Part 48 (2/2)
Two opposing currents of heavy-laden pedestrians were endeavoring in their progress to occupy the same strip of pavement at the same moment, and the laws of s.p.a.ce kept them blocked till they yielded to its remorseless conditions. Rich and poor elbowed one another, ladies in satins and furs were jammed against wretched looking foreign women with their heads swathed in dirty handkerchiefs; rough, red-faced English betting men struggled good-humoredly with their greasy kindred from over the North Sea; and a sprinkling of Christian yokels surveyed the Jewish hucksters and chapmen with amused superiority.
For this was the night of nights, when the purchases were made for the festival, and great ladies of the West, leaving behind their daughters who played the piano and had a subscription at Mudie's, came down again to the beloved Lane to throw off the veneer of refinement, and plunge gloveless hands in barrels where pickled cuc.u.mbers weltered in their own ”_russell_,” and to pick fat juicy olives from the rich-heaped tubs. Ah, me! what tragic comedy lay behind the transient happiness of these sensuous faces, laughing and munching with the shamelessness of school-girls! For to-night they need not hanker in silence after the flesh-pots of Egypt. To-night they could laugh and talk over _Olov hasholom_ times--”Peace be upon him” times--with their old cronies, and loosen the stays of social ambition, even while they dazzled the Ghetto with the splendors of their get-up and the halo of the West End whence they came. It was a scene without parallel in the history of the world--this phantasmagoria of grubs and b.u.t.terflies, met together for auld lang syne in their beloved hatching-place. Such violent contrasts of wealth and poverty as might be looked for in romantic gold-fields, or in unsettled countries were evolved quite naturally amid a colorless civilization by a people with an incurable talent for the picturesque.
”Hullo! Can that be you, Betsy?” some grizzled shabby old man would observe in innocent delight to Mrs. Arthur Montmorenci; ”Why so it is!
I never would have believed my eyes! Lord, what a fine woman you've grown! And so you're little Betsy who used to bring her father's coffee in a brown jug when he and I stood side by side in the Lane! He used to sell slippers next to my cutlery stall for eleven years--Dear, dear, how time flies to be sure.”
Then Betsy Montmorenci's creamy face would grow scarlet under the gas-jets, and she would glower and draw her sables around her, and look round involuntarily, to see if any of her Kensington friends were within earshot.
Another Betsy Montmorenci would feel Bohemian for this occasion only, and would receive old acquaintances' greeting effusively, and pa.s.s the old phrases and by-words with a strange sense of stolen sweets; while yet a third Betsy Montmorenci, a finer spirit this, and worthier of the name, would cry to a Betsy Jacobs:
”Is that you, Betsy, how _are_ you? How _are_ you? I'm so glad to see you. Won't you come and treat me to a cup of chocolate at Bonn's, just to show you haven't forgot _Olov hasholom_ times?”
And then, having thus thrown the responsibility of stand-offishness on the poorer Betsy, the Montmorenci would launch into recollections of those good old ”Peace be upon him” times till the grub forgot the splendors of the caterpillar in a joyous resurrection of ancient scandals. But few of the Montmorencis, whatever their species, left the Ghetto without pressing bits of gold into half-reluctant palms in shabby back-rooms where old friends or poor relatives mouldered.
Overhead, the stars burned silently, but no one looked up at them.
Underfoot, lay the thick, black veil of mud, which the Lane never lifted, but none looked down on it. It was impossible to think of aught but humanity in the bustle and confusion, in the cram and crush, in the wedge and the jam, in the squeezing and shouting, in the hubbub and medley. Such a jolly, rampant, screaming, fighting, maddening, jostling, polyglot, quarrelling, laughing broth of a Vanity Fair! Mendicants, vendors, buyers, gossips, showmen, all swelled the roar.
”Here's your cakes! All _yontovdik_ (for the festival)! _Yontovdik_--”
”Braces, best braces, all--”
”_Yontovdik_! Only one s.h.i.+lling--”
”It's the Rav's orders, mum; all legs of mutton must be porged or my license--”
”Cowc.u.mbers! Cowc.u.mbers!”
”Now's your chance--”
”The best trousers, gentlemen. Corst me as sure as I stand--”
”On your own head, you old--”
”_Arbah Kanfus_ (four fringes)! _Arbah_--”
”My old man's been under an operation--”
”Hokey Pokey! _Yontovdik_! Hokey--”
”Get out of the way, can't you--”
”By your life and mine, Betsy--”
”Gord blesh you, mishter, a toisand year shall ye live.”
”Eat the best _Motsos_. Only fourpence--”
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