The sloppy1 Sunday afternoon, which was the first opportunity Raphael had of profiting by Mr. Henry Goldsmith's general invitation to call and see Esther, happened to be that selected by the worthy2 couple for a round of formal visits. Esther was left at home with a headache, little expecting pleasanter company. She hesitated about receiving Raphael, but on hearing that he had come to see her rather than her patrons, she smoothed her hair, put on a prettier frock, and went down into the drawing-room, where she found him striding restlessly in bespattered boots and moist overcoat. When he became aware of her presence, he went towards her eagerly, and shook her hand with jerky awkwardness.
"Very well, thank you," she replied automatically. Then a twinge, as of reproach at the falsehood, darted4 across her brow, and she added, "A trifle of the usual headache. I hope you are well."
"Quite, thank you," he rejoined.
His face rather contradicted him. It looked thin, pale, and weary. Journalism5 writes lines on the healthiest countenance6. Esther looked at him disapprovingly7; she had the woman's artistic8 instinct if not the artist's, and Raphael, with his damp overcoat, everlastingly9 crumpled10 at the collar, was not an aesthetic11 object. Whether in her pretty moods or her plain, Esther was always neat and dainty. There was a bit of ruffled12 lace at her throat, and the heliotrope13 of her gown contrasted agreeably with the dark skin of the vivid face.
"Do take off your overcoat and dry yourself at the fire," she said.
While he was disposing of it, she poked14 the fire into a big cheerful blaze, seating herself opposite him in a capacious arm-chair, where the flame picked her out in bright tints15 upon the dusky background of the great dim room.
"And how is _The Flag of Judah_?" she said.
"Still waving," he replied. "It is about that that I have come."
"About that?" she said wonderingly. "Oh, I see; you want to know if the one person it is written at has read it. Well, make your mind easy. I have. I have read it religiously--No, I don't mean that; yes, I do; it's the appropriate word."
"Yes, really. You put your side of the case eloquently18 and well. I look forward to Friday with interest. I hope the paper is selling?"
"So, so," he said. "It is uphill work. The Jewish public looks on journalism as a branch of philanthropy, I fear, and Sidney suggests publishing our free-list as a 'Jewish Directory.'"
She smiled. "Mr. Graham is very amusing. Only, he is too well aware of it. He has been here once since that dinner, and we discussed you. He says he can't understand how you came to be a cousin of his, even a second cousin. He says he is _L'Homme qui rit_, and you are _L'Homme qui prie_."
"He has let that off on me already, supplemented by the explanation that every extensive Jewish family embraces a genius and a lunatic. He admits that he is the genius. The unfortunate part for me," ended Raphael, laughing, "is, that he _is_ a genius."
"I saw two of his little things the other day at the Impressionist Exhibition in Piccadilly. They are very clever and dashing."
"You don't like that style of art?" he said, a shade of concern in his voice.
"I do not," said Esther, emphatically. "I am a curious mixture. In art, I have discovered in myself two conflicting tastes, and neither is for the modern realism, which I yet admire in literature. I like poetic21 pictures, impregnated with vague romantic melancholy22; and I like the white lucidity23 of classic statuary. I suppose the one taste is the offspring of temperament24, the other of thought; for intellectually, I admire the Greek ideas, and was glad to hear you correct Sidney's perversion25 of the adjective. I wonder," she added, reflectively, "if one can worship the gods of the Greeks without believing in them."
"Not if you take beauty in the narrow sense in which I should fancy your cousin uses the word; but, in a higher and broader sense, is it not the one fine thing in life which is a certainty, the one ideal which is not illusion?"
"Nothing is illusion," said Raphael, earnestly. "At least, not in your sense. Why should the Creator deceive us?"
"Oh well, don't let us get into metaphysics. We argue from different platforms," she said. "Tell me what you really came about in connection with the _Flag_."
"Mr. Goldsmith was kind enough to suggest that you might write for it."
"What!" exclaimed Esther, sitting upright in her arm-chair. "I? I write for an orthodox paper?"
"Yes, why not?"
"Do you mean I'm to take part in my own conversion27?"
"No, there are the advertisements." she said slily.
"Pardon me," he said. "We don't insert any advertisements contrary to the principles of orthodoxy. Not that we are much tempted29."
"You advertise soap," she murmured.
"Forgive me," she said. "Remember my conceptions of orthodoxy are drawn32 mainly from the Ghetto33, where cleanliness, so far from being next to godliness, is nowhere in the vicinity. But what can I do for you?"
