Jew has been proclaiming the view of life and Providence32 in 'Pisgah Sights.'"
All's lend and borrow,
Good, see, wants evil,
Joy demands sorrow,
"What is this but the philosophy of our formula for ushering34 out the Sabbath and welcoming in the days of toil35, accepting the holy and the profane36, the light and the darkness?"
"Is that in the prayer-book?" said Esther astonished.
"Yes; you see you are ignorant of our own ritual while admiring everything non-Jewish. Excuse me if I am frank, Miss Ansell, but there are many people among us who rave37 over Italian antiquities38 but can see nothing poetical39 in Judaism. They listen eagerly to Dante but despise David."
"I shall certainly look up the liturgy," said Esther. "But that will not alter my opinion. The Jew may say these fine things, but they are only a tune17 to him. Yes, I begin to recall the passage in Hebrew--I see my father making _Havdolah_--the melody goes in my head like a sing-song. But I never in my life thought of the meaning. As a little girl I always got my conscious religious inspiration out of the New Testament40. It sounds very shocking, I know."
"Undoubtedly41 you put your finger on an evil. But there is religious edification in common prayers and ceremonies even when divorced from meaning. Remember the Latin prayers of the Catholic poor. Jews may be below Judaism, but are not all men below their creed42? If the race which gave the world the Bible knows it least--" He stopped suddenly, for Addie was playing pianissimo, and although she was his sister, he did not like to put her out.
"It comes to this," said Esther when Chopin spoke louder, "our prayer-book needs depolarization, as Wendell Holmes says of the Bible."
"Exactly," assented43 Raphael. "And what our people need is to make acquaintance with the treasure of our own literature. Why go to Browning for theism, when the words of his 'Rabbi Ben Ezra' are but a synopsis45 of a famous Jewish argument:
"'I see the whole design.
I, who saw Power, see now Love, perfect too.
Perfect I call Thy plan,
Thanks that I was a man!
"It sounds like a bit of Bachja. That there is a Power outside us nobody denies; that this Power works for our good and wisely, is not so hard to grant when the facts of the soul are weighed with the facts of Nature. Power, Love, Wisdom--there you have a real trinity which makes up the Jewish God. And in this God we trust, incomprehensible as are His ways, unintelligible47 as is His essence. 'Thy ways are not My ways nor Thy thoughts My thoughts.' That comes into collision with no modern philosophies; we appeal to experience and make no demands upon the faculty48 for believing things 'because they are impossible.' And we are proud and happy in that the dread49 Unknown God of the infinite Universe has chosen our race as the medium by which to reveal His will to the world. We are sanctified to His service. History testifies that this has verily been our mission, that we have taught the world religion as truly as Greece has taught beauty and science. Our miraculous51 survival through the cataclysms52 of ancient and modern dynasties is a proof that our mission is not yet over."
The sonata53 came to an end; Percy Saville started a comic song, playing his own accompaniment. Fortunately, it was loud and rollicking.
"And do you really believe that we are sanctified to God's service?" said Esther, casting a melancholy glance at Percy's grimaces54.
"Can there be any doubt of it? God made choice of one race to be messengers and apostles, martyrs55 at need to His truth. Happily, the sacred duty is ours," he said earnestly, utterly56 unconscious of the incongruity57 that struck Esther so keenly. And yet, of the two, he had by far the greater gift of humor. It did not destroy his idealism, but kept it in touch with things mundane58. Esther's vision, though more penetrating59, lacked this corrective of humor, which makes always for breadth of view. Perhaps it was because she was a woman, that the trivial, sordid60 details of life's comedy hurt her so acutely that she could scarcely sit out the play patiently. Where Raphael would have admired the lute61, Esther was troubled by the little rifts62 in it.
"But isn't that a narrow conception of God's revelation?" she asked.
"No. Why should God not teach through a great race as through a great man?"
"And you really think that Judaism is not dead, intellectually speaking?"
"How can it die? Its truths are eternal, deep in human nature and the constitution of things. Ah, I wish I could get you to see with the eyes of the great Rabbis and sages63 in Israel; to look on this human life of ours, not with the pessimism64 of Christianity, but as a holy and precious gift, to be enjoyed heartily66 yet spent in God's service--birth, marriage, death, all holy; good, evil, alike holy. Nothing on God's earth common or purposeless. Everything chanting the great song of God's praise; the morning stars singing together, as we say in the Dawn Service."
As he spoke Esther's eyes filled with strange tears. Enthusiasm always infected her, and for a brief instant her sordid universe seemed to be transfigured to a sacred joyous67 reality, full of infinite potentialities of worthy68 work and noble pleasure. A thunder of applausive hands marked the end of Percy Saville's comic song. Mr. Montagu Samuels was beaming at his brother's grotesque69 drollery70. There was an interval71 of general conversation, followed by a round game in which Raphael and Esther had to take part. It was very dull, and they were glad to find themselves together again.
"Ah, yes," said Esther, sadly, resuming the conversation as if there had been no break, "but this is a Judaism of your own creation. The real Judaism is a religion of pots and pans. It does not call to the soul's depths like Christianity."
