Ghetto Tragedies. Israel Zangwill

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ month. It was a seething well-spring of healthy life. Religious ceremonies connected with these chubby new-comers, or medical recipes for their bodily salvation, absorbed her. But her exuberant grandmotherliness usually received a check in the summer, when the babies were deported to scattered sea-shores; and thus it came to pass that the summer of her death found her still lingering in London with a bad cold, with only Daniel and little Schnapsie at hand. And before the others could be called, Mrs. Peyser passed away in peace, in the old Portsmouth bed, overlooked by the old Hebrew picture exiled from the London dining-room.

      It was a curious end. She did not know she was dying, but Daniel was anxious she should not be reft into silence before she had made the immemorial proclamation of the Unity. At the same time he hesitated to appall her with the grim knowledge.

      He was blubbering piteously, yet striving to hide his sobs. The early days of his struggle came back, the first weeks of wedded happiness, then the long years of progressive prosperity and godly cheerfulness in Portsmouth ere she had grown fashionable and he unimportant; and a vast self-pity mingled with his pitiful sense of her excellencies—the children she had borne him in agony, the economy of her house management, the good bargains she had driven with the clod-pated soldiers and sailors, the later splendour of her social achievement.

      And little Schnapsie wept with a sense of the vanity of these dual existences to which she owed her own empty life.

      Suddenly Mrs. Peyser, over whose black eyes a glaze had been stealing, let the long dark eyelashes fall over them.

      "Sarah!" whispered Daniel frantically. "Say the Shemang!"

      "Hear, O Israel, the Lord our God, the Lord is one," said the sensuous lips obediently.

      Little Schnapsie shrugged her shoulders rebelliously. The dogma seemed so irrelevant.

      Mrs. Peyser opened her eyes, and a beautiful mother-light came into them as she saw the weeping girl.

      "Ah, Florrie, do not fret," she said reassuringly, in her long-lapsed Yiddish. "I will find thee a bridegroom."

      Her eyes closed, and little Schnapsie shuddered with a weird image of a lover fetched from the shrouded dead.

      VI

      After his Sarah had been lowered into "The House of Life," and the excitement of the tombstone recording her virtues had subsided, Daniel would have withered away in an empty world but for little Schnapsie. The two kept house together; the same big house that had reeked with so much feminine life, and about which the odours of perfumes and powders still seemed to linger. But father and daughter only met at meals. He spent hours over the morning paper, with the old quaint delusions about India and other things he read of, and he pottered about the streets, or wandered into the Beth-Hamidrash, which a local fanatic had just instituted in North London, and in which, under the guidance of a Polish sage, Daniel strove to concentrate his aged wits on the ritual problems of Babylon. At long intervals he brushed his old-fashioned high hat carefully, and timidly rang the bell of one of his daughters' mansions, and was permitted to caress a loudly remonstrating baby; but they all lived so far from him and one another in this mighty London. From Sylvia's, where there was a boy with buttons, he had always been frightened off, and when the others began to emulate her, his visits ceased altogether. As for the sisters coming to see him, all pleaded overwhelming domestic duty, and the frigidity of Florence's reception of them. "Now if you lived alone—or with one of us!" But somehow Daniel felt the latter alternative would be as desolate as the former. And though he knew some wide vague river flowed between even his present housemate's life and his own, yet he felt far more clearly the bridge of love over which their souls passed to each other.

      Figure then the septuagenarian's amaze when, one fine morning, as he was shuffling about in his carpet slippers, the servant brought him word that his six daughters demanded his instantaneous presence in the drawing-room.

      The shock drove out all thoughts of toilet; his heart beat quicker with a painful premonition of he knew not what. This simultaneous visit recalled funerals, weddings. He looked out of a window and saw four carriages drawn up, and that completed his sense of something elemental. He tottered into the drawing-room—grown dingy now that it had no more daughters to dispose of—and shrank before the resplendence with which their presence reinvested it. They rustled with silks, shone with gold necklaces, and impregnated the air with its ancient aroma of powders and perfumes. He felt himself dwindling before all this pungent prosperity, like some more creative Frankenstein before a congress of his own monsters.

      They did not rise as he entered. The Jewish group and the pagan group were promiscuously seated—marriage had broken down all the ancient landmarks. They all looked about the same agelessness—a standstill buxom matronhood.

      Daniel stood at the door, glancing from one to another. Some coughed; others fidgeted with muffs.

      "Sit down, sit down, father," said Rachael kindly, though she retained the arm-chair—and there was a general air of relief at her voice. But the old embarrassment returned as the silence reëstablished itself when Daniel had drooped into a stiff chair.

      At last Leah took the word: "We have come while Florrie is at her slumming—"

      "At her slumming!" repeated Sylvia, with more significance, and a meaning smile spread over the six faces.

      "Yes?" Daniel murmured.

      "—Because we did not want her to know of our coming."

      "It concerns Schnapsie?" he murmured.

      "Yes, your little Schnapsie," said Daisy viciously.

      "Yes; she has no time to come and see us," cried Rebecca. "But she has plenty of time for her—slumming."

      "Well, she does good," he murmured apologetically.

      "A fat lot of good!" sniggered Rachael.

      "To herself!" corrected Lily.

      "I do not understand," he muttered uneasily.

      "Well—" began Lily. "You tell him, Leah; you know more about it."

      "You know as much as I do."

      He looked appealingly from one to the other.

      "I always said the slums were dangerous places for people of our class," said Sylvia. "She doesn't even confine herself to her own people."

      The faces began to lighten—evidently they felt the ice broken.

      "Dangerous!" he repeated, catching at the ominous word.

      "Dreadful!" in a common shudder.

      He half rose. "You have bad news?" he cried.

      The faces gloomed over, the heads nodded.

      "About Schnapsie?" he shrieked, jumping up.

      "Sit down, sit down; she's not dead," said Leah contemptuously.

      He sat down.

      "Well, what is it? What has happened?"

      "She's engaged!" In Leah's mouth the word sounded like a death-bell.

      "Engaged!" СКАЧАТЬ