"I don't know. At present the staff, the _Flag_-staff as Sidney calls it, consists of myself and a sub-editor, who take it in turn to translate the only regular outside contributor's articles into English."
"Who's that?"
"Melchitsedek Pinchas, the poet I told you of."
"I suppose he writes in Hebrew."
"No, if he did the translation would be plain sailing enough. The trouble is that he will write in English. I must admit, though, he improves daily. Our correspondents, too, have the same weakness for the vernacular34, and I grieve to add that when they do introduce a Hebrew word, they do not invariably spell it correctly."
She smiled; her smile was never so fascinating as by firelight.
Raphael rose and paced the room nervously35, flinging out his arms in uncouth36 fashion to emphasize his speech.
"I was thinking you might introduce a secular37 department of some sort which would brighten up the paper. My articles are so plaguy dull."
"Not so dull, for religious articles," she assured him.
"Could you treat Jewish matters from a social standpoint--gossipy sort of thing."
She shook her head. "I'm afraid to trust myself to write on Jewish subjects. I should be sure to tread on somebody's corns."
"Oh, I have it!" he cried, bringing his arms in contact with a small Venetian vase which Esther, with great presence of mind, just managed to catch ere it reached the ground.
"No, I have it," she said, laughing. "Do sit down, else nobody can answer for the consequences."
She half pushed him into his chair, where he fell to warming his hands contemplatively.
"Well?" she said after a pause. "I thought you had an idea."
"Yes, yes," he said, rousing himself. "The subject we were just discussing--Art."
"But there is nothing Jewish about art."
"All noble work has its religious aspects. Then there are Jewish artists."
"Oh yes! your contemporaries do notice their exhibits, and there seem to be more of them than the world ever hears of. But if I went to a gathering39 for you how should I know which were Jews?"
"By their names, of course."
"By no means of course. Some artistic Jews have forgotten their own names."
"That's a dig at Sidney."
"Really, I wasn't thinking of him for the moment," she said a little sharply. "However, in any case there's nothing worth doing till May, and that's some months ahead. I'll do the Academy for you if you like."
"Thank you. Won't Sidney stare if you pulverize40 him in _The Flag of Judah_? Some of the pictures have also Jewish subjects, you know."
"Nearly always," he admitted pensively42. "I wish we had a Jewish allegorical painter to express the high conceptions of our sages43."
"As he would probably not know what they are,"--she murmured. Then, seeing him rise as if to go, she said: "Won't you have a cup of tea?"
"No, don't trouble," he answered.
"Oh yes, do!" she pleaded. "Or else I shall think you're angry with me for not asking you before." And she rang the bell. She discovered, to her amusement, that Raphael took two pieces of sugar per cup, but that if they were not inserted, he did not notice their absence. Over tea, too, Raphael had a new idea, this time fraught44 with peril45 to the Sevres tea-pot.
"Why couldn't you write us a Jewish serial46 story?" he said suddenly. "That would be a novelty in communal47 journalism."
Esther looked startled by the proposition.
"How do you know I could?" she said after a silence.
"I don't know," he replied. "Only I fancy you could. Why not?" he said encouragingly. "You don't know what you can do till you try. Besides you write poetry."
"The Jewish public doesn't like the looking-glass," she answered him, shaking her head.
"Oh, you can't say that. They've only objected as yet to the distorting mirror. You're thinking of the row over that man Armitage's book. Now, why not write an antidote48 to that book? There now, there's an idea for you."
"It _is_ an idea!" said Esther with overt49 sarcasm30. "You think art can be degraded into an antidote."
"Art is not a fetish," he urged. "What degradation50 is there in art teaching a noble lesson?"
"Ah, that is what you religious people will never understand," she said scathingly. "You want everything to preach."
"Everything does preach something," he retorted. "Why not have the sermon good?"
"How can you say that? Surely, merely as one who was born a Jewess, you wouldn't care for the sombre picture drawn by this Armitage to stand as a portrait of your people."
She shrugged52 her shoulders--the ungraceful shrug53 of the Ghetto. "Why not? It is one-sided, but it is true."
"I don't deny that; probably the man was sincerely indignant at certain aspects. I am ready to allow he did not even see he was one-sided. But if _you_ see it, why not show the world the other side of the shield?"
She put her hand wearily to her brow.
"Do not ask me," she said. "To have my work appreciated merely because the moral tickled54 the reader's vanity would be a mockery. The suffrages55 of the Jewish public--I might have valued them once; now I despise them." She sank further back on the chair, pale and silent.
"Why, what harm have they done you?" he asked.
"They are so stupid," she said, with a gesture of distaste.
"That is a new charge against the Jews."