"Again, it is a question of the point of view taken. From a practical, our ceremonialism is a training in self-conquest, while it links the generations 'bound each to each by natural piety,' and unifies72 our atoms dispersed73 to the four corners of the earth as nothing else could. From a theoretical, it is but an extension of the principle I tried to show you. Eating, drinking, every act of life is holy, is sanctified by some relation to heaven. We will not arbitrarily divorce some portions of life from religion, and say these are of the world, the flesh, or the devil, any more than we will save up our religion for Sundays. There is no devil, no original sin, no need of salvation74 from it, no need of a mediator75. Every Jew is in as direct relation with God as the Chief Rabbi. Christianity is an historical failure--its counsels of perfection, its command to turn the other cheek--a farce76. When a modern spiritual genius, a Tolstoi, repeats it, all Christendom laughs, as at a new freak of insanity77. All practical, honorable men are Jews at heart. Judaism has never tampered78 with human dignity, nor perverted79 the moral consciousness. Our housekeeper80, a Christian65, once said to my sifter81 Addie, 'I'm so glad to see you do so much charity, Miss; _I_ need not, because I'm saved already.' Judaism is the true 'religion of humanity.' It does not seek to make men and women angels before their time. Our marriage service blesses the King of the Universe, who has created 'joy and gladness, bridegroom and bride, mirth and exultation82, pleasure and delight, love, brotherhood83, peace and fellowship.'"
"It is all very beautiful in theory," said Esther. "But so is Christianity, which is also not to be charged with its historical caricatures, nor with its superiority to average human nature. As for the doctrine84 of original sin, it is the one thing that the science of heredity has demonstrated, with a difference. But do not be alarmed, I do not call myself a Christian because I see some relation between the dogmas of Christianity and the truths of experience, nor even because"--here she smiled, wistfully--"I should like to believe in Jesus. But you are less logical. When you said there was no devil, I felt sure I was right; that you belong to the modern schools, who get rid of all the old beliefs but cannot give up the old names. You know, as well as I do, that, take away the belief in hell, a real old-fashioned hell of fire and brimstone, even such Judaism as survives would freeze to death without that genial86 warmth."
"I know nothing of the kind," he said, "and I am in no sense a modern. I am (to adopt a phrase which is, to me, tautologous) an orthodox Jew."
Esther smiled. "Forgive my smiling," she said. "I am thinking of the orthodox Jews I used to know, who used to bind87 their phylacteries on their arms and foreheads every morning."
"I bind my phylacteries on my arm and forehead every morning," he said, simply.
"Yes," he said, gravely. "Is it so astonishing to you?"
"Yes, it is. You are the first educated Jew I have ever met who believed in that sort of thing."
"Nonsense?" he said, inquiringly. "There are hundreds like me."
She shook her head.
"Oh, why will you sneer89 at Strelitski?" he said, pained. "He has a noble soul. It is to the privilege of his conversation that I owe my best understanding of Judaism."
"Ah, I was wondering why the old arguments sounded so different, so much more convincing, from your lips," murmured Esther. "Now I know; because he wears a white tie. That sets up all my bristles90 of contradiction when he opens his mouth."
"But I wear a white tie, too," said Raphael, his smile broadening in sympathy with the slow response on the girl's serious face.
"That's not a trade-mark," she protested. "But forgive me; I didn't know Strelitski was a friend of yours. I won't say a word against him any more. His sermons really are above the average, and he strives more than the others to make Judaism more spiritual."
"More spiritual!" he repeated, the pained expression returning. "Why, the very theory of Judaism has always been the spiritualization of the material."
"And the practice of Judaism has always been the materialization of the spiritual," she answered.
He pondered the saying thoughtfully, his face growing sadder.
"You have lived among your books," Esther went on. "I have lived among the brutal91 facts. I was born in the Ghetto92, and when you talk of the mission of Israel, silent sardonic93 laughter goes through me as I think of the squalor and the misery94."
"God works through human suffering; his ways are large," said Raphael, almost in a whisper.
"And wasteful," said Esther. "Spare me clerical platitudes95 a la Strelitski. I have seen so much."
"And suffered much?" he asked gently.
She nodded scarce perceptibly. "Oh, if you only knew my life!"
"Tell it me," he said. His voice was soft and caressing96. His frank soul seemed to pierce through all conventionalities, and to go straight to hers.
"I cannot, not now," she murmured. "There is so much to tell."
"Tell me a little," he urged.
She began to speak of her history, scarce knowing why, forgetting he was a stranger. Was it racial affinity97, or was it merely the spiritual affinity of souls that feel their identity through all differences of brain?
"What is the use?" she said. "You, with your childhood, could never realize mine. My mother died when I was seven; my father was a Russian pauper98 alien who rarely got work. I had an elder brother of brilliant promise. He died before he was thirteen. I had a lot of brothers and sisters and a grandmother, and we all lived, half starved, in a garret."
Her eyes grew humid at the recollection; she saw the spacious drawing-room and the dainty bric-a-brac through a mist.
"Poor child!" murmured Raphael.
