Chapter VIII: At Synagogue on New Year’s Day

The coming of David Salmon brought a new interest into Celia’s life. His acquaintance with her father formed a link of friendship between them; and from the first she looked upon him in a different light to the other young men she met at Mrs. Friedberg’s house. He went the very best way to work to win her affections, that he possibly could have done. Other young men paid her open and extravagant compliments; David did not, and Celia liked him all the better on that account, because she thought he was sincere. In conversation he was very careful to avoid the _Yiddish_ expressions so prevalent amongst the people by whom they were surrounded; and although he was not able to be discursive on any subject except, perhaps, racing, of which she knew nothing, he managed to convey the idea that he knew a great deal more than he cared to say. He came to see the Friedbergs every evening regularly, and, if Celia were not downstairs, he nearly always found his way up to her sitting-room, with either Dinah or Victor to act as “gooseberry.”

Very soon Celia began to treat him with the same frank cordiality with which she had delighted Dr. Geoffrey Milnes; yet there was a subtile difference. Geoffrey was intellectual, and more than her match as far as brain-power went, but she dominated him completely. David Salmon, on the contrary, was her inferior in intellectual power, yet his assertive personality overruled hers. The mere touch of his hand sent a thrill through her whole being; and by word and look he contrived to instil into her that sense of affinity which is usually the basis of love. He soon managed to discover her likings and aversions, and made it a rule to ratify all that she said. He encouraged her to speak on those subjects on which she thought deeply, and responded in such a way that she felt that his was indeed a kindred spirit. “That’s how I feel!” was the exclamation most often on his lips, and the suspicion that he was not quite sincere never once crossed her mind.

If she could only have seen him, when, after a conversation in which, perhaps, she had almost laid bare her very soul, he went away to chuckle over her “moonshine,” and laugh in his sleeve at his cleverness in humouring her fancies, she would have been spared much heartache and bitterness. But, being absolutely true herself, she credited him with the same sincerity and depth of character, and made the fatal mistake of trusting him with her confidence.

On the Jewish New Year’s Day he called for her to go to synagogue. The day was quite a sultry one for late September, and Celia had donned a summer gown of soft grey voile, whilst a black Gainsboro’ hat set off her rich beauty to perfection. David felt quite proud as he escorted her down Maida Vale, and noted with satisfaction the admiring glances which were cast in her direction. Maida Vale seemed to be quite astir with gaily dressed people, apparently bent on the same errand as themselves, for they nearly all carried large prayerbooks. Celia glanced at them with some curiosity, for it was the first time that she had come across so many well-to-do Jews together. Most of the matrons were inclined to _embonpoint_, and wore a profusion of showy jewellery. Celia wondered why they spoke to each other as if they were all deaf, and what it was that was so peculiar in their intonation; it was not unlike the Cockney accent combined with a dash of nasal Yankee. She also observed a peculiarity in their gait and bearing,--a side-to-side movement, which was as odd as it was ungraceful. She was quite vexed with herself for noticing these things, but she could not help discovering that some Jewish people had mannerisms peculiarly their own.

A few little ragged urchins were loitering by the doors of the synagogue, watching the people as they entered.

“Them’s Jews,” Celia heard one of them say. “It must be their Passover.”

“Garn!” exclaimed another. “They have Passover at Easter. I spec’ it’s their Christmas.”

“Tain’t then,” put in a third with authority. “It’s their New Year. That little Jew boy as lives in Lisson Street told me so.”

“Well, then, I ain’t far out,” retorted the other sharply. “They must have had their Christmas last week. Christmas comes a week afore New Year, don’t it, stoopid?”

In the vestibule Celia and David parted, Celia to go upstairs to the ladies’ gallery, David to take his place in the body of the synagogue. Mrs. Friedberg and her girls had just arrived, and joined Celia at the top of the stairs. The service had commenced; and the minister was chanting some prayers in a sing-song monotone, whilst the congregation accompanied him with a subdued murmuring.

Mrs. Friedberg was evidently a well-known personage, judging by the nods and smiles which greeted her appearance. She stood up with some importance to read her preparatory prayer; and then turned round to Maud, who sat immediately behind her.

“Do look at Mrs. Isaac’s new dress,” she exclaimed in an audible whisper. “Did you ever see such a sight? Looks as if it came out of an old clo’ shop.” Then she sat down with a smile of amiable benignity, and taking up a pair of tortoise-shell _lorgnettes_, critically scanned every lady within her range of vision.

Lottie and Dinah had not yet attained to the dignity of seat-holders, and went wherever there was room. They were constantly on the move, for, whenever the lady whose seat they were occupying arrived, they were obliged to vacate their position. Finally they settled themselves down on the steps, in a state of mind not at all conducive to devotion.

“Ma can shout at me as much as she likes, but I won’t come on _Yom Kippur_,”[7] exclaimed Lottie, indignantly. “I don’t see why Maud should have a seat any more than me. If I have to shift again, I shall go home.”

Celia, whose seat was next to Mrs. Mike Rosen’s, gazed furtively about her, with mingled feelings of reverence and interest. Adeline found the place in the prayer-book for her, and, though she possessed but a limited knowledge of Hebrew, she followed as well as she could.

She had come to the synagogue with the sincere desire to worship God according to the ancient customs of her people, and was willing to be impressed by all that she saw and heard. Fixing her eyes on the white-curtained ark, she tried to make herself conscious of the presence of God, and of the solemnity of the occasion.