"Look at the way they have denounced this Armitage, saying his book is vulgar and wretched and written for gain, and all because it does not flatter them."
"Can you wonder at it? To say 'you're another' may not be criticism, but it is human nature."
Esther smiled sadly. "I cannot make you out at all," she said.
"Why? What is there strange about me?"
"You say such shrewd, humorous things sometimes; I wonder how you can remain orthodox."
"Now I can't understand _you_," he said, puzzled.
"Oh well. Perhaps if you could, you wouldn't be orthodox. Let us remain mutual56 enigmas57. And will you do me a favor?"
"Don't mention Mr. Armitage's book to me again. I am sick of hearing about it."
"So am I," he said, rather disappointed. "After that dinner I thought it only fair to read it, and although I detect considerable crude power in it, still I am very sorry it was ever published. The presentation of Judaism is most ignorant. All the mystical yearnings of the heroine might have found as much satisfaction in the faith of her own race as they find expression in its poetry."
He rose to go. "Well, I am to take it for granted you will not write that antidote?"
"I'm afraid it would be impossible for me to undertake it," she said more mildly than before, and pressed her hand again to her brow.
"Pardon me," he said in much concern. "I am too selfish. I forgot you are not well. How is your head feeling now?"
"About the same, thank you," she said, forcing a grateful smile. "You may rely on me for art; yes, and music, too, if you like."
"Thank you," he said. "You read a great deal, don't you?"
She nodded her head. "Well, every week books are published of more or less direct Jewish interest. I should be glad of notes about such to brighten up the paper."
"For anything strictly59 unorthodox you may count on me. If that antidote turns up, I shall not fail to cackle over it in your columns. By the by, are you going to review the poison? Excuse so many mixed metaphors," she added, with a rather forced laugh.
"Slating," she repeated with a faint smile. "I see you have mastered all the slang of your profession."
"Ah, that's the influence of my sub-editor," he said, smiling in return. "Well, good-bye."
"You're forgetting your overcoat," she said, and having smoothed out that crumpled collar, she accompanied him down the wide soft-carpeted staircase into the hall with its rich bronzes and glistening62 statues.
"How are your people in America?" he bethought himself to ask on the way down.
"They are very well, thank you," she said. "I send my brother Solomon _The Flag of Judah_. He is also, I am afraid, one of the unregenerate. You see I am doing my best to enlarge your congregation."
He could not tell whether it was sarcasm or earnest.
"Well, good-bye," he said, holding out his hand. "Thank you for your promise."
"Oh, that's not worth thanking me for," she said, touching63 his long white fingers for an instant. "Look at the glory of seeing myself in print. I hope you're not annoyed with me for refusing to contribute fiction," she ended, growing suddenly remorseful64 at the moment of parting.
"Of course not. How could I be?"
"Couldn't your sister Adelaide do you a story?"
"That's always the way with brothers. Solomon says--" She paused suddenly.
"I don't remember for the moment that Solomon has any proverb on the subject," he said, still amused at the idea of Addie as an authoress.
"I was thinking of something else. Good-bye. Remember me to your sister, please."
"Certainly," he said. Then he exclaimed, "Oh, what a block-head I am! I forgot to remember her to you. She says she would be so pleased if you would come and have tea and a chat with her some day. I should like you and Addie to know each other."
"Thanks, I will. I will write to her some day. Good-bye, once more."
"Allow me!" she said, and opened it upon the gray dulness of the dripping street. "When may I hope for the honor of another visit from a real live editor?"
"I don't know," he said, smiling. "I'm awfully67 busy, I have to read a paper on Ibn Ezra at Jews' College to-day fortnight."
"Outsiders admitted?" she asked.
"The lectures _are_ for outsiders," he said. "To spread the knowledge of our literature. Only they won't come. Have you never been to one?"
She shook her head.
"There!" he said. "You complain of our want of culture, and you don't even know what's going on."
She tried to take the reproof68 with a smile, but the corners of her mouth quivered. He raised his hat and went down the steps.