"Strelitski, by the way, lived in our street then. He sold cigars on commission and earned an honest living. Sometimes I used to think that is why he never cares to meet my eye; he remembers me and knows I remember him; at other times I thought he knew that I saw through his professions of orthodoxy. But as you champion him, I suppose I must look for a more creditable reason for his inability to look me straight in the face. Well, I grew up, I got on well at school, and about ten years ago I won a prize given by Mrs. Henry Goldsmith, whose kindly99 interest I excited thenceforward. At thirteen I became a teacher. This had always been my aspiration100: when it was granted I was more unhappy than ever. I began to realize acutely that we were terribly poor. I found it difficult to dress so as to insure the respect of my pupils and colleagues; the work was unspeakably hard and unpleasant; tiresome101 and hungry little girls had to be ground to suit the inspectors102, and fell victims to the then prevalent competition among teachers for a high percentage of passes. I had to teach Scripture history and I didn't believe in it. None of us believed in it; the talking serpent, the Egyptian miracles, Samson, Jonah and the whale, and all that. Everything about me was sordid and unlovely. I yearned103 for a fuller, wider life, for larger knowledge. I hungered for the sun. In short, I was intensely miserable104. At home things went from bad to worse; often I was the sole bread-winner, and my few shillings a week were our only income. My brother Solomon grew up, but could not get into a decent situation because he must not work on the Sabbath. Oh, if you knew how young lives are cramped105 and shipwrecked at the start by this one curse of the Sabbath, you would not wish us to persevere106 in our isolation107. It sent a mad thrill of indignation through me to find my father daily entreating108 the deaf heavens."
"Go on!" he murmured.
"The rest is nothing. Mrs. Henry Goldsmith stepped in as the _dea ex machina_. She had no children, and she took it into her head to adopt me. Naturally I was dazzled, though anxious about my brothers and sisters. But my father looked upon it as a godsend. Without consulting me, Mrs. Goldsmith arranged that he and the other children should be shipped to America: she got him some work at a relative's in Chicago. I suppose she was afraid of having the family permanently110 hanging about the Terrace. At first I was grieved; but when the pain of parting was over I found myself relieved to be rid of them, especially of my father. It sounds shocking, I know, but I can confess all my vanities now, for I have learned all is vanity. I thought Paradise was opening before me; I was educated by the best masters, and graduated at the London University. I travelled and saw the Continent; had my fill of sunshine and beauty. I have had many happy moments, realized many childish ambitions, but happiness is as far away as ever. My old school-colleagues envy me, yet I do not know whether I would not go back without regret."
"Is there anything lacking in your life, then?" he asked gently.
"No, I happen to be a nasty, discontented little thing, that is all," she said, with a faint smile. "Look on me as a psychological paradox111, or a text for the preacher."
"And do the Goldsmiths know of your discontent?"
"Heaven forbid! They have been so very kind to me. We get along very well together. I never discuss religion with them, only the services and the minister."
"And your relatives?"
"Ah, they are all well and happy. Solomon has a store in Detroit. He is only nineteen and dreadfully enterprising. Father is a pillar of a Chicago _Chevra_. He still talks Yiddish. He has escaped learning American just as he escaped learning English. I buy him a queer old Hebrew book sometimes with my pocket-money and he is happy. One little sister is a type-writer, and the other is just out of school and does the housework. I suppose I shall go out and see them all some day."
"What became of the grandmother you mentioned?"
"She had a Charity Funeral a year before the miracle happened. She was very weak and ill, and the Charity Doctor warned her that she must not fast on the Day of Atonement. But she wouldn't even moisten her parched112 lips with a drop of cold water. And so she died; exhorting113 my father with her last breath to beware of Mrs. Simons (a good-hearted widow who was very kind to us), and to marry a pious114 Polish woman."
"And did he?"
"No, I am still stepmotherless. Your white tie's gone wrong. It's all on one side."
"Let me put it straight. There! And now you know all about me. I hope you are going to repay my confidences in kind."
"I am afraid I cannot oblige with anything so romantic," he said smiling. "I was born of rich but honest parents, of a family settled in England for three generations, and went to Harrow and Oxford in due course. That is all. I saw a little of the Ghetto, though, when I was a boy. I had some correspondence on Hebrew Literature with a great Jewish scholar, Gabriel Hamburg (he lives in Stockholm now), and one day when I was up from Harrow I went to see him. By good fortune I assisted at the foundation of the Holy Land League, now presided over by Gideon, the member for Whitechapel. I was moved to tears by the enthusiasm; it was there I made the acquaintance of Strelitski. He spoke as if inspired. I also met a poverty-stricken poet, Melchitsedek Pinchas, who afterwards sent me his work, _Metatoron's Flames_, to Harrow. A real neglected genius. Now there's the man to bear in mind when one speaks of Jews and poetry. After that night I kept up a regular intercourse117 with the Ghetto, and have been there several times lately."
"But surely you don't also long to return to Palestine?"
"I do. Why should we not have our own country?"
"It would be too chaotic118! Fancy all the Ghettos of the world amalgamating119. Everybody would want to be ambassador at Paris, as the old joke says."
"It would be a problem for the statesmen among us. Dissenters120, Churchmen, Atheists, Slum Savages121, Clodhoppers, Philosophers, Aristocrats--make up Protestant England. It is the popular ignorance of the fact that Jews are as diverse as Protestants that makes such novels as we were discussing at dinner harmful."
"But is the author to blame for that? He does not claim to present the whole truth but a facet122. English society lionized Thackeray for his pictures of it. Good heavens! Do Jews suppose they alone are free from the snobbery123, hypocrisy124 and vulgarity that have shadowed every society that has ever existed?"
"In no work of art can the spectator be left out of account," he urged. "In a world full of smouldering prejudices a scrap125 of paper may start the bonfire. English society can afford to laugh where Jewish society must weep. That is why our papers are always so effusively126 grateful for Christian compliments. You see it is quite true that the author paints not the Jews but bad Jews, but, in the absence of paintings of good Jews, bad Jews are taken as identical with Jews."