New Year’s Day--the day on which her destiny for the coming year was foreordained, and her name rewritten in the Book of Life. Surely, here was ample food for meditation!

As the service proceeded, however, her thoughts began to wander away on irrelevant subjects. She looked over the ledge on which her prayer-book rested, and met the eyes of David Salmon below, who looked back at her and smiled. The other men wore silk hats with slightly curled brims. David’s brim did not curl, and she was glad of that. She was quite ashamed of herself for noticing such a triviality at such a time and in such a place, but she could not help it.

The mournful chanting of the white-robed minister, which, at first, had struck a responsive chord in her nature, began to jar upon her nerves. The unaccompanied choir sang out of tune, and their voices grated harshly on her well-trained ear. The small procession of men carrying the bell-topped scrolls of the law as if they were nursing dolls, struck her as droll. It might have been impressive had they worn the flowing garments of the ancient East; but silk hats, frock coats, and praying shawls in combination, seemed to her grotesque. Even the sound of the ram’s horn, which should have awakened her to a sense of the awe and majesty of God, failed to impress her, because the man who blew it spluttered over it, and his performance was a dismal failure.

Throughout the service the girl experienced a sense of keen disappointment. Either there was something radically wrong with the service, or there was some spiritual sense of appreciation lacking in herself. Perhaps she had not received sufficient Jewish knowledge to enable her to understand the mystic symbolism of Jewish rites and ceremonies.

After some consideration she discovered what might be the cause. It was not the service itself, for there could be nothing more majestic than those grand old psalms and supplications in the grand old Hebrew tongue;--but it was partly the way in which the service was conducted, and partly the irreverent demeanour of the congregation themselves.

A single glance around showed her that the true spirit of devotion was almost entirely absent from their midst. The men, with the exception of three or four grey-heads, who swayed to and fro with the fervency or their prayers, looked either bored or indifferent. The majority of the women seemed absorbed in contemplation of each other’s _yomtovdic_[8] clothes, whilst some of them, including Mrs. Friedberg, gently slumbered. The children conversed with each other in whispers, interspersed with occasional giggles and ejaculations; it was scarcely surprising that they should find the service long and tiresome, for there was no music, and it was almost entirely in a language they could not understand.

If these people had been truly devout, Celia would have been devout also, for she possessed a nature which was capable of being deeply moved. But she could not help feeling that this was a spurious form of worship from which the glory of God was almost obscured.

At the close of the service, Mrs. Rosen asked her what she thought of it all.

“It was very nice, wasn’t it?” she said convincingly. “I go to that synagogue every Saturday, and always like the service there so much.”

The girl scarcely knew how to reply. Clearly there must be something wrong with her own way of looking at things. As the congregation poured out of the synagogue, she heard nothing but favourable comments on the service. It was so beautiful, every one said,--so impressive; and the Rev. Abrahams’ sermon was so interesting.

Mrs. Friedberg came down the stairs with another lady of the same proportions as herself.

“Oh, I did enjoy the service, Celia!” she exclaimed, with a deep sigh. “And they all liked my new bonnet, didn’t they, Mrs. Joseph?”

“Yes, my dear,” answered the other lady, soothingly. “It looks as if it had come straight from Paris in a band-box.”

“Fifteen shillings in the Grove, and not a penny more!” chuckled Mrs. Friedberg, confidentially. “It’s the best bargain I’ve had for a long time, my dear.”

David Salmon was promenading outside with Lottie and Dinah. Although a terrible tease, he was a great favourite with the girls. As soon as they caught sight of Celia, they very kindly marched off to hunt up Montie and Victor, and David escorted Celia home as a matter of course.

She was silent on the homeward journey, and her fair face looked quite troubled. When, at length, he asked if she had enjoyed going to the synagogue, she told him something of what was in her mind.

“I cannot think what was the matter with me,” she confessed quite sorrowfully. “Instead of entering into the service with all my heart, as I had meant to do, I pulled it to pieces and criticized it as if I were a rank outsider. And yet I am sure that there must be beauty in Jewish worship, only I seem to have overlooked it somehow.”

“Well, there is no harm in being critical,” he rejoined cheerfully. “To tell you the truth, I think that synagogue-going and all that sort of thing is a lot of silly humbug, only we keep it up for the sake of being social: that’s my candid opinion.”

Celia was shocked. “Do you really think so?” she asked with surprise. “Then why do you ever go to synagogue?”

David saw that he had made a mistake. “Well, I don’t mean exactly that,” he corrected himself hastily. “I can’t explain myself very well. But what was it that you did not like about the service? Was it the choir? I must take you to the Reform Synagogue, where they have an organ. It is more churchified there, and perhaps you would like it better.”

“No, it wasn’t the choir,” answered Celia, hesitatingly. “They did sing flat, it is true; but if one really wants to worship God, little details like that should not be of the slightest account. If the true note is in the heart, what matters it if the vocal sound be out of tune? I don’t know what it was, but instead of feeling ‘good,’ the service made me feel quite the reverse. I am afraid you think me very wicked, don’t you, Mr. Salmon?”

They had arrived at the gate, and the Friedberg girls were waiting for them in the garden. David gave Celia back her prayer-book, and looked up into the sweetly earnest face with a somewhat cynical smile.

“I would rather have you just a little bit wicked, Miss Franks,” he rejoined. “Very good people are apt to become bores. A little spice of the devil, like cayenne pepper, adds flavour to what might otherwise be quite wholesome--but insipid.”

Then, opening the gate for her, he pressed her hand, and, raising his hat, walked abruptly away.