She followed him a little way along the Terrace, with eyes growing dim with tears she could not account for. She went back to the drawing-room and threw herself into the arm-chair where he had sat, and made her headache worse by thinking of all her unhappiness. The great room was filling with dusk, and in the twilight69 pictures gathered and dissolved. What girlish dreams and revolts had gone to make that unfortunate book, which after endless boomerang-like returns from the publishers, had appeared, only to be denounced by Jewry, ignored by its journals and scantily70 noticed by outside criticisms. _Mordecai Josephs_ had fallen almost still-born from the press; the sweet secret she had hoped to tell her patroness had turned bitter like that other secret of her dead love for Sidney, in the reaction from which she had written most of her book. How fortunate at least that her love had flickered71 out, had proved but the ephemeral sentiment of a romantic girl for the first brilliant man she had met. Sidney had fascinated her by his verbal audacities72 in a world of narrow conventions; he had for the moment laughed away spiritual aspirations73 and yearnings with a raillery that was almost like ozone74 to a young woman avid75 of martyrdom for the happiness of the world. How, indeed, could she have expected the handsome young artist to feel the magic that hovered76 about her talks with him, to know the thrill that lay in the formal hand-clasp, to be aware that he interpreted for her poems and pictures, and incarnated77 the undefined ideal of girlish day-dreams? How could he ever have had other than an intellectual thought of her; how could any man, even the religious Raphael? Sickly, ugly little thing that she was! She got up and looked in the glass now to see herself thus, but the shadows had gathered too thickly. She snatched up a newspaper that lay on a couch, lit it, and held it before the glass; it flared78 up threateningly and she beat it out, laughing hysterically79 and asking herself if she was mad. But she had seen the ugly little face; its expression frightened her. Yes, love was not for her; she could only love a man of brilliancy and culture, and she was nothing but a Petticoat Lane girl, after all. Its coarseness, its vulgarity underlay80 all her veneer81. They had got into her book; everybody said so. Raphael said so. How dared she write disdainfully of Raphael's people? She an upstart, an outsider? She went to the library, lit the gas, got down a volume of Graetz's history of the Jews, which she had latterly taken to reading, and turned over its wonderful pages. Then she wandered restlessly back to the great dim drawing-room and played amateurish82 fantasias on the melancholy Polish melodies of her childhood till Mr. and Mrs. Henry Goldsmith returned. They had captured the Rev60. Joseph Strelitski and brought him back to dinner, Esther would have excused herself from the meal, but Mrs. Goldsmith insisted the minister would think her absence intentionally83 discourteous84. In point of fact, Mrs. Goldsmith, like all Jewesses a born match-maker, was not disinclined to think of the popular preacher as a sort of adopted son-in-law. She did not tell herself so, but she instinctively85 resented the idea of Esther marrying into the station of her patroness. Strelitski, though his position was one of distinction for a Jewish clergyman, was, like Esther, of humble86 origin; it would be a match which she could bless from her pedestal in genuine good-will towards both parties.
The fashionable minister was looking careworn87 and troubled. He had aged38 twice ten years since his outburst at the Holy Land League. The black curl hung disconsolately88 on his forehead. He sat at Esther's side, but rarely looking at her, or addressing her, so that her taciturnity and scarcely-veiled dislike did not noticeably increase his gloom. He rallied now and again out of politeness to his hostess, flashing out a pregnant phrase or two. But prosperity did not seem to have brought happiness to the whilom, poor Russian student, even though he had fought his way to it unaided.
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1
sloppy
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| adj.邋遢的，不整洁的 | |
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worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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heartily
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| adv.衷心地，诚恳地，十分，很 | |
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darted
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| v.投掷，投射( dart的过去式和过去分词 )；向前冲，飞奔 | |
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journalism
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| n.新闻工作，报业 | |
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countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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disapprovingly
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| adv.不以为然地，不赞成地，非难地 | |
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artistic
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| adj.艺术(家)的，美术(家)的；善于艺术创作的 | |
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everlastingly
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| 永久地，持久地 | |
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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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aesthetic
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| adj.美学的，审美的，有美感 | |
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ruffled
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| adj. 有褶饰边的, 起皱的 动词ruffle的过去式和过去分词 | |
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heliotrope
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| n.天芥菜；淡紫色 | |
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poked
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| v.伸出( poke的过去式和过去分词 )；戳出；拨弄；与（某人）性交 | |
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tints
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| 色彩( tint的名词复数 )； 带白的颜色； （淡色）染发剂； 痕迹 | |
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penetrate
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| v.透(渗)入；刺入，刺穿；洞察，了解 | |
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bantering
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| adj.嘲弄的v.开玩笑，说笑，逗乐( banter的现在分词 )；（善意地）取笑，逗弄 | |
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eloquently
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| adv. 雄辩地(有口才地, 富于表情地) | |
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moodily
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| adv.喜怒无常地；情绪多变地；心情不稳地；易生气地 | |
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disciple
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| n.信徒，门徒，追随者 | |
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poetic
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| adj.富有诗意的，有诗人气质的，善于抒情的 | |
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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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lucidity
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| n.明朗，清晰，透明 | |
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temperament
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| n.气质，性格，性情 | |
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perversion
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| n.曲解；堕落；反常 | |
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cult
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| n.异教，邪教；时尚，狂热的崇拜 | |
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conversion
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| n.转化，转换，转变 | |
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entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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tempted
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| v.怂恿（某人）干不正当的事；冒…的险（tempt的过去分词） | |
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sarcasm
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| n.讥讽，讽刺，嘲弄，反话 （adj.sarcastic） | |