"Oh, then you agree with the others about the book?" she said in a disappointed tone.
"I haven't read it; I am speaking generally. Have you?"
"Yes."
"And what did you think of it? I don't remember your expressing an opinion at table."
She pondered an instant.
"I thought highly of it and agreed with every word of it." She paused. He looked expectantly into the dark intense face. He saw it was charged with further speech.
A wave of emotion passed over his face.
"You don't mean that?" he murmured.
"Yes, I do. You have shown me new lights."
"I thought I was speaking platitudes," he said simply. "It would be nearer the truth to say you have given _me_ new lights."
The little face flushed with pleasure; the dark skin shining, the eyes sparkling. Esther looked quite pretty.
"How is that possible?" she said. "You have read and thought twice as much as I."
"Then you must be indeed poorly off," he said, smiling. "But I am really glad we met. I have been asked to edit a new Jewish paper, and our talk has made me see more clearly the lines on which it must be run, if it is to do any good. I am awfully128 indebted to you."
"A new Jewish paper?" she said, deeply interested. "We have so many already. What is its _raison d'etre_?"
"To convert you," he said smiling, but with a ring of seriousness in the words.
"Isn't that like a steam-hammer cracking a nut or Hoti burning down his house to roast a pig? And suppose I refuse to take in the new Jewish paper? Will it suspend publication?" He laughed.
"What's this about a new Jewish paper?" said Mrs. Goldsmith, suddenly appearing in front of them with her large genial smile. "Is that what you two have been plotting? I noticed you've laid your heads together all the evening. Ah well, birds of a feather flock together. Do you know my little Esther took the scholarship for logic85 at London? I wanted her to proceed to the M.A. at once, but the doctor said she must have a rest." She laid her hand affectionately on the girl's hair.
Esther looked embarrassed.
"And so she is still a Bachelor," said Raphael, smiling but evidently impressed.
"Yes, but not for long I hope," returned Mrs. Goldsmith. "Come, darling, everybody's dying to hear one of your little songs."
"The dying is premature," said Esther. "You know I only sing for my own amusement."
"Sing for mine, then," pleaded Raphael.
"To make you laugh?" queried129 Esther. "I know you'll laugh at the way I play the accompaniment. One's fingers have to be used to it from childhood--"
Her eyes finished the sentence, "and you know what mine was."
The look seemed to seal their secret sympathy.
She went to the piano and sang in a thin but trained soprano. The song was a ballad130 with a quaint44 air full of sadness and heartbreak. To Raphael, who had never heard the psalmic131 wails132 of "The Sons of the Covenant133" or the Polish ditties of Fanny Belcovitch, it seemed also full of originality134. He wished to lose himself in the sweet melancholy, but Mrs. Goldsmith, who had taken Esther's seat at his side, would not let him.
"Her own composition--words and music," she whispered. "I wanted her to publish it, but she is so shy and retiring. Who would think she was the child of a pauper emigrant135, a rough jewel one has picked up and polished? If you really are going to start a new Jewish paper, she might be of use to you. And then there is Miss Cissy Levine--you have read her novels, of course? Sweetly pretty! Do you know, I think we are badly in want of a new paper, and you are the only man in the community who could give it us. We want educating, we poor people, we know so little of our faith and our literature."
"I am so glad you feel the want of it," whispered Raphael, forgetting Esther in his pleasure at finding a soul yearning136 for the light.
"Intensely. I suppose it will be advanced?"
Raphael looked at her a moment a little bewildered.
"No, it will be orthodox. It is the orthodox party that supplies the funds."
A flash of light leaped into Mrs. Goldsmith's eyes.
"I am so glad it is not as I feared." she said. "The rival party has hitherto monopolized137 the press, and I was afraid that like most of our young men of talent you would give it that tendency. Now at last we poor orthodox will have a voice. It will be written in English?"
"As far as I can," he said, smiling.
"No, you know what I mean. I thought the majority of the orthodox couldn't read English and that they have their jargon138 papers. Will you be able to get a circulation?"
"There are thousands of families in the East End now among whom English is read if not written. The evening papers sell as well there as anywhere else in London."
"Bravo!" murmured Mrs. Goldsmith, clapping her hands.
Esther had finished her song. Raphael awoke to the remembrance of her. But she did not come to him again, sitting down instead on a lounge near the piano, where Sidney bantered139 Addie with his most paradoxical persiflage140.
Raphael looked at her. Her expression was abstracted, her eyes had an inward look. He hoped her headache had not got worse. She did not look at all pretty now. She seemed a frail141 little creature with a sad thoughtful face and an air of being alone in the midst of a merry company. Poor little thing! He felt as if he had known her for years. She seemed curiously142 out of harmony with all these people. He doubted even his own capacity to commune with her inmost soul. He wished he could be of service to her, could do anything for her that might lighten her gloom and turn her morbid143 thoughts in healthier directions.
The butler brought in some claret negus. It was the break-up signal. Raphael drank his negus with a pleasant sense of arming himself against the cold air. He wanted to walk home smoking his pipe, which he always carried in his overcoat. He clasped Esther's hand with a cordial smile of farewell.
"We shall meet again soon, I trust," he said.
"I hope so," said Esther; "put me down as a subscriber144 to that paper."
"Thank you," he said; "I won't forget."
Sidney put his cousin Addie into a hansom, as she did not care to walk, and got in beside her.
