Didactic fiction; England -- Fiction; Jewish fiction; Jews -- England -- Fiction; Zionists -- Fiction
Can this be part of the religious ceremony? thought Deronda, not
knowing what might be expected of the ancient hero. But he heard a
“Yes” from the next room, which made him look toward the open door; and
there, to his astonishment, he saw the figure of the enigmatic Jew whom
he had this morning met with in the book-shop. Their eyes met, and
Mordecai looked as much surprised as Deronda—neither in his surprise
making any sign of recognition. But when Mordecai was seating himself
at the end of the table, he just bent his head to the guest in a cold
and distant manner, as if the disappointment of the morning remained a
disagreeable association with this new acquaintance.
Cohen now washed his hands, pronouncing Hebrew words the while:
afterward, he took off the napkin covering the dish and disclosed the
two long flat loaves besprinkled with seed—the memorial of the manna
that fed the wandering forefathers—and breaking off small pieces gave
one to each of the family, including Adelaide Rebekah, who stood on the
chair with her whole length exhibited in her amber-colored garment, her
little Jewish nose lengthened by compression of the lip in the effort
to make a suitable appearance. Cohen then uttered another Hebrew
blessing, and after that, the male heads were uncovered, all seated
themselves, and the meal went on without any peculiarity that
interested Deronda. He was not very conscious of what dishes he ate
from; being preoccupied with a desire to turn the conversation in a way
that would enable him to ask some leading question; and also thinking
of Mordecai, between whom and himself there was an exchange of
fascinated, half-furtive glances. Mordecai had no handsome Sabbath
garment, but instead of the threadbare rusty black coat of the morning
he wore one of light drab, which looked as if it had once been a
handsome loose paletot now shrunk with washing; and this change of
clothing gave a still stronger accentuation to his dark-haired, eager
face which might have belonged to the prophet Ezekiel—also probably
not modish in the eyes of contemporaries. It was noticeable that the
thin tails of the fried fish were given to Mordecai; and in general the
sort of share assigned to a poor relation—no doubt a “survival” of
prehistoric practice, not yet generally admitted to be superstitious.
Mr. Cohen kept up the conversation with much liveliness, introducing as
subjects always in taste (the Jew is proud of his loyalty) the Queen
and the Royal Family, the Emperor and Empress of the French—into which
both grandmother and wife entered with zest. Mrs. Cohen the younger
showed an accurate memory of distinguished birthdays; and the elder
assisted her son in informing the guest of what occurred when the
Emperor and Empress were in England and visited the city ten years
before.
“I dare say you know all about it better than we do, sir,” said Cohen,
repeatedly, by way of preface to full information; and the interesting
statements were kept up in a trio.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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