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sarcasms
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| n.讥讽，讽刺，挖苦( sarcasm的名词复数 ) | |
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drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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ghetto
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| n.少数民族聚居区，贫民区 | |
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vernacular
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| adj.地方的，用地方语写成的；n.白话；行话；本国语；动植物的俗名 | |
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nervously
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| adv.神情激动地，不安地 | |
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uncouth
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| adj.无教养的，粗鲁的 | |
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secular
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| n.牧师，凡人；adj.世俗的，现世的，不朽的 | |
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aged
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| adj.年老的，陈年的 | |
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gathering
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| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
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pulverize
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| v.研磨成粉；摧毁 | |
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Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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pensively
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| adv.沉思地，焦虑地 | |
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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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fraught
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| adj.充满…的，伴有(危险等)的；忧虑的 | |
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peril
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| n.(严重的)危险；危险的事物 | |
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serial
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| n.连本影片，连本电视节目；adj.连续的 | |
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communal
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| adj.公有的，公共的，公社的，公社制的 | |
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antidote
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| n.解毒药，解毒剂 | |
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overt
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| adj.公开的，明显的，公然的 | |
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degradation
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| n.降级；低落；退化；陵削；降解；衰变 | |
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defiantly
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| adv.挑战地，大胆对抗地 | |
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52
shrugged
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| vt.耸肩（shrug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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shrug
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| v.耸肩(表示怀疑、冷漠、不知等) | |
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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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suffrages
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| （政治性选举的）选举权，投票权( suffrage的名词复数 ) | |
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mutual
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| adj.相互的，彼此的；共同的，共有的 | |
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enigmas
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| n.难于理解的问题、人、物、情况等，奥秘( enigma的名词复数 ) | |
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lighting
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| n.照明，光线的明暗，舞台灯光 | |
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strictly
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| adv.严厉地，严格地；严密地 | |
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rev
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| v.发动机旋转，加快速度 | |
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slating
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| 批评 | |
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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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touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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remorseful
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| adj.悔恨的 | |
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addle
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| v.使腐坏，使昏乱 | |
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fumbled
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| （笨拙地）摸索或处理（某事物）( fumble的过去式和过去分词 )； 乱摸，笨拙地弄； 使落下 | |
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awfully
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| adv.可怕地，非常地，极端地 | |
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reproof
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| n.斥责，责备 | |
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twilight
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| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
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scantily
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| adv.缺乏地；不充足地；吝啬地；狭窄地 | |
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flickered
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| （通常指灯光）闪烁，摇曳( flicker的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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audacities
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| n.大胆( audacity的名词复数 )；鲁莽；胆大妄为；鲁莽行为 | |
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aspirations
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| 强烈的愿望( aspiration的名词复数 )； 志向； 发送气音； 发 h 音 | |
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ozone
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| n.臭氧，新鲜空气 | |
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avid
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| adj.热心的；贪婪的；渴望的；劲头十足的 | |
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hovered
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| 鸟( hover的过去式和过去分词 )； 靠近（某事物）； （人）徘徊； 犹豫 | |
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incarnated
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| v.赋予（思想、精神等）以人的形体( incarnate的过去式和过去分词 )；使人格化；体现；使具体化 | |
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Flared
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| adj. 端部张开的, 爆发的, 加宽的, 漏斗式的 动词flare的过去式和过去分词 | |
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hysterically
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| ad. 歇斯底里地 | |
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underlay
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| v.位于或存在于（某物）之下( underlie的过去式 )；构成…的基础（或起因），引起n.衬垫物 | |
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veneer
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| n.(墙上的)饰面，虚饰 | |
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amateurish
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| n.业余爱好的，不熟练的 | |
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intentionally
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| ad.故意地，有意地 | |
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discourteous
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| adj.不恭的，不敬的 | |
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instinctively
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| adv.本能地 | |
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humble
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| adj.谦卑的，恭顺的；地位低下的；v.降低，贬低 | |
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careworn
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| adj.疲倦的，饱经忧患的 | |
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disconsolately
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| adv.悲伤地，愁闷地；哭丧着脸 | |
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