"My feet are tired," she said; "I danced a lot last night, and was out a lot this afternoon. It's all very well for Raphael, who doesn't know whether he's walking on his head or his heels. Here, put your collar up, Raphael, not like that, it's all crumpled146. Haven't you got a handkerchief to put round your throat? Where's that one I gave you? Lend him yours, Sidney."
"You don't mind if _I_ catch my death of cold; I've got to go on a Christmas dance when I deposit you on your doorstep," grumbled147 Sidney. "Catch! There, you duffer! It's gone into the mud. Sure you won't jump in? Plenty of room. Addie can sit on my knee. Well, ta, ta! Merry Christmas."
Raphael lit his pipe and strode off with long ungainly strides. It was a clear frosty night, and the moonlight glistened148 on the silent spaces of street and square.
"Go to bed, my dear," said Mrs. Goldsmith, returning to the lounge where Esther still sat brooding. "You look quite worn out."
Left alone, Mrs. Goldsmith smiled pleasantly at Mr. Goldsmith, who, uncertain of how he had behaved himself, always waited anxiously for the verdict. He was pleased to find it was "not guilty" this time.
"I think that went off very well," she said. She was looking very lovely to-night, the low bodice emphasizing the voluptuous149 outlines of the bust150.
"Splendidly," he returned. He stood with his coat-tails to the fire, his coarse-grained face beaming like an extra lamp. "The people and those croquettes were A1. The way Mary's picked up French cookery is wonderful."
"Yes, especially considering she denies herself butter. But I'm not thinking of that nor of our guests." He looked at her wonderingly. "Henry," she continued impressively, "how would you like to get into Parliament?"
"Eh, Parliament? Me?" he stammered.
"Yes, why not? I've always had it in my eye."
His face grew gloomy. "It is not practicable," he said, shaking the head with the prominent teeth and ears.
"Not practicable?" she echoed sharply. "Just think of what you've achieved already, and don't tell me you're going to stop now. Not practicable, indeed! Why, that's the very word you used years ago in the provinces when I said you ought to be President. You said old Winkelstein had been in the position too long to be ousted151. And yet I felt certain your superior English would tell in the long run in such a miserable congregation of foreigners, and when Winkelstein had made that delicious blunder about the 'university' of the Exodus152 instead of the 'anniversary,' and I went about laughing over it in all the best circles, the poor man's day was over. And when we came to London, and seemed to fall again to the bottom of the ladder because our greatness was swallowed up in the vastness, didn't you despair then? Didn't you tell me that we should never rise to the surface?"
"It didn't seem probable, did it?" he murmured in self-defence.
"Of course not. That's just my point. Your getting into the House of Commons doesn't seem probable now. But in those days your getting merely to know M.P.'s was equally improbable. The synagogal dignities were all filled up by old hands, there was no way of getting on the Council and meeting our magnates."
"Yes, but your solution of that difficulty won't do here. I had not much difficulty in persuading the United Synagogue that a new synagogue was a crying want in Kensington, but I could hardly persuade the government that a new constituency is a crying want in London." He spoke pettishly153; his ambition always required rousing and was easily daunted154.
"No, but somebody's going to start a new something else, Henry," said Mrs. Goldsmith with enigmatic cheerfulness. "Trust in me; think of what we have done in less than a dozen years at comparatively trifling155 costs, thanks to that happy idea of a new synagogue--you the representative of the Kensington synagogue, with a 'Sir' for a colleague and a congregation that from exceptionally small beginnings has sprung up to be the most fashionable in London; likewise a member of the Council of the Anglo-Jewish Association and an honorary officer of the _Shechitah_ Board; I, connected with several first-class charities, on the Committee of our leading school, and the acknowledged discoverer of a girl who gives promise of doing something notable in literature or music. We have a reputation for wealth, culture and hospitality, and it is quite two years since we shook off the last of the Maida Vale lot, who are so graphically156 painted in that novel of Mr. Armitage's. Who are our guests now? Take to-night's! A celebrated157 artist, a brilliant young Oxford man, both scions158 of the same wealthy and well-considered family, an authoress of repute who dedicates her books (by permission) to the very first families of the community; and lastly the Montagu Samuels with the brother, Percy Saville, who both go only to the best houses. Is there any other house, where the company is so exclusively Jewish, that could boast of a better gathering159?"
"I don't say anything against the company," said her husband awkwardly, "it's better than we got in the Provinces. But your company isn't your constituency. What constituency would have me?"
"Certainly, no ordinary constituency would have you," admitted his wife frankly160. "I am thinking of Whitechapel."
"But Gideon represents Whitechapel."
"Certainly; as Sidney Graham says, he represents it very well. But he has made himself unpopular, his name has appeared in print as a guest at City banquets, where the food can't be _kosher_. He has alienated161 a goodly proportion of the Jewish vote."
"Well?" said Mr. Goldsmith, still wonderingly.
"Now is the time to bid for his shoes. Raphael Leon is about to establish a new Jewish paper. I was mistaken about that young man. You remember my telling you I had heard he was eccentric and despite his brilliant career a little touched on religious matters. I naturally supposed his case was like that of one or two other Jewish young men we know and that he yearned for spirituality, and his remarks at table rather confirmed the impression. But he is worse than that--and I nearly put my foot in it--his craziness is on the score of orthodoxy! Fancy that! A man who has been to Harrow and Oxford longing162 for a gaberdine and side curls! Well, well, live and learn. What a sad trial for his parents!" She paused, musing163.
"But, Rosetta, what has Raphael Leon to do with my getting into Parliament?"
"Don't be stupid, Henry. Haven't I explained to you that Leon is going to start an orthodox paper which will be circulated among your future constituents164. It's extremely fortunate that we have always kept our religion. We have a widespread reputation for orthodoxy. We are friends with Leon, and we can get Esther to write for the paper (I could see he was rather struck by her). Through this paper we can keep you and your orthodoxy constantly before the constituency. The poor people are quite fascinated by the idea of rich Jews like us keeping a strictly _kosher_ table; but the image of a Member of Parliament with phylacteries on his forehead will simply intoxicate165 them." She smiled, herself, at the image; the smile that always intoxicated166 Percy Saville.
"You're a wonderful woman, Rosetta," said Henry, smiling in response with admiring affection and making his incisors more prominent. He drew her head down to him and kissed her lips. She returned his kiss lingeringly and they had a flash of that happiness which is born of mutual167 fidelity168 and trust.
"Can I do anything for you, mum, afore I go to bed?" said stout169 old Mary O'Reilly, appearing at the door. Mary was a privileged person, unappalled even by the butler. Having no relatives, she never took a holiday and never went out except to Chapel116.
"No, Mary, thank you. The dinner was excellent. Good night and merry Christmas."
"Same to you, mum," and as the unconscious instrument of Henry Goldsmith's candidature turned away, the Christmas bells broke merrily upon the night. The peals170 fell upon the ears of Raphael Leon, still striding along, casting a gaunt shadow on the hoar-frosted pavement, but he marked them not; upon Addie sitting by her bedroom mirror thinking of Sidney speeding to the Christmas dance; upon Esther turning restlessly on the luxurious171 eider-down, oppressed by panoramic172 pictures of the martyrdom of her race. Lying between sleep and waking, especially when her brain had been excited, she had the faculty of seeing wonderful vivid visions, indistinguishable from realities. The martyrs who mounted the scaffold and the stake all had the face of Raphael.
"The mission of Israel" buzzed through her brain. Oh, the irony173 of history! Here was another life going to be wasted on an illusory dream. The figures of Raphael and her father suddenly came into grotesque juxtaposition174. A bitter smile passed across her face.
The Christmas bells rang on, proclaiming Peace in the name of Him who came to bring a sword into the world.
"Surely," she thought, "the people of Christ has been the Christ of peoples."
And then she sobbed meaninglessly in the darkness
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1
instinctively
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| adv.本能地 | |
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2
insufficiently
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| adv.不够地，不能胜任地 | |
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attentive
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| adj.注意的，专心的；关心(别人)的，殷勤的 | |
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pensive
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| a.沉思的,哀思的,忧沉的 | |
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reminder
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| n.提醒物，纪念品；暗示，提示 | |
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jaw
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| n.颚，颌，说教，流言蜚语；v.喋喋不休，教训 | |
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7
softened
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| （使）变软( soften的过去式和过去分词 )； 缓解打击； 缓和； 安慰 | |
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8
graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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niche
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| n.壁龛；合适的职务(环境、位置等) | |
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spacious
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| adj.广阔的，宽敞的 | |
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artistically
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| adv.艺术性地 | |
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aesthetic
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| adj.美学的，审美的，有美感 | |
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medley
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| n.混合 | |
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tapestry
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| n.挂毯，丰富多采的画面 | |
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15
plaques
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| （纪念性的）匾牌( plaque的名词复数 )； 纪念匾； 牙斑； 空斑 | |
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16
connoisseur
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| n.鉴赏家，行家，内行 | |
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17
tune
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| n.调子；和谐，协调；v.调音，调节，调整 | |
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18
appreciation
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| n.评价；欣赏；感谢；领会，理解；价格上涨 | |
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19
strictly
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| adv.严厉地，严格地；严密地 | |
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20
sham
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| n./adj.假冒(的)，虚伪(的) | |
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21
solicitously
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| adv.热心地，热切地 | |
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22
perseverance
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| n.坚持不懈，不屈不挠 | |
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23
melancholy
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| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
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24
stammered
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| v.结巴地说出( stammer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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25
Oxford
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| n.牛津（英国城市） | |
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26
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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scroll
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| n.卷轴，纸卷；(石刻上的)漩涡 | |
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28
scripture
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| n.经文，圣书，手稿；Scripture:(常用复数)《圣经》，《圣经》中的一段 | |
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29
meditate
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| v.想，考虑，（尤指宗教上的）沉思，冥想 | |
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30
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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wager
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| n.赌注；vt.押注，打赌 | |
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32
providence
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| n.深谋远虑，天道，天意；远见；节约；上帝 | |
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33
weds
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| v.嫁，娶，（与…）结婚( wed的第三人称单数 ) | |
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34
ushering
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| v.引，领，陪同( usher的现在分词 ) | |
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toil
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| vi.辛劳工作，艰难地行动；n.苦工，难事 | |
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profane
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| adj.亵神的，亵渎的；vt.亵渎，玷污 | |
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rave
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| vi.胡言乱语；热衷谈论；n.热情赞扬 | |
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38
antiquities
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| n.古老( antiquity的名词复数 )；古迹；古人们；古代的风俗习惯 | |
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39
poetical
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| adj.似诗人的；诗一般的；韵文的；富有诗意的 | |
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40
testament
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| n.遗嘱；证明 | |
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41
undoubtedly
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| adv.确实地，无疑地 | |
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42
creed
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| n.信条；信念，纲领 | |
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43
assented
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| 同意，赞成( assent的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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44
quaint
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| adj.古雅的，离奇有趣的，奇怪的 | |
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45
synopsis
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| n.提要，梗概 | |
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46
maker
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| n.制造者，制造商 | |
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unintelligible
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| adj.无法了解的，难解的，莫明其妙的 | |
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48
faculty
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| n.才能；学院，系；(学院或系的)全体教学人员 | |
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49
dread
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| vt.担忧，忧虑；惧怕，不敢；n.担忧，畏惧 | |
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50
rev
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| v.发动机旋转，加快速度 | |
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51
miraculous
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| adj.像奇迹一样的，不可思议的 | |
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52
cataclysms
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| n.（突然降临的）大灾难( cataclysm的名词复数 ) | |
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53
sonata
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| n.奏鸣曲 | |
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54
grimaces
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| n.（表蔑视、厌恶等）面部扭曲，鬼脸( grimace的名词复数 )v.扮鬼相，做鬼脸( grimace的第三人称单数 ) | |
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55
martyrs
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| n.martyr的复数形式；烈士( martyr的名词复数 )；殉道者；殉教者；乞怜者（向人诉苦以博取同情） | |
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56
utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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57
incongruity
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| n.不协调，不一致 | |
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58
mundane
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| adj.平凡的；尘世的；宇宙的 | |
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59
penetrating
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| adj.（声音）响亮的，尖锐的adj.（气味）刺激的adj.（思想）敏锐的，有洞察力的 | |
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60
sordid
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| adj.肮脏的，不干净的，卑鄙的，暗淡的 | |
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61
lute
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| n.琵琶，鲁特琴 | |
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62
rifts
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| n.裂缝( rift的名词复数 )；裂隙；分裂；不和 | |
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63
sages
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| n.圣人( sage的名词复数 )；智者；哲人；鼠尾草（可用作调料） | |
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64
pessimism
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| n.悲观者，悲观主义者，厌世者 | |
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65
Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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66
heartily
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| adv.衷心地，诚恳地，十分，很 | |
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joyous
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| adj.充满快乐的；令人高兴的 | |
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68
worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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grotesque
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| adj.怪诞的，丑陋的；n.怪诞的图案，怪人（物） | |
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drollery
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| n.开玩笑，说笑话；滑稽可笑的图画（或故事、小戏等） | |
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interval
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| n.间隔，间距；幕间休息，中场休息 | |
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72
unifies
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| 使联合( unify的第三人称单数 )； 使相同； 使一致； 统一 | |
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73
dispersed
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| adj. 被驱散的, 被分散的, 散布的 | |
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74
salvation
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| n.（尤指基督）救世，超度，拯救，解困 | |
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75
mediator
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| n.调解人，中介人 | |
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76
farce
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| n.闹剧，笑剧，滑稽戏；胡闹 | |
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77
insanity
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| n.疯狂，精神错乱；极端的愚蠢，荒唐 | |
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78
tampered
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| v.窜改( tamper的过去式 )；篡改；（用不正当手段）影响；瞎摆弄 | |
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79
perverted
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| adj.不正当的v.滥用( pervert的过去式和过去分词 )；腐蚀；败坏；使堕落 | |
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80
housekeeper
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| n.管理家务的主妇，女管家 | |
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81
sifter
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| n.（用于筛撒粉状食物的）筛具，撒粉器；滤器；罗圈；罗 | |
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82
exultation
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| n.狂喜，得意 | |
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83
brotherhood
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| n.兄弟般的关系，手中情谊 | |
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84
doctrine
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| n.教义；主义；学说 | |
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85
logic
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| n.逻辑(学)；逻辑性 | |
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86
genial
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| adj.亲切的，和蔼的，愉快的，脾气好的 | |
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87
bind
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| vt.捆，包扎；装订；约束；使凝固；vi.变硬 | |
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88
gasped
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| v.喘气( gasp的过去式和过去分词 )；喘息；倒抽气；很想要 | |
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89
sneer
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| v.轻蔑；嘲笑；n.嘲笑，讥讽的言语 | |
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90
bristles
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| 短而硬的毛发，刷子毛( bristle的名词复数 ) | |
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brutal
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| adj.残忍的，野蛮的，不讲理的 | |
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92
ghetto
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| n.少数民族聚居区，贫民区 | |
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93
sardonic
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| adj.嘲笑的，冷笑的，讥讽的 | |
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94
misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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95
platitudes
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| n.平常的话，老生常谈，陈词滥调( platitude的名词复数 )；滥套子 | |
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96
caressing
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| 爱抚的，表现爱情的，亲切的 | |
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affinity
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| n.亲和力，密切关系 | |
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98
pauper
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| n.贫民，被救济者，穷人 | |
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99
kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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100
aspiration
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| n.志向，志趣抱负；渴望；(语)送气音；吸出 | |
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101
tiresome
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| adj.令人疲劳的，令人厌倦的 | |
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102
inspectors
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| n.检查员( inspector的名词复数 )；（英国公共汽车或火车上的）查票员；（警察）巡官；检阅官 | |
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103
yearned
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| 渴望，切盼，向往( yearn的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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104
miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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105
cramped
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| a.狭窄的 | |
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106
persevere
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| v.坚持，坚忍，不屈不挠 | |
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107
isolation
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| n.隔离，孤立，分解，分离 | |
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108
entreating
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| 恳求，乞求( entreat的现在分词 ) | |
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109
misty
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| adj.雾蒙蒙的，有雾的 | |
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110
permanently
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| adv.永恒地，永久地，固定不变地 | |
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111
paradox
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| n.似乎矛盾却正确的说法；自相矛盾的人(物) | |
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112
parched
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| adj.焦干的；极渴的；v.（使）焦干 | |
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113
exhorting
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| v.劝告，劝说( exhort的现在分词 ) | |
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114
pious
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| adj.虔诚的；道貌岸然的 | |
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115
fumbling
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| n. 摸索,漏接 v. 摸索,摸弄,笨拙的处理 | |
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116
chapel
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| n.小教堂，殡仪馆 | |
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117
intercourse
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| n.性交；交流，交往，交际 | |
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118
chaotic
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| adj.混沌的，一片混乱的，一团糟的 | |
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119
amalgamating
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| v.（使）（金属）汞齐化( amalgamate的现在分词 )；（使）合并；联合；结合 | |
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120
dissenters
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| n.持异议者，持不同意见者( dissenter的名词复数 ) | |
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121
savages
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| 未开化的人，野蛮人( savage的名词复数 ) | |
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122
facet
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| n.(问题等的)一个方面；(多面体的)面 | |
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123
snobbery
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| n. 充绅士气派, 俗不可耐的性格 | |
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124
hypocrisy
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| n.伪善，虚伪 | |
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125
scrap
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| n.碎片；废料；v.废弃，报废 | |
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126
effusively
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| adv.变溢地，热情洋溢地 | |
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127
abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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128
awfully
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| adv.可怕地，非常地，极端地 | |
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129
queried
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| v.质疑，对…表示疑问( query的过去式和过去分词 )；询问 | |
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130
ballad
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| n.歌谣，民谣，流行爱情歌曲 | |
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131
psalmic
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| 海滨群落 | |
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132
wails
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| 痛哭，哭声( wail的名词复数 ) | |
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133
covenant
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| n.盟约，契约；v.订盟约 | |
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134
originality
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| n.创造力，独创性；新颖 | |
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135
emigrant
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| adj.移居的，移民的；n.移居外国的人，移民 | |
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136
yearning
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| a.渴望的；向往的；怀念的 | |
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137
monopolized
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| v.垄断( monopolize的过去式和过去分词 )；独占；专卖；专营 | |
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138
jargon
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| n.术语，行话 | |
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139
bantered
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| v.开玩笑，说笑，逗乐( banter的过去式和过去分词 )；（善意地）取笑，逗弄 | |
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140
persiflage
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| n.戏弄；挖苦 | |
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141
frail
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| adj.身体虚弱的；易损坏的 | |
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142
curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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143
morbid
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| adj.病的；致病的；病态的；可怕的 | |
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144
subscriber
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| n.用户，订户；（慈善机关等的）定期捐款者；预约者；签署者 | |
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145
pricking
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| 刺，刺痕，刺痛感 | |
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146
crumpled
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| adj. 弯扭的, 变皱的 动词crumple的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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147
grumbled
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| 抱怨( grumble的过去式和过去分词 )； 发牢骚； 咕哝； 发哼声 | |
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148
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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149
voluptuous
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| adj.肉欲的，骄奢淫逸的 | |
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150
bust
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| vt.打破；vi.爆裂；n.半身像；胸部 | |
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151
ousted
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| 驱逐( oust的过去式和过去分词 )； 革职； 罢黜； 剥夺 | |
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152
exodus
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| v.大批离去，成群外出 | |
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153
pettishly
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154
daunted
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| 使（某人）气馁，威吓( daunt的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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155
trifling
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| adj.微不足道的；没什么价值的 | |
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156
graphically
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| adv.通过图表；生动地，轮廓分明地 | |
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157
celebrated
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| adj.有名的，声誉卓著的 | |
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158
scions
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| n.接穗，幼枝( scion的名词复数 )；（尤指富家）子孙 | |
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159
gathering
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| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
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160
frankly
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| adv.坦白地，直率地；坦率地说 | |
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161
alienated
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| adj.感到孤独的，不合群的v.使疏远( alienate的过去式和过去分词 )；使不友好；转让；让渡（财产等） | |
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162
longing
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| n.（for）渴望 | |
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163
musing
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| n. 沉思，冥想 adj. 沉思的, 冥想的 动词muse的现在分词形式 | |
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164
constituents
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| n.选民( constituent的名词复数 )；成分；构成部分；要素 | |
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165
intoxicate
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| vt.使喝醉，使陶醉，使欣喜若狂 | |
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166
intoxicated
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| 喝醉的，极其兴奋的 | |
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167
mutual
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| adj.相互的，彼此的；共同的，共有的 | |
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168
fidelity
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| n.忠诚，忠实；精确 | |
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170
peals
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| n.（声音大而持续或重复的）洪亮的响声( peal的名词复数 )；隆隆声；洪亮的钟声；钟乐v.（使）（钟等）鸣响，（雷等）发出隆隆声( peal的第三人称单数 ) | |
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171
luxurious
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| adj.精美而昂贵的；豪华的 | |
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172
panoramic
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| adj. 全景的 | |
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173
irony
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| n.反语，冷嘲；具有讽刺意味的事，嘲弄 | |
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174
juxtaposition
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| n.毗邻，并置，并列 | |
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